Burn Season novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: Glass Feet

"Kasey," I said. "On the committee."

"She's squad leader on the bottom squad," Moss said. "The crew voted last Friday, after the barbecue."

"Of course they did."

Bea poured me a beer and put it in my hand.

"We'll figure it out," she said.

On Sunday the cistern pipe broke.

It was the old iron line that ran from the spring to the tank beside the cabin.

Verna turned the tap, and brown water coughed out and then nothing.

"Forty-one summers," she said, "and it picks this one."

I radioed the base for water.

"Fifty gallons by mule is tomorrow," dispatch said. "Someone's offered to bring ten tonight."

"Who?"

"Someone with a pack frame who says he knows the way."

I looked at Verna.

"Don't look at me," she said. "I didn't ask for him."

I put my boots on and walked down to the cairn.

It was four in the afternoon, and the sky to the west had gone dark purple.

Walker came around the last switchback with a limp and a hiking pole.

He had two five-gallon jugs strapped to the frame on his back, and his face was gray with the effort.

"Your ankle," I said.

"It's been five days. It's fine."

"It's not fine. You've been on that all day."

"It's eleven miles."

He stopped on his side of the stones.

"I'll set the water down here. Verna can carry it up."

"Verna is seventy-four."

"Then I'll make two trips."

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