They beat a path to the trees following the meandering route of the little stream, whose water was cold, clear, and unclaimed. The three of them sat in silence on the pebbly bank, Lucy soaking her aching feet.
“Might want to drink upstream from my feet,” Lucy advised, when Joss cupped a handful of water. She pinched her nose to illustrate her point. “Just saying.”
Joss smiled and moved upstream. Lynn ignored her as she passed, her eyes once again devouring the map spread across her knees. Lucy wiggled a rock with her toe, and a crawdad shot out from underneath, and then out of sight. The stream curved to the south, where she could see a flash of red clinging precariously to the rocky east bank.
“Wild strawberries, Lynn,” Lucy said, her mouth watering around the word itself. “Can I go get them?”
Lynn glanced behind her, to where Joss was lying on her back in the shade, arms crossed behind her head, apparently sleeping. “Take this,” she said, pulling the handgun from her belt. “And keep your head on.”
“Always,” Lucy said.
The pressure of Joss’ constant shadow lifted as she put space between them. Lucy felt almost cheerful as she climbed the bank and dropped her pack off to the side, in the tall grass. She tied the corners of her handkerchief together, but the little pouch it made wouldn’t hold even a third of the berries.
“Guess I’ll have to eat some,” Lucy said, resigned to her fate. She sat in the tall grass and plucked berries one by one, popping them into her mouth and enjoying the warm gush of juice between her teeth.
Lucy didn’t hear the footsteps behind her, but the distinct sound of her pack being unzipped sent her whirling around to see Joss bent over it, forked ash stick in her hand.
Joss looked at her, eyes wide. “You’re a dowser.”
“Nope,” Lucy said, crunching down on a berry and trying to appear casual despite the fear that bloomed in her belly. “I just really like that stick.”
“Don’t be smart with me,” Joss said, eyes roving up and down the stick. “Teach me how.”
“It’s not something that can be taught,” Lucy said, not moving to get up. “The man who explained it to me, Stebbs, he was around before the Shortage. He used to tell people where to dig their well in exchange for a case of beer.”
“And how’d he explain it?”
“He says it’s not so much about the stick as the person holding it. When the water’s moving underground it makes energy, and if you’re the kind of person that can feel that, the stick responds to it.”
Despite her words, Joss was still holding the forked ash as if she could wield it herself. “I don’t get it,” she said.
Lucy shrugged. There was no way to explain the feeling when she came across a vein of water. If it was near the surface, she sometimes didn’t even need her stick to feel the energy coursing through her body, her teeth ringing. “I guess it’s not for you to get then. Why you going through my stuff, anyway?”
“I was going to fill your bottles for you.”
“Funny you tossed them over there then, and kept digging in my stuff,” Lucy said, pointing to the empties lying in the grass.
Joss ignored her, still transfixed on the witching stick. “No wonder she keeps you so close,” she said.
Lucy felt her jaw tighten. “Lynn keeps me close ’cause she loves me.”
Joss glanced up at her, through the fork of the ash. “You keep telling yourself that, honey.”
Lucy snatched her stick from Joss’ hands and gathered her pack. She walked hastily back to camp with the older woman’s footsteps close behind. Clouds had slipped over the sky, bringing a scent of rain with them. Lynn had set up camp in a copse of maples that had seeded themselves so closely that their trunks had each woven into another, twisting their bodies together as they reached for the sun. The branches hung low, providing decent cover, and the locked trunks broke the wind that blew the misting rain.
Lucy’s instincts screamed for her to tell Lynn that Joss knew she could dowse, but the other woman stayed by her side as they settled in together, all three of them huddled closely for warmth against the cold. Lucy tried to relax as the night wore on, her body drawing heat from both Lynn and Joss on either side of her. She bit her tongue in frustration against the weight of another decision to be made that couldn’t be taken lightly.
Because once she told Lynn, Joss was dead.
Eleven
The bodies swayed in the breeze, the tattered remnants of their clothes slapping against their skin. Their faces weren’t covered, and Lucy couldn’t look away from the nooses. The heavy hanks of rope were buried so deeply in their necks that swollen skin enveloped them.
“Jesus.” Joss had a handkerchief up to her nose, eyes watering.
“They do something wrong, you think?” Lucy asked.
“Doubt it,” Lynn said, eyes running over the three for clues. “Whoever did for them took their shoes. Must’ve wanted them pretty bad.”
“They didn’t have shoes.” Joss’ voice was muffled.