“Something’s following us,” Benjamin says grimly.
“What is it?”
Benjamin doesn’t answer me, but he reaches into one of Nana’s packs and pulls out a small brass object. He fiddles with it for a moment, but it isn’t until he holds it up to his eye that I realize it’s a scope. He swears under his breath and shakes his head.
“How many?” Curtis asks.
“Angle’s wrong. We’re too low.”
“Could just be hunters.”
“Could be,” Ben agrees. He pulls his revolver from his belt and aims almost straight up. Curtis backs up a step and motions for me to do the same. Confused, I obey, unsure what’s happening until Ben fires directly into the air. Both brothers tilt their heads expectantly. I don’t know what they’re waiting for, but when nothing happens, Ben looks even grimmer as he puts his gun away.
“Break’s over,” Curtis says, and his tone doesn’t invite questions. He packs the food back up while I examine my left hand. The cut isn’t deep; my penny knife can’t do any real damage. The bleeding has already slowed, so I lick my palm to clean it, grimacing at the salty, metallic taste. I tear a thin strip of cloth off my rag bundle and tie it around my hand tightly, cursing myself for being so jittery.
“What happened?” Benjamin asks, and I cringe. I was hoping it would go unnoticed.
“It’s just a scratch.” I can feel my face turning red and I tug my hat even lower. “Do we need to get in the hotbox?”
“Not unless it’s a pack.”
“Do you think it’s a pack?”
“Won’t know till we reach higher ground.”
Curtis motions for us to move out, and this time he takes the mule. I can tell he’s anxious or he’d be the one talking to me.
“But if you had to guess?”
“I don’t guess,” Benjamin says sharply.
“But if—”
“You always ask this many questions?” he interrupts.
“Are you always this unhelpful?” I counter.
“Listen, girl—”
“Quiet,” Curtis says, turning around to face us. His mouth is in a thin, tight line, but his voice is calm. “Let’s just get to the well. It’s on a rise and we can take it from there. Ben, let up on the kid, can’t you see she’s afeared?”
“I’m not,” I start to say, but my words lack conviction. To their credit, the brothers don’t contradict me, and I glance sidelong at Benjamin as we start moving again. If he’s afraid, he’s doing a good job of hiding it.
“You think it’s a pack.” I make it a statement, not a question.
He struggles with annoyance; I can see him fighting back a rude reply. Self-control wins out, and his answer is civil. “No, I don’t. We would hear or see a pack. It might be one shake, but I never seen one track a party for more than a mile. It could be a hunter, but he didn’t sound off. I don’t know what it is. And I don’t like not knowing.”
20.
The Garretts are tense. Curtis’s gait is rigid, like a soldier headed to an uncertain fate in battle. Benjamin keeps glancing behind us, his head jerking around every few seconds, almost unwillingly, like a spasm he can’t control. We’re walking faster now, and I’m breathing harder and shallower.
“How much farther to the well?” I call to Curtis.
He slows his pace to let me catch up to him.
“There,” he says, pointing ahead.
“That’s a well?” I ask, doubtful, squinting at a mound to the right of the road. “It looks like a pile of dirt.”
“Stone, actually. It used to be taller.”
We quicken our pace even more, spurred by the sight of our target. The ground rises under my feet, or maybe I only feel it because I know it is. I keep my eyes fixed on the well; as long as I can see it I feel safe. This is our destination, our goal, and it seems so simple to accomplish. My tired mind tells me that when we reach it, everything will be all right, and I give a huge, unearned sigh of relief when we finally come alongside it.
The well is bigger up close, but crude, little more than a ring of crumbling brown stone with a thick rope descending into darkness. I throw one arm over Nana and lean against her gratefully, giving my legs a rest.
Benjamin immediately pulls out his telescope again and he and Curtis stand shoulder to shoulder, gazing back at the way we came. They don’t speak, and the silence stretches out long and apprehensive. I brace myself for a shout of warning, my muscles tense and ready. The minutes pass, five and then ten, until I don’t think I can bear it any longer. My jaw hurts, and I make an effort to unclench it, yawning widely.
