Things We Didn’t See Coming: Dry Land Summary & Analysis

The narrator has been traveling for months in the rain. He rides on a rain horse, specifically trained to withstand endless downpours and to stay calm during lightning storms. But the narrator reflects that he has not gotten such training, and the dampness is starting to wear on him. Still, this is his job: he works with Land Management to scour valleys and other low areas for people who have yet to evacuate, in an attempt to protect them from the impending floods (and the stampedes of animals those floods cause).

The worst part of the narrator’s job is persuading people to leave their homes. Though some people in his line of work try to be empathetic, the narrator prefers to be direct, handing out relocation vouchers and meds and moving on. The narrator feels that his efficiency is respectful, but many of the people he talks to still treat him with rage, cursing at him or threatening violence. “When it all gets to be too much,” the narrator explains, he passes the time by “conjuring sunny days, warm meals, people happy to see me.”

The job doesn’t pay very much, but the real perk is that the narrator is (implicitly) allowed to take whatever he wants from the abandoned homes. In fact, the reason he has a horse instead of a car is because depriving him of an automobile is the only way the government can limit his theft. Most of the time, the narrator is able to do his job in peace, though he carries a gun just in case.

It’s almost evening now, and the narrator is navigating a flooding valley to get to a giant A-frame on top of a hill. Suddenly, his horse bucks, spooked by some unknown thing; though she’s never jolted before, she runs off. The narrator is left stranded with only a water bottle and his sidebag, as the horse was carrying all of his pills (plus the jewelry and batteries he had stolen).

The narrator enters the A-frame house, which was once beautiful: he notices fake-rustic quilts and expensive appliances, plus the remnants of tennis courts outside. There is nothing to eat, though, so the narrator uses one of the kitchen knives to cut into the fancy sofa, and he eats some pieces of foam.

A few hours later, the narrator is awakened by a woman and her daughter, each wearing frayed party dresses. Both of them look like they haven’t eaten in weeks, and they are shifting uncomfortably. The older woman, wielding the kitchen knife, accuses the narrator of trespassing. The narrator smells alcohol on her breath, and he reflects that people out here no longer go to church like they used to (since the churches have all closed).

The daughter searches the narrator’s possessions, finding his ID and his pistol. When the daughter, in her frenzy, breaks a glass, the narrator realizes that the house doesn’t actually belong to these women. The narrator explains that his horse ran off with the bullets, and he means no harm; he merely wants shelter and food. The women then calm down and introduce themselves as Liz (the mother) and Jenna (the daughter). 

The narrator wants some of the alcohol Liz is drinking, so she leads him to a decadent wine cellar. He also sees that Liz has set up mattresses in the basement. Liz explains that though it is the dampest part of the house, it is also the only place where she can escape the omnipresent sound of the rain.

While Liz makes jokes about the wine (“sorry, it’s not chilled”), Jenna leaves. Liz explains that Jenna doesn’t drink, and she feels guilty about leaving her daughter to be the sober one. The narrator assesses that Liz and Jenna were once well-off, though that is obviously no longer the case. When the narrator asks Liz how much she thinks the bottles of wine are worth, she is confused by the question.  

The narrator suggests going outside to find some food. The house has top-flight rain gear, which means that the original owners can’t have left too long ago. Liz stays behind because she is too out of it; she teases the narrator that he shouldn’t have sex with Jenna “unless she wants!” Jenna doesn’t want to have sex with the narrator, and he reflects on the intimacy he’s shared over the last few years, all of it with women who knew they had no other choice of partner.

The narrator finds some bark from ash pines, and he instructs Jenna to fill a plastic string bag—right next to “where the bullets are” in his sidebag—with bark. Jenna is slow to catch on to the manual labor involved in gathering bark, explaining that she prefers to keep a diary of everything that is happening around her, rather than working (like the narrator) or escaping with drink (like Liz). The narrator, frustrated, muses that “she’s exactly the kind of romantic that’s got no instinct to make it,” though he still wants to kiss her. 

While Jenna mopes, the narrator is able to find and spear a rat—the other piece of their meal tonight. As they walk back, Jenna can barely hide her disgust. Wistfully, she remembers how there used to be a meat, a vegetable, and a starch at every meal. Slowly, the variety lessened, and then they ran out of food entirely.

The narrator encourages Jenna to go to higher ground, but Jenna refuses: her mother is 46, over the cutoff for “building.” Secretly, the narrator hopes to persuade Jenna to leave—without her daughter Liz will starve, and he can come back and steal the wine. Jenna, haunted by the memory of her father’s abandonment, hesitates, even when the narrator remarks that Liz is “leaving […] with every drink.” The two walk home in silence, and the narrator realizes how good he is at persuading people to leave the things they love.

When they return to the house, Liz has broken a stool and stuffed some bedsheets in the fireplace, her attempt at making kindling for a fire. Jenna looks at her mother “the way a ship looks down at its anchor,” while the narrator searches for paper. Eventually, he finds old photos, and he doesn’t even look at them—he stopped hesitating to burn other people’s photos long ago. 

Liz wonders why the narrator, who works with Land Management, is helping them instead of shooing them away. The narrator just keeps cooking, finding salt and pepper and roasting the rat in the fire. Liz reveals that she used to be a nurse, and that if the government discovers her skills, she will be put to work dealing with mass death—which she cannot bear. The narrator helps Liz take off her rain clothes, and a mutual attraction courses between them, though Liz is twice his age.

They eat the rat in silence. While they chew, the narrator thinks about a recent sexual encounter with a woman who refused to evacuate. She said she was waiting for her husband, though the narrator does not think such a husband ever existed. That night, the woman had asked the narrator to stay, and they’d slept together; the next morning, she abandoned her house, without taking any items. This story gives the narrator new confidence that he can get Liz and Jenna to leave. 

After dinner, Liz grabs the driest sheet and tells the narrator she wants to go take a shower (“the last thing I want to do is get wet,” he jokes, “but the laster thing I want to do is not get laid”). Liz is smiling as they undress, though she cannot stop shivering. Her body is “deflated” from lack of food, but it still provides the narrator some warmth.

Suddenly, a stampede of deer runs up the hill—the deer could kill them, but fortunately, they don’t seem to notice the two naked humans. The narrator and Liz finish rinsing off (she even gargles to get the stringy rat out of her teeth), and they return to the house. Before they sleep together, the narrator convinces Liz that she needs to leave; once she agrees, he congratulates himself on helping these women be “saved.” During the sex, the narrator notices Liz close her eyes.

The next day, the narrator suggests a forage before everybody leaves. Liz comes along, walking fast and asking questions about the different plants. Halfway through the walk, Liz shoots the narrator in the leg, telling him to “stay away from us.” The sound of the gunshot starts another stampede, and the narrator blames himself (“this is what I get for lying”). He also wonders what it will take for Liz and Jenna to abandon each other, to finally become “survivors.”

After a while, the rain eases up, and the narrator is able to start walking again. As he goes, he imagines being discovered by a country woman, around his age and eager to help. She takes care of him, using the right medicines and dry towels. “This woman, she’s so glad to see me,” the narrator imagines. “She’s waited patiently through all these months of hunger and rain for me to crawl ashore.”