shotgun, the other with a homemade bow. That's all.'
'That's enough,' Rydell said.
'Now, you're going to walk right up to them, waving this white T-shirt. Keep your bow slung over your shoulder. No matter what, don't reach for it.'
'Why send me first? Why don't we all go in at once?'
'Because if they kill you, we'll know it's not safe for the rest of us.'
'You're serious, aren't you?' Tracy asked.
'Yes.'
'Isn't that a little like asking him to walk across a mine field to see where the mines are hidden?'
'Good analogy.'
She shook her head with shock. 'What if they kill him?'
'Then we'll kill them. But one way or the other, we're going to get some of their water.'
'Jesus, Eric-'
'No,' Rydell interrupted. 'He's right. Makes perfect strategic sense.' He held the T-shirt in front of him, gave Molly a wink. 'I hope Ricky will remain irrepressible.'
He took a deep breath and started walking.
Eric led the others to a vantage position where they could watch Rydell as he walked cautiously toward the cluster of cabins, waving the T-shirt over his head. When he was within a couple hundred yards of the homes, two men popped up from behind dirt embankments where they'd been hiding. From a distance, the dirt embank-ments had seemed like nothing more than little bumps in the terrain. Fortunately, Eric had investigated earlier.
The two men pointed their weapons at Rydell, gesturing and shouting, though Eric couldn't hear the words. Rydell immediately dropped the T-shirt and clasped his hands on top of his head. Four other men and two women came running out of various cabins, each armed with a weapon of some kind. Axe, spear, revolver, pitchfork. They circled Rydell, their weapons raised.
'They're going to kill him,' Molly said frantically, scrambling to her feet. 'We've got to help him.'
Eric snagged her shirt and yanked her back. 'Wait.'
Her face was red, the tiny, slivered eyes smaller yet. 'Wait for what? First blood?'
'Look,' Tag pointed.
Rydell was talking animatedly, his hands churning and pointing toward Eric and the others. As he talked, those surrounding him slowly lowered their weapons, looked in the direction Rydell had pointed. One of them, a rugged- looking man about forty with an axe balanced against his shoulder, was talking to Rydell. Rydell nodded vigorously.
The man scratched his head, spoke to the others. There was a minute of conversation among the group. One of the men stalked off to his cabin, dragging one of the younger women with him, and slammed the door behind him. The man with the axe said something to Rydell. Rydell turned to Eric's direction and waved for them all to come down.
'Do we go?' Season asked.
'Tracy and Molly and I will go. You and Tag keep watch, and I mean careful watch. We'll fill your canteens.'
'But what if it's a trap?'
Eric stepped through the brush, fastening Tag and Season's canteens to his belt. 'We'll take the chance.'
'Water,' the man with the axe said, 'makes strange bedfellows.'
'I thought it was politics that did that,' Molly said.
'These days water is politics.' Joseph Baldwin hung his axe from the wooden pegs next to the cabin door. 'You know how much water each person used to use before the quake? I mean daily.'
They all shook their heads.
'Guess.' Joseph Baldwin grinned slyly, enjoying this.
'Ten or twenty gallons, I guess,' Tracy said.
'No,' Molly said. 'That's what I use to wash my hair.'
'Ha! Not even close. Mr. Grimme?'
'Fifty?'
'Better, but not close enough. How about you, Mr. Ravensmith?'
'Maybe a hundred gallons a day.'
Joseph Baldwin seemed pleased with that answer. 'Very close. The average was 110 gallons. Can you imagine? And that was just for personal use. That doesn't count what manufacturers used, or farmers. And remember, Southern California is really desert, so most of the water had to be brought in here via three aqueducts. Colorado River Aqueduct, 242 miles long through the Mojave Desert; California Aqueduct, bringing water 450 miles from the Sacramento/San Joaquin Delta; and the Los Angeles Aqueduct, spitting water 338 miles from the Sierra Nevada.' He shook his head in amazement as he pulled up a chair, sitting at the table between Eric and Tracy and across from Rydell and Molly. He smiled a full set of white teeth. 'I probably sound like some old village coot to you, rattling on about water. All that's missing is me chewing tobacco and whittling on a sharp stick. That's what happens when you're isolated like this. Hard to believe I used to be a successful corporate lawyer in San Diego. Important comer in the Democratic party. A Big Brother. My wife and I even sponsored two South American kids through one of those charity organizations. You know the ads, a photograph of some dirty, naked kid with ribs like a xylophone and a caption that reads, 'Juan never has a good day.' ' He stared at his hands a while, thick with calluses, as if noticing them for the first time. 'You know whose hands these are? My father's. He worked as a farmer all his life in Iowa. Still there. I remember one May, I was about twelve, and he was wrapping Mom's Mother's Day gift. How clumsy those hands were. He could hardly fold the paper at the ends. Finally he asked me to do it because he kept tearing the paper. I'll never forget that. The wrapping paper was left over from Christmas, with little angels all over it.' He looked at his hands again, shook his head. 'Help yourself to as much water as you need. We've got plenty.'
'Thanks,' Eric said. 'Didn't look like everybody here was as generous as you.'
'Oh, you saw Foster stomping off, huh? Don't pay any attention to him. He's afraid someone's going to steal his woman.'
'I see.'
'Do you?' Joseph asked, his voice suddenly very bitter. He raked his callused hands through his dusty, black hair. 'Jim Foster lost his wife in the quake. Burned or drowned in downtown San Diego, he's not sure which. The woman he's living with is his younger sister, and they've been living as husband and wife ever since.'
'My God,' Tracy said.
'That shock you, young lady? It shouldn't. She can't have any kids, so we don't have to worry about that problem. They love and care for each other. And they aren't likely to find anybody else, not anymore. So what's the harm? You see how a little shift in the land can suddenly make incest okay?' He laughed. 'Hell, my wife and I were planning a divorce when this whole thing happened. Now we're closer than we've ever been. Why is that? Is it because disaster brings out the best in people? No, she and I had been through two miscarriages together. In some ways they were worse disasters than the quakes.' He looked around the table at each of them as if he were suddenly very tired. 'Maybe you'd better just get your water and be leaving.'
Eric stood up, the others followed. 'We appreciate your hospitality, Mr. Baldwin.'
'Sure,' he nodded, distracted. 'Sorry I bent your ear. But there's only a handful of us living here and we've heard everything about each other so much, we're a little starved for variety. We don't have much in common, except water. My wife and I were driving back from Vegas when the quake hit. We'd been visiting her father, deals blackjack at the MGM Grand. Our car was flipped a couple times, but we were okay. We wandered a bit until we found this cabin and the well. The old man who'd owned it was dead, heart attack I think. Soon Jim Foster and his sister stumbled in here, and then the others. Like I said, water makes strange bedfellows.'
'Anyone else come this way recently?' Eric asked.
'Not for a month. That's when Evans Pierce and his son joined us. He used to be a rich contractor in San Diego, building fancy homes and apartment complexes. For the past month he's been helping us get these cabins right. They don't look like much, made out of scrap metal and wood and whatever else we can haul in here. But it's home.' He smiled. 'Home is where the water is, right?'
Eric nodded.
