Devils Unto Dust

by Emma Berquist

  This is the longest speech I’ve ever heard Micah give to anyone outside our family; I would be proud if I weren’t so mortified.

  “I don’t blame you, son,” Curtis says evenly. “I wouldn’t want two strangers on the road with my sister, if we had one.”

  “Then you understand why I won’t go back,” Micah says.

  “Micah, two extra people will slow us down and make us an easier target. Curtis, tell him he can’t come,” I say.

  Curtis rubs the back of his neck and mutters something under his breath.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake!” I should’ve known Curtis would be no help. Benjamin had it right; his brother is too tenderhearted. “Sam, your father is going to be worried sick.”

  “By the time he realizes I’m gone we’ll be halfway back,” Sam says. “And I already tried to talk Micah out of it. He was set to go himself if I didn’t come along.”

  In desperation I turn to Ben. “You,” I say. “You can’t want them along.”

  Benjamin clears his throat and does his glaring thing. “We don’t take in strays, boys,” he says. “And we ain’t free.”

  Sam squares his shoulders and digs in his pocket. “I didn’t reckon you were,” he says, holding out a fistful of bills. “I got the money, for both of us.”

  I should’ve known a doctor’s son would have money.

  “This is ridiculous. Sam doesn’t even know how to shoot.”

  “I do too!” Sam says, affronted.

  “You know how to aim?” Benjamin asks skeptically.

  “You have plenty of gun hands,” Sam counters. “What you don’t have is a doctor.”

  “You’re a doctor?”

  “Closest thing there is to one out here.” Sam shrugs off the pack he’s carrying and flips it open. “Bandages, alcohol, needles, laudanum. I can patch wounds and keep ’em clean. That’s worth more than any gun.”

  Benjamin and Curtis exchange a glance. It reminds me of the twins, how they can read what the other is thinking without words. I’m losing this fight, is what that look means.

  “Willie,” Micah says quietly to me. “We can walk with you or behind you, but we’re not going back.”

  “I hope you brought your own water,” is all I say.

  23.

  We pass the third marker while I am not speaking to anyone. I don’t think any of them notice my silence, or if they do they don’t consider it punishment, but it’s a small kind of satisfaction. I keep my head down, watching my feet and reciting the names of cacti; shin-dagger agave, prickly pear, devil cholla, twisted rib. Half are named for what they’ll do to you, and I’ve been on the receiving end of their tender mercies before.

  Micah and Sam are walking behind Curtis, occasionally asking questions. They’re not laughing anymore, not after they got a chance to see the well. I reckon it was a game until then, but a dead body makes for a rude realization. I hoped it would make Micah rethink coming with, but if anything he looks more determined. He and Sam are different out here. I never would have thought Micah would prove to be so strong-willed or that Sam would be prideful. Am I different, too, I wonder? All I feel is angry, and scared. And that’s nothing new to me.

  The blisters on my right heel have broken, and now the skin is being rubbed raw inside my boot. I try not to wince as I walk, but it slows me down some. I fall farther behind the others, coming level to Benjamin and Nana. He looks my way but doesn’t say anything, not that I expect him to. I watch the others up ahead, my brother easy to spot. He’s almost as tall as Curtis, but so much thinner, like someone took a small child and stretched him.

  “I woulda thought I could count on you to send them packing,” I say to Benjamin.

  “Maybe you can afford to turn money down,” he answers.

  “Not me.” I shake my head and sigh. This is not how I wanted this day to go.

  I keep my thoughts to myself after that, and by the time Ben and I catch up to the rest, my anger has cooled some. It’s too hot and bright out here for me to be burning inside as well. The best I can manage is a tired scowl when Micah comes alongside me. He takes a breath like he’s about to launch into a speech, so I lengthen my stride until I pass him. If he has something to say, he can talk to my back.

  I haven’t gone more than a few steps when something small strikes my leg. It’s a cheap trick, throwing rocks; I thought we’d grown out of it. Another pebble glances off my back and I twitch. It’s not that it hurts, but Micah knows how much it annoys me.

