Devils Unto Dust(77)

“No, Will.” He shakes his head. “You did that on your own.”

Sam’s eyes start to droop, and in a moment he’s asleep, his head slumped over his chest. He’s wrong, though I don’t wake him up to tell him. He did save my life. They could have killed me; in fact they should have killed me. You don’t bring infected people inside a fence and tuck them into bed. You kill them before the fever cooks their brains past reason, before they turn on you. No one survives once they’ve been infected. No one fights it off, or gets better. No one except me. Maybe I’m still dreaming, because none of this makes sense. Why me? Why not Micah, why not my mother? The unfairness of it stings. I’m not special, I’m not exceptionally strong or clever or lucky. I’m not nice, or deserving, or good. But maybe, just maybe, I’m alive.





61.


“Doc says you’re awake.”

My eyes fly open, and I don’t remember falling back asleep. The light is different, brighter, harsher, and Sam’s stool is now occupied by Benjamin.

“Easy, now,” Ben says, as I try to sit up and fail. “I don’t think you should be moving yet.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“Curtis had to drag him outta here to get some food in him. Kid’s dead on his feet.”

I didn’t expect to find Ben still here. My fever memories may be jumbled and blurry, but I recall parts of what I said, how I lied about the money, about everything.

“You didn’t leave.”

“No. Thought about it.” He shifts back on the stool. “You should have told us.”

“I know.” I lie back, try to find a position that doesn’t ache. “I was afraid you’d kill me. Or make me turn back, and I needed to find Pa. I thought if I could just hold on long enough, I could make it home. Micah—Micah knew.” I feel a stabbing between my ribs, and I close my eyes briefly, willing myself to forget. “But it was too late.”

“You put us all in danger.”

“I did.”

“You could have killed us all.”

“And you could have left me in that box.” Ben’s amber eyes watch me evenly. “You could’ve shot me, thinking to be merciful. You knew I lied to you, and you brung me here anyway.”

Ben sighs and rubs his face. “Yeah, well, Curtis did promise not to kill you. Besides, I reckon we lied to you, too. The deal was to get you to Best and home safe. This ain’t home, and we sure didn’t keep you safe.”

“You did your best. I have a—a knack for trouble.”

“Seems like it. We had a hell of a time trying to figure out how you caught it till Curtis remembered the well.”

I make a sore fist with my injured hand. “It was just a stupid accident.”

“Maybe not so stupid, if you’re still here. I don’t know how, but . . . