Devils Unto Dust(26)

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.