In a Handful of Dust

  “We came across people stronger than us, with more to offer. She took off to see if they’ll have her. My guess is whoever was doing the shooting last night is the same people attached to that field of corn. They probably don’t want anyone spreading the word of their success.”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause they’ll either want to join ’em, or take what they’ve got. And they can only support so many.”

  “What about Joss? Think they’ll take her?”

  Lynn shrugged. “She’s not my problem anymore. We’re moving on, and quick as possible. Can you keep a good pace?”

  “I can try.” Lucy struggled to her feet. “You’ll have to carry my pack, though.”

  “Sit back down, we’re not done with that shoulder yet.”

  Lucy groaned but did as she was told. “What now?”

  Lynn rummaged through her pack. “Your grandma gave me some honey before we left, said it’s good at keeping wounds clean.” She looked dubiously at the plastic bottle she produced. “Better than nothing, I guess.” Then she pulled a small plastic box from her pack that Lucy recognized as a sewing kit. Lucy shot to her feet.

  “No—no way! You’re not stitching me up.” Lucy had seen grown men down hard cider and still cry quiet tears while Vera sewed them up at her kitchen table.

  Lynn pulled a needle from the box and threaded it. “Trust me, little one, this is going to hurt me way more than you.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  Thirteen

  The gnats hovered around Lucy’s shoulder, drawn by the sweetness of the honey mixing with her sweat. Lucy’s right arm rested against her chest, cradled in the makeshift sling Lynn had fashioned out of braided twine. The pain from being shot hadn’t hurt nearly as bad as being stitched by Lynn’s shaky hands, and Lucy walked with her teeth clenched, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other instead of the burning pain in her flesh.

  Lynn glanced back, her own face flushed and dripping with sweat. Both packs and two rifles were strapped across her back, and Lucy knew the weight was tremendous. Lynn had kept up a steady pace nevertheless, glancing back at Lucy often to make sure she was keeping up.

  “How you doing?” she called back loudly, even though only twenty feet separated them.

  “I’m shot, not deaf,” Lucy shouted back.

  Lynn halted and drew a bottle from her pack, waiting for Lucy to catch up before handing it to her. “Let’s take a rest.”

  Lucy gratefully collapsed under the shade of a maple and took a deep pull of water. It was warm, but welcome.

  Lynn stayed on the road, wiping the sweat from her brow. Lucy watched her as she shaded her eyes against the noon sun. Lynn’s water bottle fell from her hand, turning the dirt to mud at her feet.

  “What? What is it?” Lucy struggled to her feet and into the road, where a rapidly approaching ball of dirt barreled toward them from the east.

  Lynn tore off both guns, tossing the packs into the high grass and handing Lucy one of the rifles. “Take this,” she said. “Go out into the grass and lie down.”

  “No,” Lucy said, voice shaking. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “You’re not going to stand next to me useless either,” Lynn said. “You try to shoot that rifle with your left and you’re as likely to hit me as them.”

  The ground beneath their feet vibrated, and the foreign sound of hoofbeats rang through the air. Lucy shaded her eyes and could just discern the riders from the horses amid the dust ball. “We’ve got time. I say we run.”

  “They’ll follow,” Lynn said, cocking her gun and resting it lightly in the crook of her elbow. “I heard horses last night too. Rare as those animals are, I’m betting this is the same bunch. They either think we’re a threat or are under the impression we’ve got something they want.”

  Lucy clamped her hand down on Lynn’s, squeezing hard. “Joss knows I can dowse.”

  Lynn’s eyebrows flew up. “And you were going to tell me this when?”

  “I’m sorry,” Lucy said, eyeing the riders as they grew closer. “I never thought she’d use it against me.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re a decent person,” Lynn said. “I would’ve figured it right off.”

  The horses were close enough that Lucy heard the front man shout to the others. They slackened their pace, fanning out to face her and Lynn.

  “All right then,” Lynn said, eyeing their formation. “You talked long enough to earn a spot here on the road. Things go south, you head for the grass and use the pistol. You’re better at short range, anyway.”

