Mindy McGinnis - Not a Drop to Drink

Lynn looked down at her hands and didn’t answer. Stebbs continued. “The two important shots are the sentry and the hall guard. Once Eli sets the fire, they’ve got a choice; let their easy life go up in flames or risk our bullets. They’ll risk it, but her daddy’s a smart bastard. He’ll know what we’re up to and send people to find us while the others fight the fire.

“Lynn, you take three good shots and then I want you to move to a new position. Best case, he only sends one man up after you and you can pick him off as he comes, then concentrate on the town.”

“What about you?” Vera asked, her worried eyes searching his face. “How many shots will you take before you move?”

“Sweetheart, I’m too old and twisted to be moving. Once I’m set up, I’m there for the duration. Hell or high water.”

“Probably be hell,” Eli said. “We haven’t seen a lot of rain lately.”

Lynn found his hand under the table. Her gratefulness for his humor couldn’t be expressed in words.

“When do we go?” Eli asked.

Stebbs and Lynn exchanged glances, the lightness of the moment vanished. “Before the sun comes up,” he said. “Eat well, rest, clean your guns.”

Lynn squeezed Eli’s hand; she wouldn’t let go of him until she had to.

They left the stream house together, not making excuses for their departure. They walked silently hand in hand toward her home. Lucy had been sleeping as they finalized their plans, and Lynn had settled for placing her hand on the little forehead in farewell. Her skin was soft and cool to the touch. Lynn didn’t think she’d ever be able to touch the little girl again without fear of feeling fever burning underneath her skin.

“What did Vera tell her, about Neva?”

“The truth, to a point. She told her that her mother made a sacrifice in order to save her, because she valued Lucy’s life over her own.”

“That is the truth,” Lynn said, thinking of the last lingering glance Neva had given her, along with instructions to tell Lucy she loved her. “How is Lucy doing with it?”

“As well as can be expected. She asks questions that are hard to answer, and she’s quiet for long periods.”

Lynn snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

They went downstairs together. “I want to give you a handgun,” she said. “I’ve got a few. I won’t have you on the ground unarmed.”

“Stebbs has been letting me borrow his rifle to shoot, but I’ve never even touched a handgun, country girl.”

“We’ll practice now.”

He took her hand, guiding her over to the cot. “There’s better ways to spend our time. I’m not standing out in the cold and the dark shooting a gun when I could be warm in here with you.”

“You’ll regret it.”

He pulled her down next to him and she rested her head against his shoulder. “I’ll regret it more if these are our last hours and we spend it with a gun instead of each other.”

Lynn leaned into him. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Besides, Stebbs told us to rest.”

“Yeah,” she teased. “Rest.”

“I don’t want anything more than to hold you, Lynn.”

His arms encircled her and she felt the calm that always came with him welling up from a place she’d thought only Mother could touch. She turned her face into his chest so that he couldn’t see her tears as she cried quietly, knowing that Mother would have never risked her own skin for the sake of others. In a few hours, Lynn would climb a tree miles from her own pond to fire bullets she couldn’t spare so that Eli, Lucy, and countless strangers downstream could have a drop to drink. She inhaled Eli’s smell, buried her face deeper into his chest, holding on to him until the world would make her let go.

It was bitterly cold when they emerged in the dead of night to meet Stebbs. They huddled together for warmth, not even bothering to tease the older man when he came from the direction of the stream, rather than his own house. When he handed a backpack to Eli, the fumes of gasoline rolled off him in waves.

“Careful with that, that’s the last of the gasoline I had stored up in my basement,” Stebbs warned as Eli shouldered it. “Here’s a lighter. Didn’t want to take the chance of a breeze with matches.”

“How long’ve you had a lighter?” Lynn asked.

He shrugged. “Since forever.”

“Asshole.”

They headed south and walked in silence, except for the clinking of the bottles in Eli’s backpack. When they reached the ridge, Stebbs gave her a foot up into her tree and Lynn settled onto a thick bough. They moved off toward the east, where Stebbs had found a suitable place to take his own shots, nearer town. Eli would wait with him. Eli’s good-bye was quick and silent, the flash of a white hand through the darkness as he waved. Lynn unstrapped her rifle and tucked her handgun into the back of her waistband. A light snow began to fall as she waited for the sun to rise.

When it did, it came fast, the gray predawn haze burning off quickly as the sun peeked over the horizon. Lynn could see men moving inside the houses, their dark forms anonymous behind the curtains. The sentry had not come out yet. She shifted position and dried her palms on her jeans. The hall guard emerged, pissed in his yard, and made his way to his post. Roger led the cow out to pasture. Her father appeared on his porch, coffee in hand. Her gaze skittered off him, nervously.

They had agreed that though he was the leader, it was important to take the sentry and hall guard out first. Her father had won third place in that lottery. Lynn’s first shot was for the sentry, Stebbs’ the hall guard. After that they would fire at will, each picking their own target. Lynn had not argued, though she hoped it would be her bullet that downed her father.

She watched him through her scope, wondering what Mother would feel to know that the smoke from the south was caused by a fire from her past. Father was a conversation that never happened, a ghost that had never lived. Lynn had always believed he was dead, and perhaps Mother had as well. But he was alive and had never come for them. He’d abandoned them, and the only thing she’d ever give him would be delivered through the talents Mother had wanted her to master. There was comfort for her in the idea that the shot she’d fired too late for the coyote might be redeemed yet. His face in the crosshairs made her finger curl around the trigger, anxious for the only comfort Mother could offer from the grave.

Father spat out his first mouthful of coffee and crossed the road to where the hall guard sat, rifle across his knees. They exchanged words. Her father shook his head and walked over to the yellow house where the women were kept and pounded on the door until Blue Coat answered. He went inside, and the tower sentry emerged moments later, shrugging his coat over his shoulders.

Lynn tracked him to the tower, waiting for him to settle onto his perch before clicking the safety off her gun. She could only assume that Stebbs was watching as well, that Eli was prepared for her shot. She flattened her torso and inhaled, holding the breath.

She fired. From that distance the features of the sentry’s face were unclear, but the bullet’s exit was easy to see. A spray of blood rained down from the tower, followed quickly by his rifle, then his corpse. They reacted to the shot before his body hit the ground. Men erupted from the houses like bees from a disturbed hive; pale faces pressed against the windows in the upper floor of the yellow house.

Lynn spotted Eli speeding up the near bank of the stream as the hall guard rose from his chair, head cocked in a question. The guard shouldered his rifle, shouting at the other men as he crossed the parking lot for a good look at the tower. Her father ran, shouting directions, through the men. Lynn drew a bead on him just as Eli came into their view, the lit Molotov dangling from his hand. He threw it in a graceful arc, all eyes trailing it as it exploded in a river of fire onto the shingles.