Not a Drop to Drink

  “What?” Lynn crossed her arms over her chest, shivering in her soaked clothing.

  The little girl recoiled, clutching at the boy and wailing incoherently. He pushed her toward Lynn, leaving small muddy ditches in the wake of her feet.

  “Take her,” he repeated. “I can’t . . . I don’t know how.”

  Lynn backpedaled away from his reaching arms and their struggling burden. Her unsteady legs folded underneath her, and she landed in a clumsy tangle of limbs and wet clothing. The child was shoved into her lap and instantly kicked her in the jaw. Lynn went over sideways, clutching her face.

  The boy lifted the girl bodily in the air, shaking her with frustration. “You’ll die,” he screamed into her face. “You stay here with us and we’ll all die!”

  A slow, building groan filled the forest, a sound so odd that hackles rose on Lynn’s neck and she dove for her gun. The boy didn’t try to stop her. His arms went slack at the noise, and the little girl puddled to the ground at his feet.

  “Mama,” she wailed, fresh tears cutting paths in the grime of her face. “Mama.”

  “Everything’s okay,” the boy shouted toward the makeshift shelter, and Lynn’s grip on the rifle relaxed. “It’s all right,” he said again, voice quivering with the effort of yelling. “Lucy’s fine, she’s right here with me.”

  The noise subsided, replaced by the small whimpering of the child kneeling in the mud. “Mama,” she said again, peering anxiously at the tent.

  “Don’t,” the boy warned her. “You can’t go over there.”

  Lynn glanced at the little girl. “Is your mama sick?”

  She nodded vigorously in reply, but didn’t speak.

  “I put her in there,” the boy said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Is she yours?” Lynn asked, gesturing toward Lucy.

  “What? No! I’m only sixteen,” he said by way of explanation. “She’s like, seven years old.”

  “I’m five,” came the disgruntled retort.

  “Is she yours?” Lynn tried again. “Your responsibility?”

  “Oh. Well, I guess they both are, now,” he said, fatigue filling every syllable. The little girl scuttled to his feet and perched there, eyeing Lynn distrustfully.

  Lynn gingerly probed her head where the boy had hit her. A good-sized bump was forming there; it nearly filled the palm of her hand.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I thought you were one of them, coming back.”

  “You’ve been attacked before?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, just the once though. Not an attack really, they just walked into my camp and took our food.”

  Lynn’s jaded gaze swept what he referred to as his camp, and she saw him bristle even though she held her tongue.

  “There wasn’t anything I could do,” he said. “They said they wouldn’t hurt Lucy or Neva if I gave them our food.”

  “Neva?” Lynn asked, curiosity spiked by the unfamiliar name.

  “Mama,” came the answer, from the boy’s feet. The girl, grown bored with the conversation, was drawing in the mud. “Mama’s sick,” she repeated when Lynn looked down at her. “I can’t go in there, Eli said.”

  “Eli’s probably right,” Lynn answered. “Those men—when was this?”

  He shrugged. “Neva wasn’t in the tent yet, so maybe three weeks?”

  “What have you been eating since?”

  “Not much. I caught a fish with my hands one day. We found some berries, and Lucy’s been catching grasshoppers—” His voice broke on the last word, tears that she hadn’t expected began streaming down his face, but he was past the point of embarrassment. “I told her they were to cheer up her mom, but—”

  He lost control again, a sob that shook his emaciated shoulders racked his body and buckled his knees. His arms folded around the little girl protectively, but when he looked up at Lynn there was steel in his voice. “You’ve got to take her.”

  Lucy trudged along by her side, tripping when the long grasses snared her knees. She refused Lynn’s offers of help, stolidly asserting that anyone who had shot Cha-Cha didn’t need to hold her hand. As the girl had gone to bid her mother good-bye, Lynn had quickly spitted the dead animal and hidden it behind a tree, explaining the process to Eli as she did so. He’d turned even paler at the sight of the sharpened stick emerging from Cha-Cha’s throat, but didn’t argue against eating him.

