Mindy McGinnis - In a Handful of Dust

Lucy was surprised when Lynn said they would stay by the lake for another day.

“What’s gotten into you? I thought we were hell-bent on California.”

“We are,” Lynn said. “But I’m curious about those other fires, and what the situation is here.”

“You think we could stay here, don’t you? We might not go all the way west?” Oddly, she didn’t feel the elation she’d expected. The promise of California had seeped its way into her soul without her being aware of it, and the chance to live a different version of the same life—only with a bigger water source—didn’t hold the allure she had expected.

“All I think is, this is a large body of water, there’s plenty of wood, lots of game.”

“So why don’t you look happy?”

Lynn rolled up her blanket and jammed it in her pack before answering. “’Cause if things are so great here, how come nobody’s guarding it?”

“It’s too big to patrol? Or maybe the water is sick?”

“Both are possible. We’re going to walk the perimeter, then go down to the bank. I’m going to take a drink.”

“That’s a crappy plan, Lynn.”

“I’m drinking,” Lynn said, with finality. “Then we’ll sit for the day and see what happens.”

Lucy rolled up her blanket, glancing around for any sign of Carter as she did, but there was nothing. She followed Lynn as they picked a path around the perimeter of the lake, her heart sinking.

She had no way of knowing if he was getting the food she’d left out, or if he was still following her. If he was, not leaving any out could kill him. If he wasn’t, leaving food behind weakened her and made the road to California longer than it already was. Somehow the ocean had begun to pull on her, as real as the tide itself. Lucy wanted this phantom life that her dead uncle had spoken of, this vague promise that was California. But her past pulled on her conscience, as strong as Carter’s body was weak. It only made sense for her to keep her stores for herself, strike west and not look back. But her heart wasn’t worried about making sense when it skipped a beat at the thought of him searching for food she hadn’t set out.

Lynn held back a branch and waited a tick for Lucy to pass, but Lucy wasn’t paying attention, and it snapped back in her face, knocking her to the ground.

Lynn turned at the sound. “What’re you doing?”

“Sorry,” Lucy said, embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

“Might want to start.”

Lynn gave Lucy a hand and pulled her to her feet, and they broke through the trees together to the edge of the lake. Lucy’s breath caught in her chest at the sight. She could see the other bank but had to squint to make out details across the expanse of water, alive with ripples from fish teeming under the surface.

Lynn was fixated as well, so Lucy dropped to her knees and scooped a handful of water into her mouth before Lynn could stop her.

“I win,” Lucy said, through a mouthful of water.

“Not if you get sick, you don’t.” Lynn regarded her coolly. “How’s it taste?”

“Wet,” Lucy answered, her tongue curling around the answer as she sucked up stray drops that ran from the side of her mouth. It was cooler than the water from their pond at home and left an aftertaste of wildness. Lucy watched as fish reappeared at the bank after having darted into the shadows at their approach.

“They don’t seem bothered by it,” she said. “The water can’t be all that bad.”

“Maybe not.” Lynn watched her critically. She put a hand to her eyes to block the sun and regarded the far shore. “It’ll be a trek, but I say we walk the whole perimeter, see if anyone has tried to set up permanent.”

Lucy scooped another mouthful of lake water, fascinated by the taste. “You don’t think we’ll find anybody, do you?”

“Doubt it,” Lynn said brusquely. “It’s too perfect, too nice here for someone not to have set up already. Assuming you don’t get sick from the water, I’d guess there’s someone watching, somewhere, making sure nobody gets too comfortable.”

They started off around the lake, retreating back into the cover of the woods to higher ground, where any permanent residents would have built their homes. Lynn kept a wary eye on Lucy, but she felt fine. The water sloshed pleasantly in her stomach, and she kept glancing through the trees at the glittering face of the lake, knowing something so valuable would not go unprotected in their world.

They found no one. The fires from the night before had been extinguished and stamped out, the burnt edges of the scattered sticks standing out in stark contrast to the green of the forest floor. Both camps looked as if they’d left in a hurry.

“They get tossed out, you think?” Lucy asked, when they stopped to rest opposite from the shore they started from.

“Looks that way. Their fires were kicked around. I’m guessing they outstayed their welcome. But there’s no signs of a struggle. They were told to leave, not made to.”

“So what do you wanna do?”

Lynn was quiet for a minute as she watched some fish break the surface of the lake, hungry mouths grabbing for bugs. “I want to catch some fish, cook them over a fire, have a hot meal tonight. And then we’ll move on.”

“Fish sounds good,” Lucy said.

“Slide on down to the bank with me then. We’ll see what we can do.”

They’d caught fish with their bare hands before. It was a skill that required stillness, something both of them had mastered with the rifle long before they’d applied it to fishing. Within an hour they were both wet to their shoulders and their bellies were coated with mud from lying on the bank, but there was a pile of fish between them.

Lucy lost track of herself while they fished side by side, their shoulders touching when one of them made a lunge for a fish. Her mind wandered away from Carter, the waste of Entargo, even the sick they had left behind them at home. The sun settled on the horizon, and Lynn pushed back onto her heels and wiped scales from her hands, pulling Lucy back to reality. She looked at the wriggling pile between them.

“We shouldn’t have caught so many,” she said. “We can’t eat them all tonight.”

“No,” Lynn agreed. “But we can cook some and take the rest with us tomorrow. I’m not getting routed without taking something with me.”

They made their first fire of the trip that night. Lucy wandered away from their camp searching for more sticks, with the sound of Lynn’s flint smacking together echoing off the trees. Her eyes darted in between the trunks, searching for the flash of skin, the bright blue of Carter’s eyes. But there was nothing.

Lynn was quiet as well, intent on cleaning her rifle. The fire flickered off the barrel, and Lucy allowed it to mesmerize her, finding solace in watching Lynn’s familiar routine.

“Do you miss home?”

Lynn’s hands didn’t stop moving; her eyes didn’t move from her gun. “Got too much to think about to miss anything,” she said. “I’ll miss it later, when I’ve got the time.”

“I wish I could be more like you,” Lucy said. “Not let stuff get to me so much.”

Lynn snapped the barrel of her gun back together and looked at Lucy over the fire. “Don’t ever wish to be like me, little one. It’s not who you are. And it ain’t easy.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You being like me would be like the sun wishing it was the moon. That’s not good for anybody.”

Lucy looked away from Lynn, guilt flooding her even though she knew Lynn was right. Lucy had never had to kill, because Lynn kept her safe. She’d often wondered how much of the hardness around Lynn’s heart was from her uncle Eli’s death, and how much of it from self-inflicted scars. Lynn would do anything for her, leave behind the home she’d killed for in order to give Lucy a better type of life.