“There,” Benjamin calls, and my stomach lurches. I push myself away from Nana and go to stand next to him.
“It’s not a shake,” he says, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Two people. Maybe they’re new hunters.”
My breath comes out in a rush that leaves me almost giddy, and I suppress the inappropriate urge to laugh.
“Anyone we know?” Curtis asks.
Benjamin hands the scope to Curtis and rubs his eyes with his palms. “Never seen ’em before.”
As my body starts to relax, I realize what bad shape it’s in. Sweat is dripping into my eyes and pooling down my back, and I can feel at least two blisters on my heels. My palm stings where I cut it and I’m thirsty again. I take a step back and stumble, my legs like liquid.
“Whoa, there,” Benjamin says, grabbing my arm to steady me. I wince involuntarily as he squeezes the bruises Dollarhide already put there.
“Sorry, princess,” he says, dropping his hand immediately.
“No, it’s not—it’s just from yesterday.” If you can’t talk sense, don’t talk, I tell myself and clamp my mouth shut.
Benjamin stares at me like I’m a roach he scraped off his boot.
“I’ll get some water.” I walk away as quickly as I can without running. I can’t seem to go more than an hour without embarrassing myself, and I can’t stand the idea that Benjamin Garrett may be right, that I need looking after. Not that it matters what he thinks of me, but still, it’s infuriating. I’m not some addle-headed child who can’t handle herself.
I go to the well and grab the rope that’s tied to a stake in the ground and begin to haul it up, hearing the splash and dull clink of the bucket on the other end. It’s not overly heavy, but I’m tired, and my arms are trembling slightly by the time I get the bucket free. I set it on the edge of the well and take off the bandage on my hand. I wet the rag and use it to clean the dried blood off my cut before dipping my hands into the water. As I raise them to splash my face, I notice the odd color of the water. It has a reddish-brown hue to it, almost like rust. I let the water spill out of my hands, and it hits the ground in a soft trickle, soaking instantly into the dirt. Curious, I lean my head over the well to peer inside, and the smell hits me: a smell like rotting flowers and decaying meat, rank and sickly sweet. I gag and stumble back, the smell following me like a wave.
“What now?” Benjamin moves to my side as I make retching sounds. I clamp my mouth shut, refusing to give up what little food I have in my stomach. Bile stings my throat, hot and sour. Curtis puts a solid and reassuring hand on my shoulder and I try to steady myself. In between dry heaves I point frantically to the well.
“Get her some water,” Curtis says, but I grab Benjamin’s arm as he starts to move away, shaking my head violently.
“N-no,” I manage to say in between coughs. “The water. Smell—” I gag again as I remember.
Curtis immediately strides to the well and leans cautiously over. His face turns pale and tinges green and his jaw clenches as he swallows hard.
My breathing slows and I stand up, using Benjamin as a crutch. I’m too sick to be embarrassed this time.
“What in blazes is going on?” I croak, my throat raw.
“You ever smell a dead body? One that’s been dead for a time?” Curtis asks, and I shake my head.
“Well, you have now.”
“There’s
a body down there?” I shudder, feeling ill.
Curtis holds a handkerchief over his mouth and nose and leans forward, peering down into the well. “What’s left of one.”
Benjamin and I both move closer; I hold my breath and look down. The walls of the well turn from sandy white to brown as it sinks, the sun bright enough to illuminate the inside. The well is not as deep as I would have guessed; I can see where the bucket touches the water, bobbing gently where it fell. The water is scummy and dark, like it’s turned solid. Something bumps against the bucket, and at first I can’t tell what I’m looking at; my mind can’t reconcile the image of this bloated, gray object with anything remotely human. Then I see where the mouth used to be, and the features rearrange themselves into a terrifying mask of a face.
I back away quickly, taking deep breaths. I close my eyes and lift my face to the sun, as if the heat could sear away the image of the bloated face from my memory.
“Did you drink from the well?”
I open my eyes to find Benjamin too close for comfort.
