Sea salt swirls on my skin. Sun stings my dark eyes. The ocean is clear and blue. Today the water is calm. Waves gently gush in and out. Water around my legs. Hot rays burn my dark hair. My skin is dark red and brown. I wear shorts that used to be pants. Ripped at my knees. 

I can work in the heat. I don’t mind hot days. I am from New Mexico. I am used to high temperatures. But California feels hotter. Even when it rains. 

I miss the dry days from my home, but the hard work helps me to forget. I smile and stand back. My work is almost done. 

My dad used to tell me to work hard. "Work hard, Carlos," he was would say. "Being smart can take you far. But hard work is how you win."  I hope he was right. My pod is almost ready.  

“Kuh-kah Kuh-kah,” a seagull calls above me. 

Time is almost up. This is my last chance. I tip the top of my pod toward me. Add my extra air hose. My tool is full of rust. Still, it works. I twist the air hose until it is tight. I take a deep breath. 

Although things may seem peaceful, the world is at war. Russia is taking over. They overruled one country. Then another. Then another still. The final battle is intended for the United States. But Americans don’t go easy. Americans fight back! 

They call it “The 30 Year War." It has gone on for decades now. And all the leaders agree. It has to end. 

A date is set. Two years from now. The leaders decided. I am counting on it. I just need to live that long. 

* * * 

My mom died when I was little. I don’t remember her. Everyone says I look like her. I am tall and skinny. I have her dark eyes. They said her eyes were kind. 

My dad was a Marine. A big and strong man. He taught me everything about hard work. He died two years ago. Killed at war. Now it is just me. 

I'd first heard the word “pod” from my dad. That was about three years ago. China had made 300 pods. I'd heard my dad talking to a man who had ordered 12 of them. One dozen pods. And he wanted my dad’s help. They talked about how to fix the pods up. How to add air, food, and water. How to live away from this war. I listened to every word they said. I was only nine years old, but I loved the idea. 

One day, finally, a truck pulled up. All twelve pods sat there, just like eggs. They were shiny and new. Fresh from China. One dozen giant eggs. I can still remember everything. All the plans my dad made. All the ideas the men had. I didn’t know it then, but I would need a pod very soon. Just to stay alive.  

War is awful. Life is hard. My home state of New Mexico was taken by Russia. So I moved to California. Now I wish I'd never come here. It is not safe, so I am moving again. This time to the sea. 

After my dad died, I sold most of his pods. 11 of the 12. I used the money to buy parts, then took dad's truck. I put the last pod, my own, on his trailer. I moved to California. Yep, I drove it. Kids can drive. When at war, rules change. 

I got to California only to find that life was harder there. It was not any safer from the war, and there were gangs. I was not going to live. There was no food. Danger was everywhere. And I was alone. 

So, I did what I had to and joined a gang. The gang was called "The Gets." I felt safer with "The Gets.” All of them were boys my age and older. They worked as a team. They got what they wanted. They stole. They beat and they killed. 

I never did kill anyone, myself, but I did beat people up. I broke a kid’s nose, once. Did it for a can of soda. I'd wanted it. So I took it. "The Gets” had all cheered. I was little, but I was strong. 

After five months, I quit. I slept in my pod. Alone. I tried to find jobs. I tried to grow food. "The Gets” had taken any I'd had. So I hunted rabbits. I fished. Even then, they often took the meat from me. 

The war is dangerous. But the gangs are worse. That's why I need to move again. Out to the sea. In my pod. Safe and alone. 

I hear others are planning the same. People are moving to the sea. In boats or on ships. I am going in a pod. I will live in the pod. Safe until the war ends. The rich are already gone. They left in spaceships. Some are living on the moon. Others even went to Mars. I heard they found salt water there. 

I can't afford to go out to space. But I can't stay on land. So my home will be small. Simple. Room for only one. 

I used to sleep in the pod and dream. I wanted to drift out to sea. I still remember the day the pods were delivered. They had just sat there. Sat for a long time. Then Dad went to war. And his friend who'd bought the pods was killed. 

Before that, they called my pod the golden egg. I listened to my dad. I listened very well. I learned about “needs” and “wants.” And how they are not the same. I have to let go of my "wants." Not everything I "want" fits. The pod is not big. I have to decide what to take. I have to decide what to leave. 

I make two lists, Needs and Wants. 

Needs: What I need on my pod. 

Wants: What I want on my pod. 