  As they approached the house, Lynn hailed the roof with one arm. She didn’t want Stebbs to mistake her for someone else. There was an acknowledging movement from the house, then she saw his dark form clumsily descending the antenna. Lynn glanced down at the little girl plodding alongside her. Weak as she was, a grim determination made her keep pace.

  Lucy had argued, fought, pleaded, and eventually thrown rocks at Eli when he insisted that she was leaving the stream. He’d taken her aside and assured her that she could return once her mom was better, although the fleeting glance he’d shot at Lynn told her how long those odds were. Eli wasn’t trained to survive and had even less experience in tending the sick.

  The grasses shifted in the wind as Stebbs made his way toward them, rifle slung across his shoulder. Any surprise he felt at seeing Lucy was well masked. “Hi there, little one,” he said. He bent down on one knee to talk to her, even though the posture was difficult for him with his twisted leg. “How are we supposed to split you, I wonder?”

  Whatever animal magnetism the man had used on Lynn worked on Lucy as well. She ran forward and pitched herself into his arms, nuzzling her face against his old coat as if she’d known him forever. She pulled back, pointing a stiff finger at Lynn.

  “She’s a bad girl. She shot Cha-Cha.”

  Stebbs brow furrowed in confusion. “She shot who now?”

  “There wasn’t anything there for me to bring back,” Lynn said for the third time as the trio huddled close to the cookstove, eating their supper.

  “So you’ve said,” Stebbs said, shoving a forkful of beans in his mouth.

  “I just don’t want you to think, you know—”

  “That you stashed stuff in the woods and will get it later, when you don’t have to split it?”

  “Yeah, that exactly,” Lynn said into her plate, face blazing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  Stebbs nodded and turned his attention to Lucy, who was eating from two jars at the same time. “Cut her off. She wasn’t starving, but was close. She eats too much right away, it’ll kill her.”

  “I know,” Lynn said, stabbing a green bean with undue force.

  “So the others, at the stream? You said there was a boy and a woman?”

  “Yeah, Eli he said his name was, and the woman . . . I forget. Something weird.”

  “Neva,” the little girl piped up. “Mama’s name is Neva. It’s pretty, not weird.”

  Stebbs and Lynn shared a glance. After that, they ate in silence, the sound of their forks dinging against the sides of their jars the only sound in the basement. The fire in the little cookstove was crackling pleasantly, and Lucy began to nod off. Her head tipped to one side and came to rest on Stebbs’ shoulder.

  “She’s done in,” he said, gently taking her food and fork away. “Wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Lynn grunted, pretending to search for the last bits of bean stuck to the sides of her jar.

  “You done the right thing, bringing her back.”

  “What else was I going to do?”

  Stebbs’ face became serious as he looked down at the little head nestled against him. “There’s always options.”

  “The mother won’t be lasting long.”

  “What is it, do you think?”

  “Don’t know,” Lynn answered. “The boy wouldn’t let the little one here close to the tent. They both drank straight from the stream, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it was cholera. I never got a look at her, and I wasn’t interested.”

  “Mama’s sick,” Lucy mumbled. “Baby won’t come out.”

&nbs
p; Lynn and Stebbs exchanged glances. “Baby?” he asked. “Your mom is pregnant?”

  Lucy nodded sleepily. “Eli wouldn’t let me see her, he said the baby might come out, and it would be yucky.”

  “That’s one word for it,” Stebbs said, gently urging Lucy’s head off his shoulder. “Come on now, little one, time for bed.”

  “A real bed?” Lucy asked as Stebbs cradled her tiny frame in his arms. “With a pillow and everything?”

  “A pillow and everything,” he promised, and laid her down on Lynn’s cot. She burrowed under the blankets, curling her knees up to her chest. Lynn tried not to grimace at the sight of her filthy head resting on the clean pillowcase.

  “Think she’s got lice?”

  “Lice, and fleas too, I wouldn’t doubt,” Stebbs said, motioning to Lynn to follow him up the stairs. “You’ll want to boil those sheets in the morning. And get her a hot bath, first thing.”

  They emerged into the cold night, the stark brilliance of the stars shining down on them. The air was so cold, the stars so clear, that Lynn could make out the shapes of the last leaves clinging to the maple branches. Larger shapes hung among the limbs as well.