  “Stop it,” I tell him, breaking my vow of silence. It doesn’t help that his aim has improved. Another rock hits my shoulder and falls to the ground with a ding.

  “Cut it out, Micah.”

  The last one hits me right in the rear, and I round on him, hands on hips. “I said cut it out!”

  Micah grins at me and drops a handful of rocks back onto the ground.

  “Come on, Sis,” he says, dusting off his hands. “Ain’t you just the littlest bit happy to see me?”

  “No.”

  “Liar.”

  That does it; I take a wild swat at his face, but Micah knows my temper too well and he’s tall enough now that he can hold me off. We wrestle for a moment, and then he has an arm locked around my head and I have my shoulder shoved against his stomach.

  “What. Is. Wrong. With. You?” I punctuate each word with my fist, hitting Micah wherever I can reach.

  “You! You never listen to me,” Micah says, and he pokes me in the side with his bony elbow.

  “Ow, stop it.”

  “You stop it.”

  We struggle against one another until it’s clear neither of us has the upper hand.

  “Truce?” I ask, breathing hard. Our fights always end the same way; since Micah started getting taller, we’re too evenly matched.

  “Truce,” Micah agrees, and we both let go.

  I straighten up and find Curtis and Sam watching us with matching expressions of amusement. Ben, of course, looks just the same, maybe only slightly more disgusted.

  “What?” I ask defiantly, trying to cover my embarrassment. My cheeks get hot; I’m too old to be scrapping in the dirt.

  “Nothing,” Sam says, but I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

  “Then keep walking,” I tell him.

  I glance at Micah; his face is bright red and he looks like he wants to stick his head in the sand. I sigh, and the fight goes out of me.

  “Why couldn’t you just do like I asked, Micah?” I say quietly, not wanting the others to overhear us quarrel again. “I got enough to worry about without you here.”

  “You’re not the only one who worries, Will. I got just as much at stake here. This is my family, too.”

  “I know that, Micah. But what happens to the twins if we both get hurt?”

  “Fine, then you go back,” Micah says, not bothering to keep his voice down. “You go home and babysit the twins and wait by the door, hoping I come back alive.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but I have nothing to say. I couldn’t, of course. I couldn’t stand not knowing what was happening to my brother. I couldn’t stand any of my family getting hurt; it’s why I’m out here to begin with.

  Micah smiles. “That’s what I thought.”

  “I woulda come back, Micah,” I tell him quietly. “I would.”

  “Maybe,” he says. “But how long you think it’ll take McAllister to put a bounty on Pa? It’s only a matter of time, and then there’s nothing to stop these boys from killing you and Pa and taking the money for themselves. I won’t leave, Will, so don’t ask me again. We’re in this mess together, like it or not.”

  I shake my head, beaten. “Fine,” I say. “Suit yourself. But you took the twins to Old Bess, and you’re the one who has to go get ’em back.”

  From the look on Micah’s face, he didn’t think that far ahead. I smile to myself, pleased with the punishment; Bess doesn’t get much company, and if the last time I visited is any indication, getting the twins to leave her house
will be just as hard as getting her to let Micah go.

  “That’s low, Will,” Sam says, eavesdropping on our conversation. He laughs and I narrow my eyes at him.

  “I don’t know why you’re laughing, Kincaid. I’m sure the boys at the station will be happy to hear we brought a doctor with us. How many coughs can you listen to? How many blisters you think need tending?”

  That wipes the smile off his face. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Watch me.”

  “Willie, please—they’ll make me lance things.” Sam looks so horrified I almost relent.

  “You shoulda thought of that before you left.”

  I leave the boys to commiserate with one another and make my way over to Curtis, feeling fairly revenged.

  “You’re a mighty cruel one,” he says, suppressing a smile.

  “It’s their own damn fault for crossing me. And you were no help.”

  Curtis raises his eyebrows at me. “You think my brother would stay put if I told him I was hunting alone?”

  I glance over at Ben. “I don’t know. Have you tried?”