“Did you drink the water?” he almost shouts in my face.
“No,” I say angrily, putting some distance between us. “I didn’t. I swear.”
“Poor bastard,” Curtis says, the handkerchief muffling his voice.
“Are you sure?” Benjamin is still insistent. “If you drank any of it, you could be infected.”
“Yes, I’m sure. How do you even know that’s a shake? I thought they were afraid of water.”
“Did you see his mouth?” Curtis asks. “Couldn’t swallow, so he tore his tongue out. I’ve seen ’em do that, near the end.”
“We got no idea how long that body’s been in there,” Ben says. “Whole damn well is contaminated, and who knows who drunk from it.”
“But the smell,” I say. I feel shaky all over.
“They don’t start to smell like that for a few days, at least,” Curtis says grimly. “We need to put the word out.”
I look back at the well and my stomach lurches. Pa could have drunk that water, could have missed the stench until too late. I need to find him, before things go from bad to worse.
Benjamin nods, swearing under his breath. “We should get to the station, have the boys pass it along.”
“We can’t leave it like this,” I say. “What about the men behind us?” The brothers turn to look at me, wearing matching faces of confusion. I let out a small sigh of exasperation. “The people behind us on the road? What if they try to drink from the well?”
“She’s right,” Benjamin says after a moment.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
Curtis rubs his chin thoughtfully, then pulls out a knife that makes mine looks like a child’s toy. It only takes him one quick slice to cut the rope holding the bucket, and he throws the frayed end down into the well.
“Aren’t you awful clever,” Ben says. “But they could still find a way.”
Curtis shrugs. “I’m hungry anyway. Might as well wait for ’em.”
We can save the ones coming after, but how many others came before? They may not even know what it is they carry. How many are walking around with death running roughshod through their veins?
21.
We have to ration our water now, but I use the first sip to rinse my mouth of dust and the sour taste in my throat. My stomach is still queasy and all I can manage to nibble on is a dry biscuit.
“You all right, young’un?” Curtis asks me around a mouthful of apple.
“My belly’s unsettled, some.”
“What’s wrong, Willie, don’t like the boneyard perfume?” Benjamin sneers at me, and I flick a crumb in his direction.
“Go boil your shirt, Garrett. And it’s Miss Wilcox to you.”
“I call you Willie,” Curtis says.
“You I like.”
“Ouch.” Benjamin feigns a look of injured feelings. “Wait, now,” he says, “your parents called you Willie Wilcox?”
I give him my most withering glare and refuse to answer.
“No? What’s your name, then?”
I’ve had well enough of this line of questioning, so I brush my hands and march away before I lose my temper or my dignity. I curse my parents for giving me an insipid name, and then feel an immediate pang of guilt and grief. I hate that this still happens, that I have to constantly remind myself that my mother is gone. I’ll threaten the twins that I’ll tell Ma on them, and then remember that I can’t, and it hurts every time.
I stand on the dusty road, breathing deeply to calm myself. My heart is beating slowly and reassuringly, every thump a reminder of how alive I am. A slight wind blows hot air, drying the sweat on the back of my neck and sending wisps of long brown hair into my face to tangle in my eyelashes. I push the strands away and gaze along the road. There are no footprints to show the way we came, no sign that we’ve been here. Is this the path my father took? Are his footprints here, too, invisible beneath the dirt? It would be so easy to disappear this way, to wander off the path and leave no trace of yourself behind; to become nothing but a ghost, a name whispered in hushed tones.
Boots crunch close by, but I don’t alter my gaze from the road.
“My name is nothing to nobody.”
“Surely,” Curtis says. He stands next to me, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I like Willie. It suits you.”
“Thank you,” I say, somewhat mollified. “I always thought so.”
“I should apologize for Benjamin. I hope his rudeness don’t offend you terribly. He never learned good manners.”
I give a lopsided smile. “You forget, I’ve lived in Glory my whole life. If I put any stock in manners, I’d be offended every minute of every day.”
“Just the same, he’s been mighty offish, and I’m sorry. I think you rattle him, some.”
