“That’s what I’m doing.”
“You’re not exactly in bad shape, kiddo. Those poor bastards your mom blew away over the years? They was just trying to get a drink, to get by one more day. Shit, one time the widow of this fella came back to my place, out of her head ’cause she saw one of your mom’s bullets peel off part of her husband’s skull. Died the next day, she did, and I’m not so sure it wasn’t the shock that killed her.”
Lynn fiddled with the strap on the bag he’d handed her. “When was this?”
“Seven years or so back.”
“That wasn’t necessarily Mother that shot him. That might have been me.”
“Jesus.” Stebbs put his head in his hands and left it there. “You woulda been just a kid.”
Lynn glanced over to where Lucy was playing the flute, happily plugging different holes to change the notes. “Killing people was easier when the only face I ever saw was Mother’s. Back then, anyone else was the enemy and shooting at an outline in a scope wasn’t any different than taking down a deer, just in a different shape.”
“And now?”
“Now I’ve seen other faces,” Lynn said, thinking of the traveler on the road, who Lucy had begged her not to shoot. “And I can’t help but wonder what the people I shot looked like.”
Stebbs patted her knee. “We’ll leave it there.”
“There was a man on the road the other day,” Lynn said. “I meant to tell you when we came to your place, but what with you falling and . . .” She trailed off, unable to say “water witch” even in the privacy of her basement. “. . . uh, all the excitement, I forgot to tell you.”
“This man, did he pass by?” Stebbs watched her carefully.
“He did, and Lucy talked me out of killing him.”
“She’s a good influence.”
Lynn shoved his shoulder. “He said—”
“He said?” Stebbs eyebrows flew up in surprise. “You talked to this guy?”
“I did, and I’ll be done talking with you if I can’t get a word in edgewise,” Lynn said, pointing her finger at him while she spoke. Stebbs threw his hands up in surrender and she went on. “He said that he was turned out of his place, that men had come and taken what was his, right down to his shoes.”
Stebbs digested that information for a minute, eyes on Lucy and her innocent play. “He say whereabouts this happened?”
“To the east, but the men were in trucks. They could’ve come from anywhere.”
“So they’re rifling for supplies but have enough gasoline to travel to find them . . . that doesn’t feel quite right.”
Lynn shrugged. “It doesn’t, but I’m not trying to wrap my brain around it. I’m just going to shoot them, they come this way.”
“In their case, fire away,” Stebbs said, gaze still on Lucy, mouth grim.
Lynn looked at the little girl happily piping on her flute, oblivious to the threats that seemed to surround them. Dread bloomed in Lynn’s stomach, along with a fierce streak of protective rage that usually only surfaced when she thought of the pond. She shoved it down with effort and opened the pack Stebbs had handed her. There were two cans of green beans, a Mason jar of dried sweet corn, and a can of peaches.
“Peaches,” she said awkwardly. “I bet Neva’ll like that.”
“She’s doing better, that girl. Talking about starting a garden in the spring. I gave Eli a bow of mine and he’s a better shot than you’d have guessed. We won’t be carrying their weight for long.”
“Lucy says Neva’s mom is coming to find them.”
“Eli said as much, last time I was over to the stream.”
“He tell you how she was going to find them?”
“You mean the satellite maps?” Stebbs shrugged. “I figured people were still using those, yeah.”
“Stalactite maps, you mean,” Lynn said, using the word Lucy had so carefully pronounced whenever they talked about it.
“Uh . . .” Stebbs struggled to keep a straight face. “No, Lynn. Those are called ‘satellites,’ not ‘stalactites.’ Trust me on that one, kiddo. The little one must’ve gotten her head a bit muddled.”
Lynn flushed at her mistake and her irritation seeped into her words. “So you never thought to tell me something was watching us from the sky?”
“Well, now you know. And what are you going to do about it?”
Lynn tossed the rest of her coffee on the fire, where it hissed in the flame. “Nothing.”
“That’s right. There’s nothing you can do except worry about it and get yourself all worked up.”