We wait in silence, the steam from the springs swirling around us. The vial of water remains stubbornly clear.
“Negative,” I finally say, comparing it to the reference chart. “No detectable lead.”
We taste four more sites around the central spring with the same results.
Holly’s expression is a complex mix of relief and disappointment. “This can’t be right. Kai drank this water. The children drank this water.”
“Maybe it’s the test,” I offer. “These consumer kits aren’t exactly laboratory grade.”
“Or maybe we’re looking in the wrong place,” she says, frustration evident in her voice. She stands, pacing along the edge of the pool. “But where else could it be coming from? The timing fits. The symptoms fit.”
I watch her move, admiring her determination even as I worry about her fixation on the springs. “Holly, if the water isn’t contaminated, that’s a good thing. It means the town’s spiritual touchstone isn’t poisoning people.”
“I know,” she says, stopping her pacing. “I know that. It’s just...I was so sure.”
She turns back toward the pool, and something catches her eye. “Wait, what’s that?”
I follow her gaze to the far side of the pool, where a metal bucket hangs from a simple pulley system attached to the rock face.
“I don’t remember ever seeing that here before,” I say, moving closer for a better look.
“What do you think it’s for?” Holly asks, following me around the edge of the pool.
I study the setup, noting the sturdy construction and the way it’s positioned to reach the deepest part of the spring. “Probably for collecting water to bottle. The deeper water is supposed to be more mineral-rich, more potent.”
“More potent how?” Holly asks, her scientific skepticism evident.
I shrug. “According to local legend, the deeper the water, the stronger its connection to whatever source gives the spring it’s power. It’s why people used to swim down to the very bottom to collect the water.”
Holly approaches the bucket, examining it without touching, a thoughtful expression on her face. She reaches for the rope.
“What are you doing?”
“Testing the water from the bucket,” she says, carefully lowering it into the spring. “Maybe water from deeper in the spring will test differently.”
The bucket splashes into the water, and Holly waits a moment before pulling it back up. The metal gleams dully in the morning light, water sloshing inside as she sets it on the stone edge.
“Let’s see,” she says, taking another vial from the testing kit. She fills it with water from the bucket and adds the reagent drops.
Almost immediately, the water begins to change color. What starts as a faint yellow rapidly darkens to orange, then to a deep reddish-orange that’s so vibrant it seems to glow in the vial.
“Noah,” Holly whispers, her voice tight. She holds up the vial next to the reference chart. The color is darker than the darkest shade on the chart.
“Fuck.” I take the vial from her to examine it myself. But there’s no denying what we’re seeing. The water from the bucket contains lead levels so high they’re literally off the chart.
“How can just the deeper water be contaminated?”
A cold feeling settles in my stomach as I look at the bucket with new eyes. “Maybe it’s not the water,” I say slowly. “Maybe it’s the bucket.”
Holly’s eyes widen with understanding. “We need to get this thing checked.”
I reach for it, then hesitate. “If it is contaminated, we shouldn’t touch it directly.”
Holly pulls a small towel from her backpack and hands it to me. I wrap my hand in it before carefully lifting the bucket from the edge of the pool. It’s heavier than it looks, made of some dull metal that could easily be anything.
I turn it over, looking for any markings or identification. On the bottom, barely visible through years of use, is an engraved manufacturer’s name.
The bucket suddenly feels so much heaver that I almost drop it.
