Devils Unto Dust(35)

It’s the first rule we have drilled into us: Any sign of sickness and it’s already too late. Sympathy will only get you killed. Lewis and Reyes run past us, shoving their way through the crowd. They stop well clear of the man, watching him jump like hot oil in a pan.

“Who came with him?” Lewis asks, his voice hard.

Two other hunters come forward, looking guilty and afraid.

“He only said he had a headache,” one of them mumbles. “He weren’t acting right, but we thought he was drunk.”

“Tha’s no excuse,” Reyes says, glaring. “You know the rules.”

The hunter nods rapidly and cocks his gun.

“Not here, you idiot,” Lewis yells at him. “Take him outside the gate.”

The hunters hesitate, not wanting to touch their friend.

“Do it now,” Lewis says, “and we’ll let you leave here alive. You might even make it to morning, if you’re lucky.”

They reach down and grab the man by his arms and start to drag him. He’s making wet choking sounds, his eyes rolling in his head. He doesn’t fight them; I don’t think he’s even in there anymore. The rest of the hunters move back, making a wide path out of the mess hall, and everyone is silent until they pass through.

“Anyone else tries to bring the sickness here, you get a night outside with your bullets for company,” Lewis says loudly. “That understood?”

A murmur of assent ripples through the hunters.

“Then good evening.”

“Well.” Curtis sits down heavily, running a hand over his face. “Where were we?”

The boys settle back into place and the game resumes, somewhat subdued.

“He musta known he was sick,” Micah says after a moment.

“It comes on fast,” Sam says. “He mighta thought he had more time.”

“He was wrong, then,” Ben says.

My eyes start to blur as I look at the cards and I rub a hand over my face.

“Listen, boys, I’m dragged out. I’m going to lay down before I fall down.”

Benjamin makes to stand up, but I motion him back.

“Finish the game. I think I can manage to walk a few steps on my own. Y’all come when you’re ready.”

“’Night, Willie,” they call after me and I wave to them half-heartedly.

I know it’s coming, but I still flinch when I hear the single gunshot.





29.


I trudge back along the path, the evening sky a dingy blue-gray, like a dog that rolled in dirt. There’s a slice of moon tonight, pale in comparison to the swarm of the stars. A lantern hangs from the entrance of someone’s tent, lighting the way in the dusk. I see the outline of a man standing stooped, a cloud of smoke around his head. I’m halfway to my tent before I make out his features, and then he moves up to meet me.

“Well, lookie here. I never expected ter see you out this way.” His voice is harsh, tobacco smoke and rusty nails.

I groan to myself; I should’ve known he would be waiting after he saw me.

“Damn it, Dollarhide, I’m too tired for this.”

Dollarhide drops his rolled cigarette and crushes it with his boot heel. The lantern illuminates his wrinkled face, and I can see a dark bruise across his cheek.

“That right? Had a long day, sweetheart?” I can smell whiskey on his breath, but he’s steady on his feet this time. This could get ugly quickly; he’s unarmed, but so am I, and I’m no match for him sober. I look behind me for help, but the hall is too far away for anyone to see us in the encroaching dark.

“Lookin’ fer your boy to save you?”

“What do you want, Dollarhide? I don’t have any money.”

“And I say yer a liar,” he says, pointing to my chest. “Give it to me now and you can go on your way.”

I stare at him, confused, until I realize he’s pointing at the drawstring pouch around my neck. I start to laugh, and his face hardens.

“Take it,” I say, pulling the string over my head and tossing him the bag. “It’s all yours.”

Dollarhide catches the pouch in one hand, tearing at the strings to open it. He shakes out the contents into a waiting palm, holding them under the lamplight.

“What is this?” he says angrily, throwing the cartridges into the dirt. “Where you hidin’ it?”

“I told you I got nothing.”

“Do I look stupid to you?”

I hesitate a moment too long, and Dollarhide’s face twists in anger. I have time to think damn, and then his fist connects with my nose. The pain comes a second after the impact, like fire racing along hot wires in my face. My eyes immediately tear up, and I blink rapidly to try and clear my vision.

“Dollarhide, you son of a bitch,” I say thickly. Warm wetness runs down my lips, and my hand comes back red when I wipe it away. “That tears it.” If he broke my nose, I’ll break his neck; my patience is worn that thin.

“Give it to me,” he says, his voice too close.

My sight is blurry and I’m too slow to move entirely out of the way as he comes at me again. The blow glances off my side instead of hitting my stomach, but my legs are tired and my right knee buckles. I end up on one knee in the dirt, with Dollarhide’s fingers pulling at my pockets, searching for something I don’t have. The sleeve of my shirt rips, and I’ve had enough of this. I shove Dollarhide’s legs, using my weight to topple him. Surprised, his back hits the ground with a loud smack, and while he lies stunned I jump on his chest, digging in my knees. I aim carefully, then punch him directly on his bruised cheek, and this time I get to use my good arm.