Devils Unto Dust(50)

I scream and the shake slumps on top of me, his head a wet mess of hair and skin. Blood gushes from the wound, more blood than I could imagine fitting inside something so emaciated. I turn my face away as I struggle to get out from under him, his dead weight pinning me down.

“Get him off me,” I beg, “get him off me!”

Micah grabs my arms and pulls, and Ben uses his boot to roll the shake over. I stand up, trembling and covered in someone else’s insides.

“Did he bite you?” Micah asks, scanning my face and neck intently. “Did it get in your eyes?”

“No,” I say, wiping blood from my cheek.

There’s a shriek in the distance and we snap to attention.

“Later,” Curtis says, and we keep moving. My ears are ringing, my lips are numb, and the air is hot with gunpowder and fire smoke. I’m afraid; a tremor starts in my stomach and veins out through my body. It’s not the fear of dying, it’s not the blood or the pain or the loss. It’s the fear of knowing the truth, knowing it in my bones; this isn’t some paltry infection from a dirty penknife. The last small shred of hope I had is gone. That shake looked at me, looked at me like he knew me. Like I was one of them. Like I’m already gone.

All around eyes watch me, eyes of the sick and the eyes of the dead. All over I feel them, the old ghosts and the bad dreams, all of them that haunt this place. We turn a corner and run past a hollow building, and then we burst into the open desert, and safety. I keep going, wanting to outrun those eyes, but the ghosts stay with me; I reckon they know I belong with them.





40.


Curtis finally calls a halt, long after my lungs start to scream and my legs start cramping. I brace my hands on my knees and wait for my ears to stop ringing.

“We can slow down. They won’t follow,” Curtis pants, “not when they got dead to eat.”

I grimace and clench my teeth. My heart is pumping so fast it feels like one long burning beat, and I bend my head down to ease the pain. My hand cramps and I realize I’m still holding my gun, my fingers white from gripping so hard. I have to peel them back, one by one, until my revolver comes free and I can holster it. The hand starts to tingle something awful, and I stretch it out gently.

I look back at Silver, at the black smoke still spewing into the air. How long will it take for the house to burn to the ground, and what will be left when it does? How many bones did we leave in our wake?

“Willie,” Curtis says, looking me over. “You sure he didn’t get you?”

I shake my head, too tired to even mouth no. I can still see the blood, can smell it on my skin, coppery and hot. I scrub my face with my hands, wishing I could do the same to my mind. My fingers come away stained red.

“Careful,” Sam says, “don’t get it in your mouth or eyes.” He hands me a handkerchief.

“Then maybe,” I say, wiping my hands, “y’all shouldn’t shoot shakes when they’re on top of me.”

“Sorry about that,” Ben says. “Didn’t have a chair handy this time.”

I toss the handkerchief on the ground where it flutters sadly.

“Everyone else in one piece?” Curtis asks.

“I think so,” Sam says. He stares down at his hands like he’s unsure they’re still attached to his body.

“We got lucky, then,” Ben says.

“You call that lucky?” Micah asks, incredulous. “We get caught in a dust storm, lose our packs, and get chased outta town by shakes?”

Ben shrugs. “No one died.”

“Day ain’t over yet,” Micah grumbles.

“You’re right about that,” Curtis says. “We still got a ways to go, and little left to help us along.”

We do a quick inventory, and it’s not reassuring. I still have my coat and the pouch around my neck, and Sam held on to his doctor’s kit, but we lost most of our food and drink. Between the five of us we have three and a half canteens of water, some crackers and crumbling cheese, one mottled apple, and a scad of bullets. Too bad we can’t eat lead.

Curtis surveys our paltry supplies and runs a hand through his hair. “It’ll get us to Best, at least. I know y’all are dragging, and I know we’ve been through the mill here, but we have to push on while we have the light. It’s two miles to the next box, that’ll have to do for tonight.”

We each take one swig of water and save the rest for later. I don’t remember ever being this weary before. My body goes through the motions, one foot after the other, and I’m not walking so much as trudging, trying not to fall too far behind. My hair smells like smoke and gunpowder, the back of my neck is tight with sunburn, and my skin itches with sweat and grime. At this point I’d sell my soul for a bed and a bath.

We’re walking straight east, our backs against the lowering sun. The sky looks split, half orange and half blue, like it can’t decide if it’s day or night. We head toward the night, or maybe it’s coming for us, stretching out purple and black tendrils to eat the last of the light.

The stars blink on, first one and then another, and then the sky is scattered full of them. The moon hangs slim and long, frowning down at us from a great height. My eyes are heavy and starting to blur, doubling my vision and smearing the ground. I stumble over something I can’t see and catch myself, pinching my arm to stay sharp.