Not a Drop to Drink (28 page)

Authors: Mindy McGinnis

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Survival Stories, #Lifestyles, #Country Life, #Love & Romance

BOOK: Not a Drop to Drink

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“All’s fair in love and war, my girl. What I had with your mother amounted to about the same thing. Guess it’s down to you and me now, so which is it gonna be?”

“You hoarded water when people were dying of thirst, stole things you didn’t need when you were surrounded by want.”

A slow laugh rumbled through his chest and he opened his eyes to stare her down across the table. “I don’t know that your momma would approve of your soft ways.”

“Maybe not,” Lynn admitted, “but she’d like this next part just fine.”

She shot him neatly in the forehead, leaving behind a black hole that was still smoking when she shut the door behind her.

The frozen ground at the little cemetery beside the stream was stubborn, but Lynn had adrenaline on her side as she hacked out a grave beside Neva. She worked relentlessly, ignoring the steady climb and descent of the sun, focused only on the task at hand. Blisters formed and burst on her hands, pus, followed by blood, flowed down her fingers. She ignored the pain, intent on her digging.

Stebbs had wrapped Eli in a blanket while she was inside with her father, sparing her the sight of his cracked, blackened skin. She lifted the body from the bed of the truck, disgusted by how light it was. She laid him tenderly into the hole in the ground and returned to work, throwing shovelfuls of frozen dirt on top of his body, though she could not get the charred smell out of her nostrils long after he was covered. She toppled the stones she’d stolen from the dam site out of the truck and rolled them over the grave, resting her hand lightly on the last one.

“I’m sorry to be doing this last one alone,” she said. “I’m sorry it’s yours.”

Lynn collapsed onto Neva’s log, staring at the little cemetery while the billowing smoke rose to the south, the ashes of material things and men mixing with a light powdering of snow that dusted her shoulders as she wept.

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Epilogue

L
ynn climbed the antennae to the roof and stepped over Lucy’s long legs to stand beside her as she surveyed the horizon to the east. “What do you see?”

“Not much going on tonight,” Lucy answered. “Looks like Brad’s cow got out again.”

“Emma’ll give him hell.”

“And he’ll love it,” Lucy added, smiling. She set the binoculars beside her on the shingles. “The new family that came in over to the south—what’s their name?”

“Robinson.”

“Yeah. The Robinsons got a fire going, so the chimney must not’ve been blocked in that old house she picked.”

Lynn picked up the binoculars and looked at the thin column of smoke. “They’re burning dry wood at least. Didn’t figure him for an idiot, being’s as he kept them alive wandering in the winter.”

Lucy shivered against the chill that permeated the air, even though crocuses had begun blooming on the west bank of the stream, over her mother’s grave. “Not sure how he managed, with three children and all.”

“From what we’re hearing, things are bad in the city,” Lynn answered, her mouth tightening. “Man takes it on himself to wander into the wilderness with his family, tells me it’s true.”

“Cholera?”

“Your grandma says it seems so, by the sounds of it. That girl Audra that wandered in last fall? She had stories to tell Vera that made her hair curl.”

“Her hair’s already curly.”

Lynn glanced sideways at the younger girl. “Aren’t you the smart one this evening?”

Lucy picked up her rifle and glanced down the sight, smothering the little smile that played over her lips. “Stebbs said the Robinson house had a good vein of water running under it too.”

“That’s good, he can drop a line soon as true spring comes.”

Lucy’s mouth twitched as she peered into the scope of her rifle. “Bet I could find a better vein.”

“I bet you could keep your mouth shut about that,” Lynn said. “Anything else?”

“Grandma said there’s a new man over to Stebbs’ old place, across the field.”

“I saw him.”

“Did you now?”

Lynn ignored Lucy’s raised eyebrow. “I imagine we’ll walk over there and introduce ourselves soon enough.”

“Sure could use a hand getting that piano out of the attic,” Lucy continued. “That’s the last thing to come down. The Bennet lady said she’d teach me, if I wanted to learn.”

“That’s a fine idea, but I’m not going to go inviting a strange man into the house for the sake of hearing you bang on a piano night and day.”

Lucy pulled herself into a sitting position, resting the rifle across her lap. They’d begun living in the upper floors of the house years ago, but Lynn only allowed Stebbs and Vera inside.

“I s’pose we could get it down ourselves,” Lucy conceded. “If we’re careful.”

“And I suppose I could let the Bennet woman come on over, if we can get it down without smashing it to pieces,” Lynn said, eyes still on the horizon. “It would be nice to hear music again.”

Lucy nodded but didn’t speak. The newfound safety of community had left Lynn with something she’d never known before: spare time. A few years earlier, Lucy had followed the ghostly notes of misplayed music up to the attic and found Lynn in front of the piano, awkwardly picking out a song that Mother had attempted to teach her on a rainy afternoon in the distant past.

The next tune Lynn had tried had brought tears to Lucy’s eyes as she recognized a song from her childhood, played by her uncle in the dying firelight of the camp as he tried to distract Lucy and Neva from the hunger pains in their bellies. Lynn’s fingers hesitated across the keys, and the notes had come out haltingly, played from a memory punctuated by more gunshots than melody.

Lucy cleared her throat. “I’m on watch for the first time tonight. East side.”

“Stebbs didn’t post you alone, surely? Isn’t Maddy or one of the other Johnson girls going to be there with you?”

“I imagine Carter will join me after a bit.”

“I imagine he will,” Lynn said. “You mind yourself.”

Lucy let go of the rifle long enough to cross her heart and wink. “Promise.”

There was movement in the yard, and Lynn squinted into the dying sun. Lucy peered through her scope. A massive coyote, old and frail, picked his way down the bank to the pond, placing his mud-caked paws carefully with every step.

Lucy aimed the rifle. “What’s the call?”

Lynn watched as he reached the pond, his long tongue hungrily lapping at the life-giving water. “Leave him be,” she said. “He’s just trying to survive. Same as us all.”

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