  Curtis chuckles. “I haven’t been able to tell Ben what to do since he learned how to walk. He’s that stubborn.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” I say dryly.

  “Sign,” Ben calls out, putting all thoughts of muleheaded little brothers out of mind.

  Curtis snaps to attention. “Where?”

  “South,” Ben answers, pulling out his scope.

  I look to our right and squint against the sun: human-shaped figures moving against the dirt, darker than the desert, their shadows stretching long and low.

  “What is it?” Curtis asks, and for a wild moment I allow myself to hope it’s another rogue brother, or hunters, anything but—

  “Shakes,” Ben says, and my neck prickles.

  “How many?” Curtis asks.

  “Six.”

  “You sure?”

  “Here.” Ben hands the glass to his brother. I wish he would stop talking in single words; it sets my heart beating faster.

  Curtis presses the scope to his eye and makes a grunting sound I take to mean he agrees with Ben.

  “There’s a bleeder,” he says, and I suck in my breath. Bleeders, the injured shakes, are the worst; their wounds never heal properly, so they don’t even have to bite you to get you sick. All they have to do is get close enough to bleed on you.

  “What do you think? Half mile?” Curtis asks.

  “Not even,” Ben says, his voice maddeningly calm.

  I glance at Micah, and I don’t need a mirror to know we’re wearing the same face: creased brow, tight eyes, lips set straight across like a knife slash. I would bet we’re thinking the same thing, too: How fast can a shake cover less than half a mile?

  Ben tugs his rifle off his back. The movement startles me, and I flinch and then curse at myself for flinching. At least this time my hands don’t tremble when I reach for my own gun.

  “You ain’t gonna need that just yet,” Curtis says.

  “What?”

  “There’s a reason I let my little brother come along,” he says with a faint smile. He nods at Ben while I stand there blinking, feeling like I’m missing a large part of what’s happening.

  “Stand clear,” Ben says.

  I’m not close, but I still back up a few steps, putting even more distance between us. Ben raises the gun to his shoulder and takes careful aim, his breath coming out in a slow hiss. He stands stiller than I thought a human being could, his eyes unblinking and his chest quiet. He doesn’t shoot, and I glance back at the desert, wondering what he’s waiting for. The shakes are getting closer, their movements uncoordinated but purposeful. I look away before I can make out their features; I don’t want to remember their faces.

  The shot takes me by surprise, the blast echoing across the flat plain. A heartbeat later one of the shakes collapses. Then the howling starts, high-pitched and wild; the sound an animal makes when it’s in pain.

  “You got it in the arm,” Curtis says, the glass glued to his eye.

  “Make it stop,” I say, shutting my eyes. “Garrett, put it out of its misery.”

  “I’m trying,” Ben says, his voice a low growl.

  I ball my hands into fists, the shrieking grinding into my bones. Another shot rings out, sharp and cold, and the screaming abruptly cuts off and I can breathe again. I relax my hands and open my eyes, afraid of what I’ll see but unable to look away. The shakes aren’t moving forward anymore; they fold in on themselves, converging into a mass of wet mouths and dirty teeth. I know it’s only my imagination, but I swear I can see a streak of red.

  “It’s down,” Curtis says, lowering the telescope. “Nice shot. That should keep them busy for a while.”

  I look away, feeling ill. I tell myself it’s like buzzards eating a rotting possum, but it’s not. It’s not like that at all.

  Ben casually tucks his rifle onto his back, like shooting a shake at far range happens every day. I suppose, maybe for him, it does. But screams echo in my head, and I risk a glance at Micah. His eyes are slightly wide, and Sam’s eyebrows are so high they almost touch his hair. I reckon I could say I told them so, but I don’t much feel like it just now.

  24.

  We’re all walking slower and I’m not the only one limping when we cross the fourth marker and the next box. My eyes feel hot and heavy and my tongue is like sandpaper. I try to swallow, but I can’t get a lick of moisture in my mouth. My backside is one large ache, and I thank the stars for Nana. If I had to carry my pack this whole way, I’d be crawling by now. The only thing taking my mind off my poor feet is my hand, which is itching and throbbing something awful. The cut is deeper than I first thought, and the skin around it is red and puffy. It hurts to scratch it, but the tickle is driving me mad and I keep forgetting. Finally I tie another scrap of cloth around my hand; it may not help the itch, but it will keep me from scratching at it.

