A milky haze turned the distant mountains blue. Moisture? How could there be so much moisture in the air when it was so dry? In the valley below was a small building with a faucet on the outside. He licked dry lips and limped down the hill. It must be at least 105 degrees. He mopped a beaded forehead with his shirt sleeve. The closer he got to the faucet, the thirstier he got. Finally! His fingers closed around the cool brass handle, forcing it to turn. First the grinding of metal against metal and then – nothing. No water!