Lucy didn’t turn. “So far, no, but I don’t think Fletcher would’ve led us wrong.”
“Me neither, but maybe something happened to them, maybe…”
“We can talk maybes all day long and still not know a thing,” Lucy said, toes curling in the wet sand. “I’m heading north. If we get to Oregon, we know something’s wrong.”
“All right then,” Lynn said, adjusting her pack. “Let’s go.”
“Not yet,” Lucy said as the tide swelled over her feet again. “Not just yet.”
Lucy walked on, and Lynn followed. They’d been walking along the beach for miles when Lynn’s fingers dug into Lucy’s arm, nodding up ahead. Lucy pulled her gaze from the ocean to see the figure of a man on the beach. He spotted them seconds later and waved an arm in greeting.
“Well,” Lynn said under her breath. “I guess that’s how this is done.”
They walked toward him, cautiously leaning toward each other, their elbows rubbing with every step. Lynn kept her rifle on her back, and Lucy saw the man’s expression change when they were near enough for him to see the barrel rising above her shoulder.
“Hi there,” he said as they approached, the sparse gray hair on the crown of his head blowing in the evening breeze. “I thought you were Bridget and Taylor heading home from fishing.”
Lucy stood before him, her mouth feeling as if it were sewn shut. Behind her, she heard Lynn sink into the sand, her body giving out on her. The man looked between the two of them. “Well, who are you then?”
Lucy’s lips moved, her throat constricted, but no sounds came out. Witching was insignificant next to the ocean, her precious skill useless in this new world. She had nothing to offer in exchange for a life less normal. In the end, she said, “My name is Lucy, and I walked across the country to get here.”
“Well done, Lucy,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Dan.”
She shook it. “This is Lynn.” She nodded toward the ground, as if Lynn being there were completely normal.
“Hi, Lynn,” Dan said, nodding when she didn’t reach for his hand. “That’s a hell of a gun you’ve got there.”
“Uh-huh,” Lynn said.
“We’re supposed to tell you Fletcher sent us,” Lucy said. “I don’t know if that makes a difference or—”
“Fletcher?” Dan smacked his hands together. “How is the old bastard?”
“He’s alive,” Lucy said. “We met him in Nebraska. He said if we—”
Dan’s hands rested lightly on her shoulders, stopping her flow of words. “You prove your worth by your actions, Lucy. You can relax now. You’re here.” He put his other hand on Lynn’s shoulder. “You made it, girls.”
The water pulled at Lucy’s toes, dragging the sand out from under her feet and making her sink inch by inch into the wet, comforting muck. Weeks after their arrival she still couldn’t resist the sea, reveling in it every evening outside the small house she and Lynn had claimed for their own on the edge of town.
Even though there were hundreds of people here, no one was thirsty. The windmills powered the plant, which made the ocean water flowing into their homes drinkable. Solar panels meant electricity. On their first night in their new house, Lucy had found Lynn in the living room with a book in her hand and tears on her cheeks. “I can see,” she’d said in explanation. “First time in my life I’ve ever been able to see after the sun went down. This is how Mother lived once.”
Soft footsteps sounded in the sand and Lynn crouched beside Lucy, away from the tide.
“Have a seat,” Lucy said, gesturing to the sand.
Lynn shook her head. “I don’t feel like I ever get the sand off me, once I do.”
Lucy shrugged, watching the moon rise above the ocean to send a white path pointing toward her over the rippling water. “How can you not like it?”
Lynn sighed and sat down anyway, her face contorting with displeasure as her pants got wet. “I learned to hate it young, little one. When I was a kid I found a globe and showed it to Mother, thinking I’d found something that would save us yet, that we didn’t have to live the way we did. She told me it was all salt, and no relief in it—‘Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.’ I broke the damn thing and swore to never find comfort in anything too good to be true again.”
“But it is true, Lynn. And it’s different here. It’s good,” Lucy argued.
“You like it, that’s all I need to know to believe it’s a good thing.”
“Like it? Lynn, it’s more than liking it. You should come to the desal plant with me sometime. When Dan showed me how to monitor the salinity, I felt like… like I was doing something that mattered. He said they’ll teach me how to clean the membranes too, next time I come.”
“Which I imagine will be tomorrow,” Lynn said slyly.
Lucy went on, barely hearing Lynn. “Dan said he’ll have a spot for me to be there all regular like, with real duties and everything after Taylor’s baby comes. You should hear the sound the seawater makes when it’s pressured through the—”
“I prefer to hear rain fall on my own roof,” Lynn interrupted.
“But you can’t count on rain,” Lucy shot back. “The ocean is always there, and now we can take advantage of it.”
Lynn looked out over the undulating waves, her jaw tense. “I know that, but Mother didn’t. And I can’t help but think maybe if she had, her life would’ve been longer, and mine much different. That doesn’t make me like this damn sea any better.”
Lucy nodded, the image of her own dead mother never far from her mind. “I understand.”
“So how can you like it so much? “ Lynn asked. “After the desert and the mountains and the bigness of everything that frightened you? And now this—you a tiny speck on the edge of the sand, happy to sit by a Goliath?”
Lucy was quiet for a full minute, letting the tide touch her toes and recede while she thought. “You’re not the only one who can quote poetry, you know.
“Ralph Waldo Emerson,” Lynn said immediately. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. It’s the one poem I read during the last blizzard.”
“It stuck with you though. The words meant for us can do that, stick to the crevices inside and come out when we least expect it. Why those words?”
Lucy dug deep to find her own words, new ones that tasted like hope and not the misery of the road. “The desert and the mountains and the plains all felt like they were in my way, stopping me from getting to somewhere I was supposed to be. But this is salvation. Every drop in that ocean can be made to save you or me, and every other soul in this town. I can only wish it were bigger.”
“I don’t think the ocean’s different from those things, little one. What’s different is you.”
“How do you mean?”
“When we left Ohio, you were scared as a rabbit, jumping at the shadows and hiding in my footsteps. We walked across the country and you changed into a woman who could walk up to a stranger on the beach with nothing more than her own name in her mouth, and you did it.”
“You were with me.”
“You walked ahead of me,” Lynn said. “That whole last stretch of beach you were the one in front. You wanted this place and this ocean, and you’ve made it your own.”
“But you can’t, is that what you’re going to say?” Lucy asked, a deep hole of fear she’d thought she’d left behind her opening inside her gut again.
“I can’t…” Lynn trailed off, her eyes on the watery horizon. “Lucy, I can’t see around me here, do you understand? To one side there’s water and to the other there’s buildings. I just… I feel like I can’t see everything like I did back home.”