  The back of my neck is starting to burn and I tilt my hat back for some shade. I find myself wishing the sun would go down, before I realize how stupid that would be. Still, between the heat and the dust I feel less like a girl and more like a tough piece of jerky.

  A gun blast shatters the air and I jump so bad I think I leave the ground. All my pains and itches are forgotten in an instant as I look around for the source of the shot.

  “Did that come from ahead?” Micah asks.

  “Most likely,” Curtis says, squinting along the road. “Everyone stay calm. Single shot is usually a sound-off from another hunter.”

  Ben already has his scope out, and he nods at Curtis. “It’s that feller with the glass eye. Warrens, I think?”

  Curtis tugs his gun out and points it straight up into the air. He gives us a moment to back up and then fires. He waves his gun around to clear the smoke before he puts it back on his belt.

  “All right, keep sharp,” Curtis says, and we keep walking.

  It takes a few minutes for the other hunter to come into focus. I recognize him from the Homestead; he’s a shorter fellow with brown skin and a graying beard.

  “It’s Aarons,” I say. “Not Warrens.”

  “You know him?” Ben asks, one brow cocked.

  “Not to speak to him, but I’ve heard his name. Didn’t know he had a glass eye, though. Which one is it?”

  “Hell if I can figure it out,” Curtis says. “Aarons,” he calls when the hunter comes alongside us. He holds out a hand, and Aarons clasps it.

  “Garrett,” he says, scowling hello. “And other Garrett. You boys out long?”

  “Since this morning. Clear ahead?”

  “All clear. Clear behind?”

  “All clear. You on a job?”

  “Clean-up patrol,” Aarons says, sniffing with annoyance. “Caught a pack last night at the fence. Think we got most, but could be some stragglers made it away.”

  Curtis nods. “Make sure you keep outta the well; we found one in there.”

  “That’s some bad
medicine. I’ll pass it along.” Aarons scratches his beard and gets a good look at the rest of us. He starts to frown, and I realize how we must appear; two underfed boys and a girl with ill-fitting pants. We couldn’t be more out of place.

  “Well, we won’t slow you down,” Curtis says, clapping the man on the shoulder. “Take care, Aarons. We should be getting on to the station.”

  “Right. You’ll be seeing it soon enough. Mind the cookout,” he says, laughing harshly.

  I don’t understand what he means, and from their frowns, Ben and Curtis don’t find it funny.

  “Good hunting,” Aarons says.

  “Good hunting.”

  Aarons gives us one last look-over and goes on his way. He’s right about the way station; the land is so level we can see it long before we get there. It’s almost cruel, like teasing a dog with a bone just out of reach. With every step we take, the station seems to move farther away, so we’re always the same distance from it. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, like dying men who see a lake in the middle of the desert. A stumble jolts me out of my reverie, but I manage to catch myself before I fall. I don’t even feel where my toe hit the rock, my feet are that numb.

  When I look up, I see a large black rock; beyond that a barbed-wire fence rises and behind that sits the station, near enough now for me to smell the smoke. Except the smoke has a strange scent to it, like charred meat mixed with burning hair and something foul.

  “Where is that coming from?” Sam asks, frowning.

  “You might not wanna look,” Ben says, but it’s too late. What I took for a rock starts to sharpen into a tangle of blackened limbs and burnt clothes.

  “They try for the walls at night,” Curtis says quietly. “Some nights are worse than others.”

  Micah swears under his breath, his eyes wide. We burn our dead, but I’ve never seen a pile of bodies this big, thrown together like so much waste.

  “I reckon this was a worse night,” Sam says, and he sounds so calm about it. Maybe seeing people’s insides numbs you to such gruesomeness, but I hope I never get to that point.