I shake my head. “I don’t rate to rattle anyone. That them?” I ask, cutting off whatever Curtis was about to say. I point down the road to two dark figures moving clearly against the sand.
“Ben, glass!” Curtis calls, and Benjamin tosses him the scope. Curtis holds it to his eye and takes a moment to focus.
“That’s them. Took ’em long enough. Look mighty young to be out on the road. Don’t look like hunters, neither. What do you think?” Curtis hands the telescope back to Benjamin.
“Not hunters, I only see one rifle. They can’t be more’n sixteen.”
A horrible idea crosses my mind.
“No,” I say, firmly. “No, no, no.”
Benjamin lowers the glass. “You know something?”
Wordlessly I hold out my hand and he places the telescope in it. I hold it to my eye and swing it around until the tiny specks become clear. My heart sinks: walking the path, not a care in the world, are my little brother and Samuel Kincaid.
22.
“I’ll kill him,” I say flatly, lowering the scope. “I’ll kill him dead.”
“They belong to you?” Benjamin asks.
“Micah, my idiot little brother. And he dragged along Doc Kincaid’s son as well.” I swear, low and harsh. “What is he thinking, coming out here? I’ll tan his hide for this.”
“Now, calm down,” Curtis says. “At least they made it here safe.”
“They shouldn’t be here at all!” I start to pace, fuming. “That’s it, I’m going to meet them.”
“Just wait,” Curtis says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “They’ll be here in a minute.”
“They’ll be dead in a minute,” I growl. But underneath the anger is pure fear. Micah is lucky to be alive. Sam’s never been outside the fence; I don’t think he even knows how to shoot a gun.
I can hear the boys laughing, and I grind my teeth. I’m sure they’re having a rousing good time, unaware of the noise they’re making and how it carries. They don’t even notice us waiting for them until Curtis raises a hand.
“Howdy,” he calls out to them, and Micah and Sam startle. “You boys lost?”
Micah looks up, and
his eyes move from Curtis to me; he halts in place, frozen to the spot. Sam nudges him, and they move forward, reluctantly now.
“You’re in a world of trouble, Micah Wilcox,” I yell at him, unable to contain myself any longer.
Sam reaches us first, though he keeps his distance. Micah stands a little behind him, shielding himself.
“Hey, Sis,” Micah says, and he has the temerity to smile at me.
“Don’t you hey, Sis me, Micah. What the hell are you doing here? Where are the twins? I swear, if you left them alone—”
“I would never! They’re with Old Bess; she promised to look after them.”
“Old Bess?” I repeat, my voice going high. “We’ll be lucky to ever find them again! You addle-headed, half-witted—”
“Listen, Willie,” Sam says gently, and I round on him.
“And you,” I say, jabbing my finger at him. “You’re supposed to be smart. Turn around. Both of you, turn around and go home right now.”
“No,” Micah says, scowling.
“Micah, so help me, you will do as I say.”
“I’m not goin’ back. You can’t make me.” Micah crosses his arms stubbornly.
I ball my hands into fists to keep from smacking him across the face. “Watch me. You’re lucky you stayed alive this long, I will not have you out here.”
“I can’t just sit at home, watching the twins fight and wondering if you’re comin’ back,” Micah says, his cheeks going red. I feel a lurch of guilt; it must be costing him a lot to say all this in front of strangers.
“I can handle myself, you know I can,” I say, calming down some. “And the Garretts are good at what they do.”
Curtis holds a hand out. “Hi there,” he says, like he hasn’t heard us hollering at one another. “Curtis Garrett.”
“Micah Wilcox,” my brother says, shaking his hand.
“Samuel Kincaid,” Sam adds.
Benjamin doesn’t offer a hand, watching the exchange with narrowed eyes. At least I know now he’s rude to everyone, not just me.
“No offense to you, Mr. Garrett,” Micah says, “but I don’t know you. And I don’t trust anyone I don’t know to look after my sister. And I especially don’t trust two men alone with her.”
Devils Unto Dust Page 8
