Devils Unto Dust(70)

“None of that, now,” Curtis says. “You don’t get to say good-byes just yet. We get through this day, and the next, then you can thank us.”

But I don’t think I’ll be getting through this day.





55.


“Will, brisk up,” Micah calls, and I snap my head up. I’m lagging behind, and I shake my head to clear it, which only makes it fuzzier. I stagger back to the rest of the group and try to keep close. I match my stride with Micah’s, which is hard, his legs being that much longer.

“Quit looking at the dirt, Sis,” Micah says. “You keep drifting off.”

“Sorry. My head feels like a bag of nails.”

“Yeah, well, mine too. I maybe had too much to drink last night.”

“I would think you knew better than that,” I scold him feebly.

“I do. I just—I needed to not think so much.”

My boot shudders against a burroweed branch and I stumble, reeling forward. Micah grabs my arm to steady me and his face swims in front of my eyes.

“Come on, Will, focus,” he says. “Now ain’t the time to daydream.” He waves his gun toward Silver for emphasis.

I try not to look where he points, but my rebellious eyes move of their own accord and then I can’t look away from the muddy bloodstains in the dirt and the streaks of soot on the roofs. I blink and my eyes lock on a lone figure, standing still deep within the town; I freeze in place, because the person framed by the empty buildings is my mother. It’s so plainly her, and not the way she was near the end, not thin and wasted and gray, but the way I remember her. Her long hair falls down around her shoulders, framing a face like sweetness and warm cotton. She smells like rosewater. She always smelled like rosewater.

“Mama?” I whisper, and she smiles at me. I drop to my knees, my eyes filling with tears, and I blink them away as hard as I can because I need to see her clearly.

“Will,” Micah says, but I won’t look away. He’ll understand when he sees her. Right now, nothing matters but the woman standing there.

“I miss you,” I say, and she holds out her graceful arms to me. More than anything I want her to hold me, but the hand that grabs my shoulder is not gentle. Micah yanks me onto my feet and tries to tug me away.

“No,” I say, and I wrench out of his grip to look back at the town. It’s empty, of course, and too far away to see anything, and it’s like losing her all over again.

A sting across my face snaps me back to myself, and I look up to see Micah staring at me, his mouth hanging open.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I—I didn’t know—”

“No,” I say, raising a hand to my cheek. My skin stings where he slapped me. “I needed that. I thought—I thought I saw something.”

Micah reaches his hand out to me. “We have to catch up with the others.”

I look down the road, stretching long and endless in front of me.

“Too far,” I say quietly. “It’s too far.”

I’m not going to make it back to Glory. The knowledge hits me low, and I sink into Micah, clutching his arms.

“Will, come on.”

“I have to tell you something,” I say.

“No you don’t,” he says.

I lean against Micah and take deep, gulping breaths, hoping the air will keep my head clear. I have to do this, have to make sure he understands.

“You have to get Pa back,” I tell him, digging my fingers into his arms. “You have to. For the twins.”

Micah pushes his face close to mine, his mouth thin. “Will, we’re not doing this. Not now.”

“Micah—”

“We’re almost home,” he says, his voice cracking. “Just—just hold on. It’s not much longer.”

My heart stutters and I finally understand. “You know,” I whisper.

His eyes are red—I thought it was from drinking. How long has he known?

“You’re a terrible liar, Will,” he says. “Always have been.”

“When—when did you figure it out?”

“I’m your brother. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you stopped eating? Or that you look like death warmed over? You think I don’t know what vomit smells like, that I don’t remember how it was with Ma?”

Something’s building in my chest, a scream or a sob or a stone.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Micah looks away, blinking rapidly. “It ain’t your fault.”

“It is. If I hadn’t left—”

“It don’t matter,” Micah says roughly. “All that matters now is getting home.”

“I don’t know if I can make it,” I say.

“Yes, you can,” Micah says, stepping close to me. “Just hold on a little longer, Will, and I’ll get you home. And I’ll take care of you, like—like you did for Ma.”

I close my eyes. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he says, because he has to. Because I would do the same for him, no questions asked. Because that’s what it means to be family in Glory.

“I was wrong,” I tell him. “I thought I could do this alone. I thought it was all up to me, but it ain’t. I can’t do this without you, Micah.”