Air, food, and water. Those are “needs.” My fishing pole is a need too. I will eat well if I can catch fish. 

I "want" some books. I want video games. I really want sugar! There is nothing sweet at sea. But I may have to give up on some wants. 

My dad and his friend talked about air. A lot. Air is very important for pod life. I need to get air inside the pod. That is my top job. They also gave me an idea. The idea for my garden. 

I learned about water. I read books on rain. That is what I will drink. Rain will also water my garden. I will collect water up top. The water will pour down a hose. Then it will be held in a big tank. I will have plenty. 

I have an oven in my pod, too. It cooks food by sunlight. It has windows and when I put food inside, sunshine warms and cooks it. I have some flour, too. Baking bread and fish will be a treat. I really wanted some sugar. But I didn't get any. 

My motor is powered by sunlight, too. If sun power won't work, I have another plan. I can pedal my pod like a bike. The pedals go forward and backward. But they also work up and down. That way, I can go deep down. 

In storms, I will want to go deep into the sea. 

I also have a chicken. I read that chicken poop is good. It can help my garden. I can also eat eggs, if she stays alive. If not, I'll have chicken fingers. 

And I have sonar. Sonar tells me if a boat or pod is coming close. If someone bad comes, I even have a weapon. I call it “The Jolt.” It is like a lightning bolt. It will zap anyone off. Zap them into the sea. 

I added a loud speaker, too. That way I can talk without getting out. I plan to stay in my pod for the most part. Unless I am fishing. Fishing at night may be safer. I do not want to be seen. I want to be alone. Alone and safe in my pod. 

* * * 

My pod is ready. 

This is the day. 

It is time to go. 

I jump on top of my pod. It tips over. I hang on. I pull on the door. My fingers slip. I flop over to the other side. Pull my hand up. The door pops open. My legs swing up and in. I land with a bump. I am inside. I sit in my chair and push the ON switch. It works! The engine hums. 

"No reason to wait," I say. I use the gear stick to go. It is slow but I am moving. At last, I am out to sea. 

I have a big window. All I see is blue. I have a comfy bed. Two books. No sugar. NO video games. But there are no members of "The Gets" out to get me. No Russians to kill me. I am happy to be alone. 

I lift my chin up. I feel brave and strong, like Dad. My pod rams forward. I rush into the waves. I float out toward the horizon. Now I will be safe. 

My pod bobs up and down. For days....for weeks...for months. I am happy to be at sea.  

Okay, this is getting old. 

I am lonely. 

Every day is the same. Boring. 

The sun comes up. The sun goes down. I bob up and I bob down. I wish a storm would come. Anything! Something that is new. I hate to say it, but I miss people. I wanted to be alone. But alone is hard day after day. 

I check my sonar. Nothing. No other boats or pods. Just me. 

A school of fish swims by. I push my hands against the window. “Hi!” I yell. “Here fishy, fishy. Hi fishes!” The thick window dulls the sounds. The busy fish won’t look over. They move on. 

But then, one tiny fish stops. He looks like a baby. Maybe he is the runt? He seems lost. He swims lazily. He lags behind the others. 

He circles. I bang on my window. He looks. I look back into his open, yellow eyes. He bobs with me. We hold like that. It is calm. 

Then, a big fish gulps him up. 

I drop my chin. I don't want to cry. 

I go down to open the lower hatch. I climb inside. My garden and my chicken live down below. Time to pick food. Time to feed my chicken. 

All chickens are dumb. Mine is extra dumb. I wish I picked a better chicken. I thought it would not matter. 

She is my only friend now. I tried to play with her. She runs away. I tried to teach her a trick. She won’t fetch corn. I no longer try. 

Today, I find two eggs. Thank you, chicken. I pick two tomatoes. I throw some food down for her. She pecks and pecks. I think I'll name the chicken. That could help me like her more. 

I put the eggs up on the hatch. My tomatoes go next to them. Then I sit down and think. What is a good name for a hen? Fluffy? Red? Poppy? Mother! That’s it! I will name her Mother. I never got to know my own. She died when I was too little. 

Now I will finally have a Mother in my life. Even if she is dumb. I do like the chicken a lot more now. 

I lay down by Mother. She comes close to me. She sits. Then fluffs herself. She is next to my heart. We lay like that. My heart feels good. I feel warm. I hear her little heartbeat. It is so fast. We fall asleep.