Devils Unto Dust(71)
“Come on,” he says, putting his arm around me. “Let’s go home.”
The pressure in my chest eases, and I sag against him. He doesn’t cry, and I don’t cry, because tears change nothing.
We keep moving down the road, shoulder to shoulder, and I keep my eyes fixed away from the town as we catch up to the others. My mind feels like it’s made up of circles and coils, an endless loop with no straight lines. Somewhere buried in that mess is a small scrap of peace; Micah promised. I can be strong for him, if he can be strong for me. He’ll do what needs to be done, and the twins will be safe. He’ll take better care of them than I ever could.
“Almost past,” Curtis calls from up ahead, his lips pressed thin and white. “Keep your eyes—sign!”
He yells the last word as one shake, then another, melts out of the shadows of Silver.
“Sign,” Ben echoes as another shake comes running, and two more behind it.
Curtis swears and motions to Ben. “Keep going,” he says to the rest of us.
We do, Pa cursing us all for his lack of a gun while Ben swings his rifle around. I look over my shoulder to watch him shoot; the gun goes off and a shake spins, its shoulder blossoming red. It falls to the ground and two shakes fall on it, but the others keep coming, and more follow behind.
“There’s too many, Curtis,” Ben says grimly. “They ain’t gonna stop for one or two down.”
“Get to the box,” Curtis says.
“It’s five miles,” Ben tells him quietly.
“You got a better idea?” Curtis looks at the rest of us and I realize we’ve all stopped moving. “We got a good start on them,” he says with forced calm. “But we’re gonna have to run.”
“Run!” Ben repeats, yelling, and I jump and start running.
Pa didn’t need to be told twice, he takes off running with no backward glance. Micah keeps an arm curled around my waist, supporting half my weight. My heart beats erratically, shuddering painfully in my chest. Every time I look over my shoulder the shakes have gained on us; they’re close enough now that I can tell some of them are burned and others have blood smeared on their faces. I have the wild thought that they’re coming for me, to drag me back to Silver.
“Keep going,” Curtis yells. “We can make it.”
His gun goes off and he and Ben pull alongside me and Micah and there’s smoke in the air and it’s hard to breathe. My legs are heavy and my head is stinging and we’re so far behind the others.
“Willie, hurry,” Micah says. “We have to go faster.”
My joints aren’t working properly, but I push my knees up to run faster and for a moment it works. Then my stomach revolts and I twist away from Micah and throw up every bit of my small breakfast. My legs give out from under me and I fall into my own sick and sit there, stunned.
“Willie, get up.” I look up at Micah, panting. “Come on,” he says, grabbing my shoulders and trying to pull me up.
“I can’t,” I tell him, gasping. “You have to leave me.”
“No chance in hell,” Micah says, shaking his head. “We’re in this together. Now get up.”
The shakes are coming, but Micah doesn’t move, his face set and grim. He’s not going to leave and the shakes aren’t slowing down. I grit my teeth and throw out my hand and Micah heaves me to my feet. There’s salt on my lips and every muscle in my body is screaming, but I pull out my gun and start moving, Micah’s arm wrapped around me. I push through the pain, through the burning of my lungs and the ache in my tendons, push until my bones start to creak.
“Almost there,” Micah says in my ear.
I nod, and then a weight slams into my back and I go sprawling face-first into the dust. Micah yells and I roll over to tell him I’m fine, just in time to watch a shake jump forward and bury its teeth in my brother’s neck.
I open my mouth to scream and nothing comes out. The shakes are all around me, ahead of me and behind, surging forward. I crawl through them, knocking against feet and limbs, clawing my way toward Micah as the air explodes with distant gunshots and shrieks. My hand finds my brother’s leg and his body is crowded with shakes. My gun goes off, again and again; I can’t feel the trigger but I shoot until I’m out of bullets and the only shake left on Micah is the one at his throat. I drop my gun so I can use both hands to grab the shake’s head away from Micah; he bites the air frantically, neck veins bulging. His hands scrape at my face and chest while I hold him off; he’s so heavy and his breath is like rotting meat and fresh blood. I scream into his face and shove my thumbs into his eyes. The shake howls and throws his head back, blinded and enraged. I grab my blade from my belt and stab him in the chest. His own weight pushes the knife deeper; blood drips down my hand and wrist and I twist the blade until he stops thrashing.
Somewhere close I hear gunshots and Ben yelling and the stamping of boots, but I don’t care about any of that. I roll the shake off me and crawl over to my brother. He’s lying on his back, his chest moving rapidly up and down and one hand clutching his throat. His blood has soaked through his shirt and pooled beneath his head, a shining red halo. Dead shakes surround him, riddled with bullet holes I don’t remember causing.
I crouch by my brother and cover his hand with my own. He’s so pale that his blood looks shockingly red, like it’s glowing. His neck is slippery and warm where I can feel it beneath his hand.