Not a Drop to Drink

by Mindy McGinnis

Lucy crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow imperiously at Lynn, the strongest echo of Neva she’d seen in the child yet.

  The whistling had stopped. Lynn glanced out the window and saw that the stranger was standing directly in front of the house, his gaze riveted on the freshly cut woodpile. “Looks like he knows we’re in here already,” she said. “You stay inside.” Lynn tapped her finger on the end of Lucy’s nose with every syllable for emphasis.

  The front door hadn’t been opened in years, and the hinges groaned as she pulled it inward, heart in her throat. The porch was covered with piles of rotting leaves, years of debris left to decay. Lynn stepped around them, her attention hooked on the stranger’s face. He had jumped at the sound of the door but now stood hunched against the chill, eyes wary and trained on her rifle.

  Her stomach clenched in apprehension before she spoke, every muscle in her body straining to stop her tongue from breaking Mother’s rules. “Where you headed?”

  He looked away from the gun and up to her face, then jerked his head to the west. “That way, I suppose,” he said.

  Lynn licked her lips to hide her irritation. “Why that way, is what I’m asking, and I think you know it.”

  A small smile played with the man’s lips and she noticed that though his face had fine lines on it like Stebbs, his hair was solid brown with no traces of gray. “I’m headed that way because it’s the opposite of the direction I come from,” he said. “And I’m in a hurry to get away from there.”

  Lynn checked her grip on the rifle and took a step closer. “Where are your shoes?”

  “They took ’em,” he said briefly, and Lynn saw his eyes dart over her shoulder, drawn to the window by some movement of Lucy’s. “You alone here, girl?”

  “No,” she said. “My father lives here with me.”

  “But he sends you out to investigate strange men?”

  “I’m the better shot.”

  The man’s eyes went to her hands on the gun, sure and confident. “I believe ya.” They watched each other warily for a moment and the wind gusted, making him jam his hands farther into his pockets and turn away from the breeze.

  “Who was it took your shoes? Another wanderer?”

  “I’m no wanderer; least, I wasn’t ’til a few days ago. I was set up nice, just like you.”

  Lynn’s eyes cut to the bloody gashes on his feet, the dirt packed in between his toes. “So what happened?”

  “It was all taken from me, in the night.” He looked back to the east as he spoke, as if the words could conjure those who had harmed him. “A truckload of men come up on me, took my gun, coat, shoes, anything in the house they thought they could use and some stuff there’s not been a need for since I don’t know when. They loaded it all up and left me smelling their exhaust.”

  “You couldn’t stay and make a go of it?”

  He shook his head and looked at the ground. “All’s I had left was the roof over my head, and there’s plenty of those still standing. Thought I’d find something else, maybe a house with some wood already cut and left behind, a few tin cans hanging around in the cupboards.”

  “Don’t be thinking because I asked your story I’m interested in being a part of it,” Lynn said coldly.

  The man put his hands in the air. “Didn’t mean nothing by it. You can see I’m in no shape to be taking anything from anybody.”

  “All right then,” Lynn said, backing away from him with her gun slightly raised. “I’m gonna walk back inside the house here, and I want you to sit tight—”

  “Stand tight, you mean?”

  She saw another flicker of a smile and she fought down the urge to smile back at her own mistake. “Whichever,” she said, no trace of her stifled humor showing in her voice. “I’ll be back shortly.” Lynn ducked inside the house and shoved the door closed. “Lucy,” she whispered, “run down to the basement and get my mother’s boots and coat.”

  “The ones by my cot?”

  “Yeah, go grab ’em. Hurry now, while I keep an eye on him.”

  Lucy scrambled off, evidently believing that Lynn’s good humor could evaporate at any moment. She returned slightly breathless and buried underneath the quilted dark blue coat that Mother had always worn, the boots dangling from one hand. Lynn took them from her without a word, ignoring the quick puff of air that still smelled of Mother. When she pulled the door open, the stranger was cowering against the chill, the veins in his arms flat blue lines. Lynn walked to the edge of the porch and tossed Mother’s boots and coat into the wind, the right boot pinwheeling over the left and landing at his feet. “My mother wasn’t a large woman, but you’re not that big of a guy. It might be a fit,” she said, her mouth clamped tightly against the emotions that welled in her throat, threatening to break through and send her running after the coat, an object that was so entwined with the thought of Mother she could hardly picture her without seeing it.