  “The venison?” she asked, jerking her chin toward them.

  Stebbs nodded. “Leave it there ’bout a month or so. I’ll come help when it’s time to get it down, take my share. Nothing much should bother it up there, a squirrel or two maybe. I understand you’re not too partial to those?”

  “I didn’t know it was her pet,” Lynn shot back.

  Stebbs sighed and looked up at the brilliance of the night sky. “Your mom taught you a lot, but she couldn’t’ve taught you what she didn’t know, like how to take a joke.”

  “I’ll laugh when something’s funny,” she retorted, sinking down to sit on the ground. “And right now, that’s not a lot. My provisions are back to feeding two.”

  “I’ll help, and I owe you for my supper tonight.”

  “No,” Lynn said. “Bringing her back was my decision, and our deal was to split whatever I got from the camp in return for you butchering my deer. You did your half, and all I brought back was more work.”

  “Maybe,” Stebbs answered. “But the deal was to split what you found. I’ll help with the girl.”

  There was silence between them for a moment while a strange feeling bloomed inside Lynn’s chest, something else Mother had never taught her. Gratitude.

  “Now,” Stebbs said. “What to do about the boy and the mother?”

  “I’ve got my share of work,” Lynn said. “And then some.”

  Stebbs lowered himself to sit beside her, an action both clumsy and endearing. “Maybe so, but if they get back on their feet, the girl won’t be your problem anymore.”

  Lynn shook her head. “They’re sunk. The boy was in worse shape than the little girl. I’m guessing he’s been giving most of the food to her and the woman.”

  “Who is eating for two,” Stebbs reminded her. “Like I said—sunk.”

  Another silence settled over them, this one permeated with the knowledge that an argument was about to begin.

  “I won’t leave them there to die,” Stebbs said. “You were happy enough to last week.”

  “It’s different now. That little girl has a family; we’re able to stop her from being orphaned. Wouldn’t you want someone to take a chance if it meant you could have your mother back?”

  A long pause followed. Lynn dug her fingers into the cold ground at her feet and watched Stebbs from the corner of her eye. He was absolutely still, but she could feel his steely blue gaze.

  “Those people wandered out here unprepared, they invited their own fate. The only person to blame for what happened to Mother is me.” She stood up, wiping the cold dirt from her hands. She offered him a palm. He took it, and she jerked him to his feet roughly, forcing all of his weight onto his bad leg. Stebbs grabbed at her for support and she dug her free hand into his upper arm.

  “We’ll help them,” she said. “But you don’t ever talk to me about Mother again unless I ask.”

  He nodded his agreement and she released his arm. He stumbled away from her, rubbing where her iron grip had been. “It’s the right thing to do. Just like bringing Lucy back here was.”

  “I’ll go with you tomorrow night, after she’s asleep,” Lynn continued as if Stebbs hadn’t spoken. “The boy knows me, at least. If you walk in there, he might hit you over the head with a rock. Wouldn’t want that.”

  “Tomorrow night,” Stebbs agreed, and melted into the darkness. “I think we’re in danger of becoming friends,” his voice echoed back.

  The girl was deeply asleep when Lynn returned to the basement, and she didn’t have the heart to wake her. Stebbs had unknowingly put Lucy in Lynn’s own bed, and so she laid down in Mother’s cot, surprised at the waft of scent that enveloped her as she slid under the blankets. Mother’s smell was there, the outline of her body still imprinted on the mattress. Lynn fit into it nicely, and watched over Lucy while she slept.

  Nine

  The girl slept through the morning, and Lynn took the opportunity to confirm the fact that she did have lice. And fleas. She heaved a long sigh as she rocked back on her heels, contemplating the work to be done. The girl could bathe in water straight from the pond. It would have to be warmed on the cookstove, then carried upstairs to the bathroom. She took one of Mother’s huge canning pots down from a hook in the ceiling. It would take a very hot fire and a lot of time to boil the amount of water necessary for cleaning the bedding.

