“Geez, Will,” Sam says, sucking in his breath. “You coulda just punched him.”
I glare down at Grady, who’s busy moaning.
“That’s for eating my biscuits,” I tell him.
Curtis claps me on the back and steers me back toward home. We leave Grady alone in the dirt, where I reckon he belongs. I lean heavily on Sam as we start walking again, tired but vindicated.
“Pleased with yourself?” he asks dryly.
“Yes,” I say, and my lips crack as I smile.
65.
“Absolutely not.”
“Do you have another suggestion?” Curtis has his reasonable voice on, and I can tell Ben and Sam put him in charge of the talking.
Ben unrolls the litter they want me to ride in. “It’s—it’s humiliating. I don’t want to be carried like some wounded animal.”
“You are a wounded animal,” Ben says under his breath.
“You’re not helping,” Sam tells him.
“Not trying to,” Ben counters. I narrow my eyes at both of them, but they don’t scare easy.
“Look, Will, stop being difficult,” Sam says. “You can’t make it back to Glory on foot; how else are we supposed to move you?”
I weigh my options, and they don’t look promising. My legs are trembling and there’s a fine sheen of sweat covering my face and arms. I suppose I could insist they let me sit here until I die, but that doesn’t seem likely.
“If any of you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll—I’ll—” I can’t think of a good-enough threat. “I’ll do something horrible to you. Something permanent.”
“Agreed,” Curtis says. “Now get in.”
The litter is fashioned out of an old saddle blanket and some rope. It’s rough and it smells like horse, and I protest one last time purely for pride’s sake. Then I climb onto the scratchy blanket gratefully, and with a grunt I’m lifted up, Ben taking the front while Sam helps Curtis on account of his arm. It’s a strange sensation, to be lying down and carried; I feel like I’m floating over the desert. At first I try to keep scanning the ground, but it’s too difficult to keep turning my head from side to side. I let myself lie back and just stare at the pale sky. The moon is still visible, just a thin splinter so light it looks transparent. The sun is starting to burn off the grayness of the early morning, a promise of a beautiful day.
I feel safer in the litter, which I know is silly; if anything happens, I’m at a disadvantage. Still, being wrapped in a blanket is always comforting, especially one carried by well-armed hunters. I start to relax, lulled by the movement, and close my eyes.
“You always this sweaty?” Ben rudely interrupts my reverie.
My eyes fly open to find him staring at my face. He’s trimmed his beard recently, I guess at the station.
“I’m ill,” I tell him. “And I have hunters chasing me. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m carrying an ill person. Who’s being chased by hunters.”
I grin ruefully, because there’s nothing I can say to that. I study the leather guard at his throat; it looks sturdy and well made. I wonder if I could make one out of snakeskin. There has to be some way for me to bring in more money. Under the sadness and the shame, the reality of losing Micah is starting to sink in. My brother is really gone, along with everything that entails. Who’s going to keep me truthful now? Who’s going to help me skin snakes and chase after the twins? I don’t know how to survive without him. I don’t know if we can survive at all.
“I don’t mean you’re heavy,” Ben says, disrupting my thoughts again.
“What?”
“You’re looking blue at me. I was only joking, you’re not making me sweat.”
I frown at him. “Oh, it ain’t about that. I’m just thinking.”
“’Bout what?”
“My brother. We always worked together, you know? Like you and Curtis. It was hard enough with the two of us, what am I gonna do now? I got nobody else.”
“You’ll think of something.” Ben gives me a steady nod. “You’ll find a way to get by.”
“I reckon I must.” My mind goes back to the conversation I had with Clementine. I scoffed at her then, still sore about the Judge. I never thought things would get bad enough I’d really consider joining up with Pearl; that’s for girls with no other options. But I’m looking around, and my options are mighty slim. And one thing’s certain; I didn’t survive the sickness just to starve to death in Glory.
“Why did you become a hunter?” I ask him.