  The man bent down cautiously, watching Lynn as if waiting for some trick to be played. She remained still, gun pointed downward, and he grunted appreciatively when a pair of balled-up socks rolled out of one of the boots. The coat was snug through the shoulders, but the sleeves were the right length. He sat down to lace up the boots, and Lynn felt a pang of protectiveness shoot through her at the sight of an adult going through Lucy’s morning ritual, although his hands were numb from the cold and somewhat less sure than her nimble fingers.

  Lynn cleared her throat when he stood up experimentally. “They fit?”

  “They do, and I thank you,” he said, clear eyes connecting with hers and holding her gaze for the first time. “You probably saved my life.”

  “I owe a few.”

  He nodded once as if he understood and looked back to the east. “Whether you’re alone or not, you be careful now, girl, you hear? Those men took everything from me, and they’ll take that and a bit more from you, understand?”

  “I can take care of myself,” Lynn said. “You best be on your way now.”

  “Good luck to you then,” he said, and gave her a two-fingered wave and went west, his boots making a scuffing noise against the gravel as he adjusted to walking in shoes again.

  Lynn went inside and crouched by the window with Lucy, who wordlessly tucked herself into the curve of Lynn’s body. Lynn wrapped her arms around the little girl, allowed her warmth to flow up her arms and into her chest, where her heart still ached for the loss of Mother. Lucy tilted her head against the window to watch the stranger go, her breath making a fog against the cold glass, until they could see him no more.

  “Good luck, mister,” she said, her words filled with the hope of a child.

  Twelve

  A few days later, the grim specter of the traveler still haunted Lynn. If there were truly people hunting possessions down, her house would be a prime target. The stranger had faded from Lucy’s mind though, her quick, happy thoughts soon overwhelming any reminder of the despair of their world. Lynn’s long sojourns on the roof held no interest for the girl, and the games she’d been playing with Red Dog had lost their appeal.

  “Lyyyyyynnnn . . .” Her high-pitched voice carried up to the roof easily in the cool fall air. “I’m booooooorrrred.”

  Lynn pulled her eye away from the scope. “Read a book or something.”

  “I can’t read on my own, dummy. And all you have is big, stinky poetry books. No pictures.”

  “There’s a set of encyclopedias. They’ve got pictures,” Lynn argued, but was answered with what could only be categorized as a butt noise, followed by giggling.

  “Can I go see Stebbs?”

  “No, you’re not crossing the field alone.”

  “Then you come with me.”

  Lynn sighed and put the rifle down. Lucy had walked out into the yard far enough that she could see her from the roof. She looked down into the petulant face. “I’ve told you—I can’t leave the pond, especially with what that guy said the other day. There’s people out looking and taking.”

  Lynn heard
Lucy whacking at some of the dead weeds for a few minutes before heaving a deep sigh. “But I miss Stebbs,” she argued as if they’d never stopped talking. “We haven’t seem him in a looooong time.”

  Even though she was exaggerating, Lynn’s brow furrowed. She’d spent most of the last few days on the roof looking out for Lucy while she played, watching the smoke rise from the Streamers’ new home, on alert for threats from the south. She hadn’t been watching for Stebbs, but she hadn’t noticed movement in his direction either. Lynn scoured her memory to see if the familiar red flash of his handkerchief had become so commonplace that she’d ceased to notice it, or if she truly hadn’t seen it in days.

