Devils Unto Dust(30)

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.

“Cookout,” I say, pulling my shirt up to my face so I won’t have to smell burning bodies.

“Yeah,” Ben says, unsmiling. “Real funny.”





25.


“At the gate!” Curtis calls, his voice weary but solid. Inside the fence, what I thought was an outhouse turns out to be a small guardhouse, and a slight man emerges with a pistol in his hand. He peers at us from across the fence with small dark eyes.

“How many?” he asks.

“Five altogether.”

“Any of you touched? Afflicted, like?”

“Nary a one. Even got ourselves a doctor.”

The slim man lets out a low whistle. “That so?”

“Well, I’m not really—” Sam says, but Curtis claps him on the shoulder before he can finish.

“Not really up to seeing anyone right now,” he finishes for Sam. “Being on the road and all, but maybe get some food in him and he’ll change his mind.”

After that, the man can’t let us in fast enough. The gate doesn’t swing open, like in Glory; this one gets pulled up with ropes. We file in slowly, like cattle being led to feed, stumbling and gazing with wide eyes. A large wooden structure stands behind the guardhouse and there’s a water tower to the right.