His eyebrows shoot up before he schools them back down. He pauses before he answers me, choosing his words carefully. “Our family were horse breeders, up in Ennis. Our granddaddy started the stables, and Pa took over when he passed. Only I don’t need to tell you what happened—everybody knows shakes go for the animals first. Our horses got sick, or died on the road, and we had to shut down.”
“So you decided to go kill shakes.”
“Seemed like the thing to do. What else is there out here?”
“You could go north. I hear they got real cities there, with proper roads.”
Ben shakes his head. “Ain’t no way out. No railroads, no stations once you get past Llano. Judge don’t want us leaving, and neither do the folks up north.”
“He can’t control y’all forever.”
“Someone else will take his place. Don’t much matter who’s at the top when you’re scraping the bottom. Look, I know you don’t like hunters, but there ain’t many ways for a man to make a living now.”
“A woman neither,” I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “And I like you fine, Garrett. You done right by me, hunter or no.”
Ben smiles at me, that rare lopsided smile of his. It makes my stomach turn over, but not in an unpleasant way. His smile’s gone as quickly as it came, but I think I can still see a ghost of it hidden in the corner of his mouth.
66.
I sleep for a spell, a restless, impatient sleep. I wake up often, catching scraps of conversation and mumbled curses when the litter jostles. I throw one arm over my face to block the glare of the sun but it worms its way in, hanging over the edge of the litter like a pink ribbon. When the litter comes to a full stop, I wake up sticky and drowsy, my mouth tasting sour. The boys lower me carefully, and I clamber out like a newborn calf, groggy and disoriented.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Maybe a third of the way,” Curtis answers. He hands me a canteen, and I drink away the taste in my mouth.
“I can walk for a bit,” I say, wiping water off my chin. It’s half question, half statement, and I raise my eyebrows in Sam’s direction.
“If you feel up to it,” he says.
“I do.”
I reach my arms over my head, stretching out the last bits of sleep. Ben passes around apples, and I take my time eating one, enjoying the crunch and chew of it. I gnaw on the core while we start moving again, sucking at the last bits like a dog with a bone. I toss the remains far into the desert, watching for the cloud of dust when it lands.
Riding in the litter seems to have calmed my nerves some. Well, that, and getting back at Grady. I flex my calves, and they’re sore but steady. The sun is hot on my neck and shoulders, soothing my achy muscles while sweat collects under my hair. I desperately need to bathe again, my shirt is stiff with fever sweat and dirt and I feel like I’ll never get all the grit out from under my nails. When I get home, the first thing I’m doing is washing myself, and then these clothes. After I deal with McAllister and get the twins, of course. And after I tell them about Micah, and Pa. I don’t know how much of the rest I should say.
“Sam?” I get his attention.
“Do you need to stop?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m wondering—are you sure it’s safe for me to be around the twins? The sickness won’t come back?”
Sam shakes his head. “I told you, once the fever’s gone, you’re not contagious. I wouldn’t let you hurt anyone, Will.”
I nod, chewing on my lip. “What are you going to tell your father? About what happened?”
Sam frowns, rubbing a finger under one eye. “I don’t know. Some of it, I guess.”
“About me getting sick?” I suppose I shouldn’t mind if Doc Kincaid knows, but for some reason it feels private. “And what about you two?” I add, glancing at Ben and Curtis.
The boys exchange glances, and I can tell they’ve talked about this already. I’m slightly annoyed; when were they planning on including me?
“Willie, we’re not going to tell anyone,” Curtis says. “Nor should you.”
“It’s not something you want people knowing,” Ben adds.
I scratch the scab on my hand, feeling irritated. “You’re saying that like I did something wrong.”
“Folks won’t trust you,” Curtis says bluntly. “No one’s survived before, and they won’t understand. They’ll want to know why you.”
“Why me, why not their husband or wife or child,” I finish for him. It’s the same thought I had, why me and not my mother. Why not Micah, who was so much better than me. I can understand their imaginary anger well enough.