  Lucy only nodded, words stolen from her as the men came within thirty feet, then close enough to see one of them wasn’t a man at all. “Damn her,” Lucy said at the sight of Joss.

  “Don’t worry about that now,” Lynn said quietly. “You keep still.”

  The horses slowed to a walk, then a halt, as the five men and Joss formed a line. Lucy glared at their one-time companion, the unfamiliar burn of hatred pulsing through her. Joss only stared back.

  “Afternoon, ladies,” the man in the lead said, nodding toward Lynn, who nonchalantly nodded back.

  “Afternoon.”

  “It’s a nice day for a ride,” the man continued, crossing one leg over his pommel.

  “I prefer to walk myself,” Lynn said, eyes roaming over the mounted men as she spoke. “Like to get back to it, if you don’t mind.”

  “That can wait a bit, I imagine,” he said, still friendly, though Lucy noticed he was watching Lynn’s hands instead of her face. “We hear you shoot like a man.”

  “You heard wrong,” Lynn said coldly. “I shoot like a woman.”

  A titter swept through the men, and Joss shifted uncomfortably in her saddle.

  “One of my men got a little taste of your talent last night,” the man continued, smile fading. “He’s not feeling so well today.”

  “Funny, my daughter took a hit and is feeling fine.”

  “Joss here says that ain’t your daughter.”

  “Joss say anything else?”

  The man smiled again, a cold flexing of facial muscles that didn’t extend to his eyes. “Enough to get her a nice safe place to live for a while, assuming the young one comes along without any trouble.”

  The man switched his gaze to her, and Lucy instinctively stepped back, wishing she could puddle into the ground along with the water at Lynn’s feet.

  “Sorry,” Lynn said, a small smile on her own face. “I’ll be giving you trouble.”

  “Why can’t we take ’em both?” one of the other riders said to the leader, but his eyes were riveted on Lynn. “I like women with more hair on them than the dowser has got.”

  “You keep the blond one long enough, her hair’ll grow,” another one said, eyes crawling over Lucy’s body.

  “Ain’t nobody taking anybody,” Lynn said, her voice dropping all pretense of civility.

  “I told you she’s dangerous,” Joss said, nervously watching Lynn. “Take care of her and grab the little one.”

  “I like ’em dangerous,” the one who was interested in Lynn said, walking his horse right up beside her. He took a handful of her hair and tugged on it. “You’re awful pretty, to be so mean.”

  “I been trying to do better about killing people,” Lynn said. “Then fate puts you in my path.”

  Lucy knew the tone well enough to drop before Lynn’s rifle cracked, the shot catching his horse in the neck and sending the animal rearing, the rider flying. The horse fell to its knees, lifeblood spilling into the dirt. Lynn crouched behind its flailing body. Lucy rolled to the side and felt the stitches in her shoulder rip as she flung herself into the ditch and pulled her own rifle into position.

  The horses panicked at the smell of blood, and the men fired wildly as their mounts struggled against their bridles. Shots rang past Lucy in the grass, but none ca
me close. More blood sprayed from the dying horse Lynn hid behind as she waited patiently to come up for a shot. When she did, the leader fell, a neat black hole in his forehead.

  The rider of the dead horse had been bucked off, breaking a leg. He was crawling east as best he could, trying to stay out from under the hooves of the pawing horses. Lucy drew a bead on another rider but hesitated a second before pulling the trigger. Lynn’s shot rang out first. The man fell in a heap, his horse trampling his skull.

  Joss was screaming, inexpertly yanking on the reins and spooking her horse more. It bucked wildly, frightened by its strange rider, and Joss went sailing over its head.

  The two remaining men fired desperately. Lynn crouched behind the dead horse, squeezing herself into the smallest possible target. She came up briefly, fired quickly, and one of the men shrieked and grabbed his arm. His gun clattered to the road. He turned his horse east, disappearing in a cloud of dust, one of the riderless horses following behind.

  The last man tossed his gun down and put both hands in the air. Lynn glanced over the body of the horse, saw him unarmed, and rose to her feet. Lucy emerged from the grass and walked to where Joss lay curled in a ball, moaning.

