Devils Unto Dust(72)

“I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes finding mine.

“You’re gonna be fine.”

“Liar.” Always, always the bone-deep truth.

“Just hold on, Micah.”

“I can’t, Will. I just wanted to say good-bye.” His hand beneath mine goes slack and slips off his neck.

“No,” I tell him firmly. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” I clamp my hand over his wound, feeling hot blood welling up between the rough edges of his torn skin.

“Let go, Will.”

“I can’t.”

“Please. It hurts, and I’m tired.”

“I won’t let you die. This is my—this is because of me.”

“Don’t think like that.” His breathing is slowing down, becoming ragged. I press harder on his neck, but the blood seeps out between my fingers.

“I see Ma.” Micah’s eyes are unfocused, cloudy.

“I saw her, too.”

“Love.” His voice is so soft I can barely hear it.

I press my lips together. He’s waiting for me to say it, waiting to hear it so he can go. Micah’s eyes meet mine.

“Love.” My hand drops.





56.


There’s a high-pitched keening in my ears that goes on and on. I take a sobbing breath and the sound stops and I realize it was me. I reach for Micah’s hand and hold it to my brow, rocking back and forth. If I cry hard enough, if my heart breaks enough, it won’t be true.

“It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.” It’s only in my mind; it has to be. My brother can’t be dead.

“Daisy.”

The name breaks through the haze. Sam must have been yelling for some time, or he wouldn’t dare use that name. I lift my head up and find the others standing watch over me. Ben’s chest is soaked with blood and Curtis is holding his arm awkwardly. Sam’s shirt is torn and tears run down his face, leaving streaks in the dirt. Pa stands away from the others, watching stone-faced and silent.

“Willie,” Sam says thickly, and his face is a mask of anguish. “Are you all right?”

“It’s not real,” I say, in a reasonable tone. I smooth back my brother’s dark hair, tucking it off of his face. Sam glances back at Curtis and Ben. They must have decided he would do the talking.

“Willie.” Sam looks at me with pity and tears in his eyes. “He’s gone.”

“Don’t.” I close my eyes.

“Willie, we can’t stay here.”

“Give her a little longer,” I hear Pa say. “Let her say good-bye.” There’s a rustle, and he kneels down next to me.

“This is your fault,” I say quietly. “If you hadn’t left—this is all your fault.” I say the words to Pa, but I mean them for myself.

“I’m sorry,” Pa says.

“Too late,” I whisper. “It’s all too late.”

Pa reaches out to me, but I flinch away.

“Don’t touch me,” I snap at him.

His hand falls back slowly and comes to rest on Micah’s rifle, half hidden in the dirt where he dropped it. I stiffen, staring at his hand.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” I say, unsurprised and numb. Pa looks down, refusing to meet my eyes.

“You gonna shoot me, Pa? Leave us both here to rot?”

Pa swallows. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“It should’ve been you,” I say bitterly. “It should’ve been you, not Micah.”

“You won’t get no argument from me,” he says.

Pa’s hand circles the rifle and he draws it to him. From above us I hear the unmistakable clink of guns being raised as Ben and Curtis level their weapons at Pa. I look at my father and I feel nothing; there’s no love there, but no hate, either, just an empty sort of pity. He looks back at me with the dull eyes of a man who gave up on himself a long time ago, and I think I understand.

“No, you’re not gonna shoot. You just want us to kill you. Is that it?” I ask him.

“Better to die here than hang in Glory,” Pa says. “Let me go out with some dignity. Let me die by my son.”

“Willie?” Curtis asks tentatively. I glance up, see them standing there, guns cocked and waiting for direction. Micah’s hand is heavy in mine, made heavier by guilt.

“He ain’t worth your bullets.”

There’s no point to killing Pa. His life is its own punishment.

“Just go,” I tell him. “Take the gun and go. I’m done with you. Go drink yourself into the ground or die in the desert, I don’t care.”

Micah’s dead. I’m dying. There’s no one left to protect. The twins are young; they’ll forget us, move on. None of it matters anymore, there’s no point now. It’s over.

I look at Pa, look straight into eyes that are just like mine. “Don’t ever come back to Glory, not ever. Just disappear like you always do. Go and stay gone. Don’t use your name, don’t even think it. Harrison Wilcox is dead, you hear me? You’re dead. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

I bend over my brother, clutching his hand to my cheek, feeling the warmth leaving his body. I don’t look up, don’t watch my father walk away from me for the last time.