  She made her first trip to the pond as a ribbon of pink was appearing on the horizon. A pistol was tucked into her belt, but Lynn was satisfied that nothing—and no one—was roaming in the grass. The onset of fall and lack of rain had dried everything to a crisp, making any movement a crackling announcement of your presence. The sight of the pond’s gravelly bank didn’t improve her mood. A fresh, new ribbon of shiny broken mussel shells and small rocks showed where the pond had recently receded. The white grip of her bucket handle loomed ever closer to the surface.

  Lynn toyed with the idea of leaning in to grab it, removing forever the implied threat at the sight of it. But without it she was lost. All ponds have a bottom; she could only hope that hers was still well beneath the surface. If Mother had known exactly how deep the pond was, she had never told Lynn. The bucket handle was the only frame of reference she had.

  Her boot stuck in the fresh mire near the pond’s edge as she struggled up the bank. It came free with a sucking sound and sent her reeling forward, dumping half a bucket of freezing water down her leg. “Son of a bitch!” She screamed the worst thing she’d ever heard Mother say, then kicked the bucket in anger, which only resulted in splashing her with more cold water.

  Miserable and wet, she filled two more buckets and struggled toward the house with them. The basement air was warm and welcoming after the biting cold of the fall morning. Lynn peeled her wet clothes off and hung them from the rafters, put on fresh clothes and filled the stove pot with cold water. More wood went into the stove, and she checked her indoor supply. Low. Nearly out. She’d have to haul more before the end of the day if she was going to get the girl clean, her sheets sanitized, and a large enough fire to keep them warm through the night.

  She considered waking the girl up and making her help, but the tiny little wrist hanging over the edge of her cot stopped her. It wasn’t much thicker than the kindling she used to start fires. If she asked her to haul wood, it might snap. Once she started throwing wood in through the window it would wake her. Lynn decided to give her a few more moments’ rest.

  It was cold enough for her to slide mittens on to shield her fingers from the frigid metal of the antenna as she climbed to the roof. There was nothing to the south. Lynn rested her binoculars on her chest. She hadn’t heard gunshots lately; the men were not hunting, though three weeks ago they’d been desperate enough to steal a few cans of food from a young girl and a pregnant woman.

  There was nothing
from the Streamers’ camp. They were the Streamers again, nicely impersonal. Lynn chose not to think of them as Eli and Neva. Especially with no smoke rising after such a cold night.

  She raised the binoculars again and searched for Stebbs, not finding him. If he was off gathering water at his mysterious source, she might be able to spot him on the return trip. Half an hour passed with no movement. Disappointed, she laid the binoculars on the shingles beside her. Twenty minutes later, a thread of worry had traced its way through her heart. Was he injured? Had she been too forceful with him last night when she threw him off balance? Had she hurt his leg?

  A flash of red caught her attention and she flipped the binoculars back up. Stebbs emerged from inside, yawning and stretching. He patted his midsection a few times before sitting down on a large stump near his door. Lynn checked the sun. It was nearly ten in the morning. “Lazy asshole,” she muttered.

  A rustling sound and the flight of several disturbed grasshoppers caught her attention and Lynn dropped the binoculars, snapping the rifle up to her shoulder. Below, Lucy burst out of a clump of grass, empty palms desperately smacking at the grasshoppers. A lump formed in Lynn’s throat.

  “Hey,” she yelled toward the ground. “You don’t have to do that anymore.”

  Lucy looked around, trying to find her.

  “Up here,” Lynn called. “I’m on the roof.”

  The little girl shaded her eyes and waved when she saw Lynn. “I don’t have to do what?”

  “Eat grasshoppers,” Lynn explained as she climbed down the antenna. “I’ve got real food here.”

  The girl made a face. “I wasn’t going to eat them. Who eats grasshoppers?”

  “Uh, nobody I guess,” Lynn fumbled, forgetting that the boy had never fessed up to Lucy about what he was feeding her.

  “I was catching them for you,” Lucy continued. “Eli always was saying that they made Mama happy, so I should catch as many as I could. I thought maybe they’d make you happy too.”

  “It would make me happy if you didn’t come busting out of the grass like that,” Lynn said. “Don’t surprise me when I’ve got a gun. I don’t want to—”