“It really matter? Either way, you can rest a spell.”
“If that’s your answer, I believe I’ll stay out of your reach for now and keep my gun out, if it’s all the same to you.”
One of his eyes opened to a slit and he regarded her warily for a moment. His answer came in a shrug from his uninjured shoulder. “You do as you please, girl.” He licked his lips, and she saw the sheen of blood coating his tongue.
“My bullet still in you?”
“Went down through a lung, I’d say. Maybe little Emma over the street could patch it up, if you’re inclined to let her.”
Lynn didn’t answer. He cleared his throat. “S’pose you’re wondering why I left?”
“What I’m curious about is why you came back.”
“Don’t it make sense for a father to return to his only child?”
Lynn’s mouth twitched, she flexed her finger on the trigger. “Maybe. But you didn’t.”
“I’m here, ain’t I?”
“I think you came back to where there’s water. Somewhere you could control the flow and knew the country.”
A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “It is a good place, isn’t it?”
“It’s our place.”
“Who’s that? You and your mother? What all she tell you about me?”
“Nothing too nice.”
He grunted and spat a wad of blood-tinged phlegm on the floor. “She tell you I bought you that puppy, when you was still in her belly, so’s the two of you would have some protection? She tell you that? Full-blooded German shepherd he was, woulda been brown with black ears. I trained him up to keep you safe, gave him to your momma before I left.”
“Yeah.” Lynn shifted her gun with his movements, her sweaty palm sliding along the stock of gun. “We had to put him down, ’cause of the rabies. Living thing goes mean like that, nothing for it but a bullet.”
Both his eyes opened and he watched her carefully before speaking again, gaze trained on her unwavering gun.
“I came myself, you should know, once or twice. The boys thought your momma was gone, but I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t want to wander too close and find myself in her crosshairs, with no love for me in her heart. Couple nights I stood out by the pond, wondering whether you were inside, hurting or grieving, whether you’d take any comfort from my hand if I came to you.”
“That it?” Lynn asked, her eyes cool behind the barrel. “That’s what you were thinking out there by my pond? Or were you waiting to smell me rotting before you came any closer?”
He ignored her question. “I kept the boys from you too. Roger woulda liked to done more than fire a warning shot at you over that downed tree.”
“Roger’s got bigger worries now.”
“You kill him?”
“Partway.”
His eyes slid shut again, and he stifled a laugh that brought a froth of blood to his lips. “Damn, you’re a cold bitch. Nothin’ but contempt for your own flesh and blood, but you’ll overnight a cripple and snot-nosed kid in the house I made safe for you.”
“It’s mine. Make no mistake.”
“Nothing’s nobody’s out here, little girl. Those that can, take. And there ain’t no justice or higher power to appeal to.”
“’Til now,” she said softly.
His eyes opened, what blood there was left in his body burning in their heat. His lips twisted when he spoke next, the words slurred with angry memories. “And your momma, she set up a lemonade stand after I left, huh? That what she did? Offer comfort and a drink to every poor soul that wandered your way?”
“No, but we never did any taking either, or hurting for the fun of it.”
One eyebrow twitched in response, but he had nothing to say to that. He rested his eyes for a moment. Fresh blood seeped out between his fingers, dripping from his elbow to the floor, where a small pool had begun to form between his feet.
“You’ve done some low deeds, Father.”
“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’s. 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 him, 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 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.
Epilogue
Lynn climbed the antenna 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 at Stebbs’ old place, across the field.”
“I sa
w 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, sung 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.”
Acknowledgments
This book is my debut baby and it took a village to raise it.
I used to roll my eyes when writers thanked their editor for helping make the book stronger. I thought they were probably still boiling inside about the comma on page 246 they were told to delete. Now I get it. A huge thanks to Sarah Shumway for making Not a Drop to Drink a better book. I’m over the comma.
And of course who doesn’t thank their agent? If I hugged people, I’d hug Adriann Ranta of Wolf Literary. Thanks for taking a chance on me!
I had two crit partners who were with me on this one for the long haul, RC Lewis and Caroline Poissoniez. The former helped comb out the comma splices and the latter told me I’d better give Lynn a little more emotional accessibility before the bullets flew. I also need to point out that it’s a lovely thing to discover that you get along with your online friend in real life as well. RC Lewis’s couch is comfy, and we even like the same food. She was willing to fetch and re-fetch me from the airport . . . good thing I have a keeper.
No author is an island, except in their heads. I couldn’t have found the shore without the support of debut author groups like Book Pregnant, the Lucky 13s, the Class of 2k13, and most especially Friday the Thirteeners. Members of online groups know that sometimes your inbox can get clogged, but I read every email in every thread from that last group of ladies. When you’re dealing with the Thirteeners, you don’t want to miss a word.
I must acknowledge the entire community of writers at Agent-Query Connect. There could not be a more positive learning environment for writers, and I credit it with my success. I especially need to thank my fellow moderators there, who donate time out of every day to help others and support one another. Specifically, huge MG & YA love to moderators RC Lewis, MarcyKate Connolly, and Cat Woods. I have friends in real life, too. Amanda, Mel, Erin, Debbie, and your respective men—I miss college and I want it back.
Lastly, I kind of lied two paragraphs above. Authors really can be little islands occasionally. Thanks to my family for understanding that sometimes they have to get in the rowboat to come get me if they need me. Patience is a virtue. I’m glad you have it, but it’s not genetic.
About the Author
MINDY McGINNIS is an assistant YA librarian who lives in Ohio and cans her own food. She graduated from Otterbein University magna cum laude with a BA in English literature and religion. Mindy has a pond in her backyard but has never shot anyone. You can visit her online at www.mindymcginnis.com.
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Credits
Cover art © 2013 by Randy Olson/Getty Images and Yolande De Kort/Trevillion Images and Shutterstock
Cover design by Erin Fitzsimmons
Copyright
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
Not a Drop to Drink
Copyright © 2013 by Mindy McGinnis
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McGinnis, Mindy.
Not a drop to drink / Mindy McGinnis. — First edition.
pages cm
Summary: “Sixteen-year-old Lynn will do anything to protect her valuable water source, but the arrival of new neighbors forces her to reconsider her attitudes”— Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-0-06-219850-1 (hardcover bdg.)
[1. Water supply—Fiction. 2. Survival—Fiction. 3. Self-reliance—Fiction. 4. Mothers and daughters—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M4784747Not 2013
2012051737
[Fic]—dc23
CIP
AC
* * *
EPUB Edition JULY 2013 ISBN 9780062198525
13 14 15 16 17 LP/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
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