  “Don’t kill me,” the man said, his voice shaking as Lynn approached his mount. “Wasn’t my idea.”

  “I know whose idea it was,” she said, looking blackly at Joss, who cowered under her glare. Lynn sighed and looked back at Lucy.

  “Don’t kill him,” Lucy said. “What good would it do?”

  “They know you can dowse.”

  “I won’t tell nobody, honest.” The rider moved to cross his heart, but Lynn trained her gun on him.

  “I really think I should shoot him,” Lynn said.

  Lucy glanced down at Joss, who was sitting up and cradling an obviously broken ankle. “Save your bullets,” Lucy said.

  Lynn looked between the rider and the man with the broken leg, who was still trying to crawl east. “I’m taking your horses,” she said. “Pick your buddy up off the ground. I see any of your people following us, you’re the first person I shoot.”

  “Understood,” the man said curtly, sliding down off his horse and handing the reins over to Lynn. He motioned to Joss. “What about her?”

  Lynn looked at Joss with a hardness in her eyes Lucy had never seen before. “She’s staying here. Just like that.”

  Joss moaned and tried to grab Lucy’s leg, but she stepped out of reach. Lynn walked away from the fallen riders without another glance, handed the reins of one horse to Lucy, and gathered the two remaining, walking past Joss as if she wasn’t there.

  “Please, Lynn, listen to me,” Joss pleaded, as Lynn walked by. “Don’t leave me here. I can’t walk.”

  Lynn didn’t answer and motioned to Lucy to get on her horse as she mounted her own, draping the reins of the riderless horse around her pommel. Lucy bit down against the pain as she pulled herself awkwardly into the saddle. Fresh blood broke through the honey coating her wound, the bitter metallic smell mixing with the sweet tang of honey. As they rode past Joss, Lucy glanced down to see a bloody streak of bone sticking out above her foot, already attracting flies.

  “Lynn? Lynn!” Joss’ voice cracked as she pleaded. “Leave me the horse, at least. You’ve got an extra horse—just leave me the goddamn horse!”

  Lucy dug her heels into her horse, and it moved faster, Lynn’s picking up the pace beside her. A cry of rage ripped the air, and a shower of dirt and pebbles rained down on them as they rode away. Joss kept screaming Lynn’s name, but the next fistful of rocks didn’t reach them.

  “Lucy! LUCY!!!”

  Lucy jammed her fingers into her ears and began humming the only song Lynn had ever taught her, but Joss’s next scream was so strong she could feel the vibrations of it. They were well past the chance of her hearing anything when Lucy finally uncovered her ears.

  “Don’t look back, little one,” Lynn said. “Don’t look back, and don’t think on it.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  Fourteen

  Riding jostled Lucy’s shoulder less than walking, and the burn of injury faded to the itch of healing before they crossed into Illinois. Lynn’s badly sewn stitches had been replaced with much apology and more awkward stitches, but they did the trick. The horses ate up the miles with ease, jauntily switching their tails to keep the flies away as they walked. They acclimated to their new riders much easier than Lucy and Lynn did to riding. Muscles they hadn’t known existed were sore after only a day in the saddle.

  Heat and humidity fell on them like a blanket, wringing the sweat from their bodies and soaking their clothing through before mid morning. They rested the horses more often, taking the heavy saddles from their backs and nestling under shade trees until the horses wandered back to them, tired of grazing and ready to move once more.

  The steady clip-clop of their hooves hypnotized Lucy in the heat of the afternoons, causing her thoughts to stray. Carter weighed heavily on her mind, his illness and the possibility that he wouldn’t carry it forever tucked away in a secret spot in her heart. Lulled by the road, she let herself imagine a future where she and Carter sat side by side on a beach. The feeling of hope that blossomed was always stifled by the midday heat, and the heavy air made breathing feel like work.

  The heat was their enemy as much as the men with guns had been. The water left their bodies in streams of sweat, evaporating from their hot flesh so quickly Lucy swore she saw Lynn steaming at one point. Lucy’s mind wandered toward home, where the heat wave undoubtedly stretched, giving the polio that lingered a fresh gasp of life in the hot, heavy air.

