Description

The Water Boy, gouache on watercolor paper, 7.5 x 8.75 inches

Raquel Torres could barely breathe. She doubled over, a panting, sweat-soaked mess surrounded by the flaming ruins of a city she'd been called upon to protect. Well, the monster was dead, so that was something. Besides, everything here could be rebuilt; the advance warning should have given everyone more than enough time to…Raquel let out a puff of air somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. The advance warning. There'd been two blips—her work was only half done. She slowed her breathing, steeled herself to push on with limbs that were already screaming from exhaustion.

Something broke the silence only a few blocks away. It took several seconds for Raquel to realize that it was the bassy horn of a semi-truck. Of course, to her, it sounded dinky, shrill. Comical, even. Hands still on her knees, she rose her head up, blew the bangs from her eyes. There, up the street, were two pinpricks of artificial light carefully winding their way around the debris. In a dead city lit only by sporadic fires and the spotlight of the support helicopter overhead, there was no mistaking them. They stopped, and a few moments later the red beacon of a road flare burst to life. At this distance, and with over 200 feet of height separating them, Raquel couldn't make out which driver had come to her aid. She'd just have to thank them all when she got back to HQ. That tanker held approximately 10,000 gallons of sugar, caffeine, electrolytes, and even a potent painkiller, and she was going to need every drop.