“Right,” Sam says. “And it ain’t only about you, Willie. We’re in it just as much. If the Judge finds out—well, he’s gonna want to know how, and I don’t know the how. And he won’t take ‘I don’t know’ for an answer.”
“And we didn’t exactly follow the rules on this one,” Ben says. “If the other hunters find out we brought the sickness inside the station, we’re done for.”
I look at the three of them, pained at how much they risked for me, how many times they’ve spared me; I did nothing to deserve it.
“We’ll figure this out together, Will,” Sam says. “Figure out what happened, and if—if we can make it happen again.”
“You think there’s a chance?” I ask, my breath catching.
“I don’t know. If you’d asked me a week ago, I’d say you’d lost your mind. Now . . .” Sam shrugs. “Everything’s different.”
“One thing at a time,” Curtis says. “Till we have answers, safest thing is to keep quiet.”
“I don’t want to cause you any more trouble than I already have,” I tell him. “No one will hear about it from me, I promise.”
I make another, silent promise to myself: no matter how long it takes, somehow, I will pay back what I owe these boys.
67.
I walk for as long as I can, and next time I don’t argue when Sam tells me to stop. I get back in the litter and stare at the horizon without really seeing it. My mind is stuffed with too many questions and not enough answers. I don’t know how to tell the twins about Micah; hell, I don’t even know if they’ll still be at Bess’s. They thought we’d be home days ago and if Calvin gets anxious he’s likely to run off back home. I hate to think what they’re doing to the house unsupervised.
A scream pierces the quiet of the desert, a human-sounding scream; a second later a gunshot rings out. The litter stops immediately, and I scramble out, my heart pounding in my ears.
“Where did that come from?” I ask.
“Not sure,” Curtis says, his voice clipped. “Ben, do you see anything?”
The boys drop the litter to the ground as soon as I’m clear, and Ben jerks his head around like a madman.
Another gunshot sounds, and I whirl around, straining to see anything.
“There, straight ahead,” Sam says, pointing. I follow his arm and see a pale cloud of what looks like rifle smoke rising up.
“Damn,” Curtis says, his eyes narrowed to slits, “it’s on the road. I can’t make out how many.”
He throws a loaded glance to Ben, his good hand already on his gun. The brothers are coiled tight as snakes. Curtis looks at me, and I give him a sharp nod.
“Go. I’ll keep up as best I can.”
“Stay with her,” he says to Sam, already starting to run. Ben has a head start, but Curtis gets even with him in a matter of seconds. Their boots pound the dirt solidly, kicking up huge billows of dust.
My hands are trembling something awful, but I help Sam quickly roll up the litter. I throw my pack on my back and we start after Ben and Curtis, Sam letting me set the pace. I grit my teeth and break into a run, adjusting my gun where it bangs against my thigh. Another shot sounds and I push to go faster, but my legs start to quiver and my lungs are burning in my chest. I can’t keep up this pace for long, but I focus on Ben and Curtis ahead of me, keeping my sight fixed on their backs. The gunshots have stopped, and now the only noise is my own labored breathing and Sam’s feet next to mine. The distance diminishes step by step, and I realize Ben and Curtis aren’t shooting. That, and the silence, means I should prepare myself for what we’re about to find.
Ben is putting his gun away when we pull alongside him.
“Too late. Nothing’s moving.”
I use the last of the walk to catch my breath and steady my nerves. The land slopes up gently, and my legs protest even the slight incline. Sweat drips off my nose and chin, and I wipe my face with my sleeve. My eyes go immediately to the lumpy figures in the road, maybe three of them; it’s hard to tell the shapes apart. I would take them to be piles of wood and dirt if it weren’t for the red smears. The blood looks out of place, the color so bright against the sand. It is out of place, I remind myself; it belongs on the inside.