  She saw bodies in her mind as she rode westward; memories of real ones, friends from home whose corpses she’d helped burn. There were imagined ones too. Her mind played with the possibility of death touching everyone she’d known, leaving Stebbs and Vera alone. They were inoculated from the virus, but not the guns of strangers.

  Lynn was silent through most of Illinois. Lucy pretended it was the heat stilling her tongue, but she knew better. Lynn had not killed since Lucy was a small child, and though the act was effortless, the effect clearly burned through her conscience. Lucy stayed small in her saddle, aware that the men who had died on the road would never have come for them if not for her.

  The horses plodded on without complaint, their equine noses leading them straight to water. Lynn had worried the horses would prove more burden than boon, their need for water outstripping the riders’ and making it necessary for them to stop more often. But the horses had won Lynn over by leading them to water each evening, the prick of their ears and a liveliness in their steps the first indication they smelled something their riders couldn’t. Lynn would dismount, leaving Lucy with all three horses and a lump of fear in her throat until she returned to report it was safe.

  They could drink.

  “You really ought to think of a name for your horse,” Lucy said to Lynn, as they rested in the shade during midday.

  Lynn lazily lifted one eyelid. “Why’s that?”

  “Because the black horse likes you.”

  “I don’t have time to spare thinking up critter titles. I’ve got a lot on my mind. We’re coming up on Iowa here soon, but we’ve got to cross a big river to get there. The Mississippi.”

  Lucy held a hand out to the one she’d named Spatter as he ambled over to her, rubbing his velvety nose when he leaned down. “How big is it?”

  Lynn rummaged in her backpack and unfolded the map. “The little streams the horses have been leading us to aren’t even on here, and that last one was a decent size.”

  The last stream they’d crossed had been deeper than it looked, the water flowing over Lucy’s stirrups and to her hips as they crossed. At first the cold dousing had been a welcome relief from the penetrating heat, but her fear had risen along with the water, until even Spatter?
??s long legs were no longer touching bottom. She had felt solid ground go out from underneath his feet as the water buoyed him upward, and the flow of the river had carried both horse and rider southward as his strong legs pumped to get them to the other bank.

  The watery fingers of the current had tugged at her, trying to pull Lucy from the saddle. She leaned across Spatter’s neck and grabbed the pommel, trusting to his strength. Beside her, she could see Lynn grimly clutching Black Horse as well, her mouth set in a straight line. They’d reached the opposite bank wet and frightened, both collapsing in a heap and gratefully giving the horses a breather.

  “You don’t think the horses could swim the Mississippi?” Lucy asked.

  “Don’t know.” Lynn bit her lip as she ran her finger along the curvy line of the river. “River big as that one is, there’s gonna be a hell of a current, so I’d say we both better be lashed to the saddles. But if they got halfway across and couldn’t make it, we’d be tied to hundreds of pounds of sinking horseflesh.”

  Lucy brushed her hand up Spatter’s long nose, as bothered by the thought of his drowning as by the idea that she’d be riding him when it happened. “So what’re our other choices?”

  Lynn spread the map across both their laps, pointing to their route. “There aren’t any. We can’t go around it, and swimming it is too risky. We need a bridge.”

  “Bridges mean cities, or towns at least.”

  “I know, so I’ve been looking for the smallest one I can find with a bridge near our route.”

  “You’re worried that there’ll be people along the river, aren’t you?”

  “It’s a water source, a big one. It’s easy to find and’s got hundreds of miles of banks. There’s people, you can count on it.”

  “Why can’t that be a good thing?”

  “How many nice people we met so far?”

  Lynn gave Lucy a hard look over the map before walking away, leaving her to look at the thick, threading finger of blue that blocked their way west.

  They practiced making the horses run as they moved toward the river. Spatter didn’t do much more than flick his ears in irritation when Lucy kicked his sides, but Black Horse would glide into an easy gallop when Lynn urged him, Spatter would follow his lead, and Brown Horse, carrying their packs, brought up the rear.