  She brought her eye back down to the scope, focusing on Stebbs’ small shelter tucked away in the woods. It was much easier to spot now that the leaves were off the trees, the undergrowth of the woods stripped bare by foraging animals. There was no smoke rising from his building. Lynn set down the rifle and grabbed the binoculars, feeling intrusive as she zeroed in on his house. The binoculars brought it into closer detail and movement grabbed her attention. His front door was banging open and shut in the wind. The wrongness of the image made her stomach drop. Stebbs was so far removed from the road she hadn’t thought to warn him about the stranger’s news of men in trucks.

  “Lucy, do you have your good boots on?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lynn strapped the rifle across her back. “We’re going for a walk.”

  The field was difficult to navigate; the frozen clumps of dirt kept tripping Lucy up, and the bleached white skeletons of the coyotes fascinated her. Her endless curiosity brought the expected flow of questions, but Lynn remained silent about the piles of bones. She kept one hand on Lucy, the other resting on the butt of the handgun stuffed in her waistband. She didn’t like being away from the pond, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that Stebbs would never have left his front door open in the winter. Something was wrong, and her newly found conscience wouldn’t let her ignore it.

  “All right,” she said to Lucy once they were on the edge of the woods. “I want you to stay here until I say you can come in.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know what happened. There could be bad people in there, or . . . or something you shouldn’t see.”

  Fear made the little hand clench hers tighter. “Bad people like the ones that took that guy’s shoes?”

  “Just like those.”

  “Don’t leave me here alone.”

  Lynn wrenched her hand away from the girl’s, ignoring the stab of guilt when her lower lip trembled. “You’re safer here. Sit tight. You’ll be able to see me the whole time, and I’ll be able to see you. Once I know it’s safe, you can come on in.”

  “Okay,” Lucy said doubtfully, but she sat on the ground.

  Lynn approached Stebbs’ shelter warily. She’d never been in his woods. The only houses she’d ever walked into were ones she already knew were empty. Stebbs’ shelter was a converted shed that had still been standing when the ancient brick house that accompanied it had crumbled. Lynn skirted the pile of crumbled bricks as she approached the shed, gun in hand.

  She stuck her foot out to stop the door from banging against the side of the building and peered around the door frame. There was no one inside. A small stove rested in the corner, cold and empty. There was a window facing east with a small shelf above it that held one plate, one fork, one spoon, and one cup. That was all. The only luxury Stebbs had was a real bed pressed up against the west wall. It was small, but with a true mattress. Lined up beside the door were three pairs of boots, the right heel worn much lower than the left on all of them. His coat hung limply from a nail by the door.

  But Stebbs was not there.

  Lynn stuck her head out the door and called for Lucy, who came crashing through the undergrowth. “Where’s he at? Where’s the magic man?”

  Lynn sat on the bed, relishing the comfort of the mattress even though her mind was enveloped in worry. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Maybe he went to see my momma and Eli.”

  “Maybe,” Lynn said, only to comfort the girl. Dead leaves were skittering around the floor of the shed in the breeze. The door had been open for a few days at least.

  Lucy stood on tiptoe to glance onto the shelf above the window. “So where’s his food? Where’s his water?”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’ve got all our food and water right where we can get it. Where’s his?”

  Lynn jumped to her feet and kissed the little girl on the head. “Thanks,” she said. “You’re a genius.”

  Lucy’s nose scrunched up. “Huh?”

  Lynn swept back the braided rug beside the bed to find a carefully cut trapdoor that opened on well-oiled, silent hinges. A weak voice rose up from the dark depths below.

  “I’m flattered you came to check on me.”

  The ladder that led down into Stebbs’ underground storage space had broken under his weight when he’d gone to retrieve his supper two days before. His ankle had twisted underneath him badly enough that he couldn’t walk, but he’d been in no real danger. The walls of the little bunker held canned food, vegetables, even a camp toilet. His plan had been to wait until his good ankle supported him well enough to pull himself up through the trapdoor, but Lynn and Lucy were a welcome rescue party. He handed pieces of the broken ladder up to Lynn, who tossed them aside.

  “I’ve got plenty of ladders back in the pole barn,” she called into the darkness of the hole. “I’ll go back and get one. We can get you out easy. How long of one do you need?”