Curtis swears under his breath and stops a good ways away from the scene. I can make out individual faces now, separate the bodies from one another. They’re not from Glory or I’d recognize them. Hunters on a supply run, I reckon, judging from the bags scattered in the sand: salt, feed, nails, and the like. It’s easy to tell how they died, but I try to keep my eyes off those mangled parts. One man still has his gun in his hand, so he must’ve gotten off a few shots before he bled out. The shake that did it is lying close, slumped against a large rucksack like he’s just sitting.
Ben walks around to look at the shake more closely and his eyes widen. He looks up quickly and sniffs.
“We should go,” he says, his voice far too casual, “before any more come.”
I march up to where he’s standing and make for the shake.
“Willie, don’t,” Ben says. He catches me by the arms but doesn’t protest when I break away.
I smell the liquor coming off him before I even see Dollarhide’s face. I give a quick, sharp inhale, not quite a gasp but more than a breath. His mouth is wet with blood and the skin over his eyes looks almost translucent. There are bullet holes in his shoulder and stomach, but I guess they didn’t slow him down much. I bite my lip hard, fighting the rising nausea that comes with understanding. I did this. I bled on him, I infected him, and I turned him loose on these people. That’s three more deaths to place at my feet.
“You couldn’t know—”
“Don’t,” I say, cutting off Ben. “Just don’t.”
He held out longer than me. I wonder if I would have lasted longer, too, if I were stronger, if I always got enough to eat. Did he know what was happening to him, or was he too drunk to even tell how sick he was? I didn’t like Dollarhide, but I wouldn’t wish this on him. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
“Should we move him?” Sam asks, rubbing the back of his neck. “He was one of y’all.”
“He was a damn cur and a poor excuse for a hunter,” Curtis says calmly. “He ain’t one of us.”
Sam shrugs, but he doesn’t argue. He comes to stand next to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. I turn away, feeling sick to my stomach.
“Come on, Sam,” Curtis says. “There’s nothing we can do for him now.”
I take one last look at Dollarhide, Sam standing over him, and only then do I see his chest rise.
“Sam!” I yell as Dollarhide lunges forward, Sam in his sights, and everything slows down to a crawl. It all becomes very simple in my mind. All the wrong choices I’ve made in my life, all the mistakes, they lie out behind me like faulty footsteps. I can see it: every time I should have been kinder, or
quicker, or better, every point I should have turned back or started over; it’s all there, written in the dirt. I can’t erase it, can’t undo it or fix it. I can’t go back to make things right, all I can do is go forward. And maybe this, this one thing, I can do right.
My feet move forward of their own accord, like my body knows what I’m going to do before I do it. It’s only a few steps to Sam, but it feels like the distance is insurmountable. It takes forever to reach him and it takes no time at all. One arm shoves Sam out of the way as Dollarhide’s teeth sink into the other.
68.
The pain snaps me back into reality, and everything is fast and loud and harsh. Sam is screaming at me from the ground, but all my focus is on the jaws latched on to my arm. Blood bubbles up around Dollarhide’s mouth, staining his teeth red, but just as quickly he releases my arm. I don’t stop to think about why he let me go, I pull my gun free and jam it against his temple. He stares past me, his eyes feral and uncomprehending, even when I pull the trigger.
The shot blasts Dollarhide sideways and his body hits the ground with a thud. More shots go off as Ben and Curtis make doubly and triply sure he’s dead. Sam grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me away, turning me around to face him.
“Let me see it,” he says, his voice shaking.
“It’s not bad.”
“Let me see.”
I hold out my arm for him to see. The wound is jagged and bloody, but not too deep. Of course it’s my injured arm, because I certainly need more scars on it.
Curtis and Ben are by my side now, making me sit down. Despite how much my arm hurts, I’m surprisingly relaxed, a strange peace sitting like a stone in my belly.
“I need alcohol,” Sam says.
“From where?” Curtis asks.
“If Dollarhide’s here, there’s alcohol,” Sam snaps at him.
“Right.” Curtis runs begins to frantically search through the debris on the ground.
Devils Unto Dust Page 25
