Free Water Rites by Mary Rosenblum

house.
    *
    The pack weighed a ton, and the rough track down to the highway made his knee hurt. Not much traffic this early. He limped along, leaning hard on his stick. Sooner or later, someone would come along. Ten miles to The Dalles. He could catch a ride to Portland, maybe, at the truck plaza there.
    Thin clouds had moved in from the west, turning the sky a cheating gray. The hot wind whipped dust in his eyes, tugged at his clothes. Dan heard an engine and stuck out his thumb. This one stopped and Dan smothered his reaction as he recognized Montoya.
    “Leaving?” He leaned out the window.
    “Yeah.” Dan felt the hot, heavy weight of the necklace in his pocket.
    Montoya got out, leaned against the fender. “The Association didn’t waste any time,” he said. “They started showing up last night, quiet-like, offering folks jobs. Supervisors. Gang foremen. Good-paying jobs, I hear. They arrested Matt Dorner.” He looked up at the weathered of the Gorge. “I guess you were right.”
    He looked . . . defeated. “What job did they offer you?” Dan asked harshly.
    “Nothing.”
    They wouldn’t. They knew who their opposition was here. Dan looked away. If Amy had knocked on this man’s door, they might have made it. Both of them. It hadn’t happened that way, but it could have. “There’s another way,” he said. “Go to the Corps headquarters, down in Bonneville.”
    Montoya just looked at him.
    “The Corps was supposed to run the whole Pipeline project — they run all the federal projects.” Dan shrugged. “The Association started out as a civilian contractor working for the Corps, but they had enough political clout to finally edge the Corps out. Not that the Corps is likely to be any better than what you’ve got,” he said bitterly. “But they don’t want your land. The general there . . . Hastings . . . he got the Association rammed down his throat. I don’t think this retroactive stuff is legal.” He shrugged again. “If it’s not . . . General Hastings might help you out. Just to cut the ground out from under the Association.”
    “General Hastings.” Montoya said the name slowly. “How do you know this?”
    “I . . . worked for the Corps. After . . . my sister died.” He couldn’t make himself meet Montoya’s eyes. “I was a surveyor’s assistant. You go talk to Hastings.”
    “I tried that.” Montoya shook his head. “Back when I first heard rumors about a rate hike. No one would talk to me.”
    Maybe not. Hastings didn’t like hicks much.
    “Come down there with me.” Montoya’s eyes glittered, hard as obsidian. “You know this man. Talk to him. Tell him to listen to me.”
    “I can’t do it.”
    “You told me. I’m asking you for this, Dan. I’m asking you to do it.”
    No one had ever asked him for help. Dan turned his back on Montoya, stared out at the dry, dead falls. No ghost today.
    “What do you see?”
    Dan flinched at Montoya’s hand on his arm. “Nothing.” He shook off Montoya’s hand. “You can’t really change anything. Not today, not tomorrow, not yesterday. The Corps laid off all their civilian employees a few years back. Including me. I took some things with me when I left Bonneville, valuable stuff. I stole it, because I wasn’t going to beg any more. I went around in the Dry pretending to survey for wells that were going to go in. I tricked people.” He stared at Montoya, feeling dry and utterly empty inside. “So don’t ask me to be a hero for you.”
    “So that’s it.” Montoya stared up at the Gorge rim, his face etched like the rocks. “You weren’t surveyin’ when I picked you up.”
    “Yeah, well, I got my mind changed. By a kid.” Dan looked away. “I figure he’s dead now.”
    “An honest trade, you told me. Entertainment for you knowin’ how.”
    “I’m not staying.” He hoisted his pack. “If you care about your wife, your family, you need to stay out of this.”
    “I’m in the middle of this because I do care