  Stebbs flicked on the flashlight he’d been carrying with him when he’d fallen. The light swept up the earthen wall so that Lynn could see for herself.

  “I’d say what, ten feet?” she called down.

  “Should do it,” came the agreement.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine, it was just a fall.”

  “I’ll be right back with the ladder,” she called to reassure him. Lucy tugged on her sleeve.

  “Can I stay here?”

  Lynn looked at her for a second, considering. Lucy’s little nose was red from the frigid air that had bitten at their skin as they crossed the field, her lips chapped.

  “Yeah sure, I guess.” Her eyes swept to the cold stove. “Go out into the woods and get kindling, just like at home, okay? When I get back we’ll get a fire started so that it’s warm for Stebbs once we get him up. Don’t go far while you’re looking, though, and don’t do anything stupid like sing.”

  Lucy took her instructions seriously; Lynn could hear the little girl moving through the dead brush as she walked away, but just barely. She stifled a flash of pride. “It’s not like she’s yours or anything,” she reminded herself out loud as she crossed the field toward home.

  Lynn chose one of her shorter wooden ladders and headed back over the field with it across her shoulders, both arms draped through the rungs. She felt awkward and vulnerable. If there was a threat, animal or otherwise, she’d never be able to disentangle her arms from it in time to defend herself. She cast a glance back toward her house and the pond as she crossed the field. Already they’d been away longer than she was comfortable with.

  She called out to Lucy when she approached the house, and the door was opened for her. They slid the ladder down into the hole and Stebbs flicked the light on so they could see as they descended. Lucy insisted on coming down with Lynn, exhilarated at the thought of exploring Stebbs’ hiding place. Stebbs was sitting on the earthen floor, one leg folded under him, the other stretched out straight, with the foot propped on top of a bucket.

  “That looks comfortable,” Lynn said, brushing dirt from her front.

  He grimaced. “It’s not the best, but it keeps the swelling down.”

  “Pretty nice setup you’ve got here,” she said as her gaze swept the room. She could only see within the range of his flashlight, but even in that small area, there was enough c
anned food to last two winters. She heard a scurrying in one of the dark corners.

  “Lucy? That you?”

  “Check this out,” the little voice answered, followed by a metallic click, the sound of rushing water and a yelp.

  “Lucy! Stop!”

  Stebbs shushed her with a hand. “It’s okay,” he said. “Push that handle back down, Lucy.”

  Lynn heard the metallic noise again and the sound of running water stopped. Stebbs’ light jumped to the corner where Lucy stood next to a spigot, looking sheepish. Lynn grabbed the light from Stebbs and walked over to it, cupping her hand under the mouth to catch a few drips that fell from it. She raised it to her lips. Fresh water. Cold and clear.

  “How the hell did you get lucky enough to find a well?”

  Stebbs was quiet for a moment, and Lynn switched the light back in his direction. “I witched it,” he finally said.

  “Bullshit.” Lynn’s voice came out strong, but the beam of the flashlight shook.

  “What’s ‘witched’ mean?” Lucy asked. “Like he really is a magic man?”

  Lynn and Stebbs regarded each other quietly before she answered the little girl. “He might as well be.”

  They got Stebbs up the ladder and into his bed, with his foot propped under his balled-up coat. Lucy was thirsty, so he gave her the flashlight and his cup off the shelf, and showed her how to close the trapdoor from the inside, as well as how to pull the rug back over it using a string he’d tied to one end that dangled down into the underground room. They could hear her banging around happily underneath them while they looked at each other.

  “I always wondered where you got your water,” Lynn said eventually. “I never saw you gathering any.”

  “No need to,” he answered. “It’s always right there, fresh and for the taking.”

  “How deep is it?”

  “I only dug down fifteen feet or so before hitting it. I reinforced the sides before dropping the pipeline but, really, there was no work to it.”

  “It ever run dry?”

  Stebbs shook his head. “Not once. You know how these veins are though, persnickety as hell. With only one man drawing off it, I do okay. But these same little sources feed places like the creek. You and I both know exactly how dependable that is.”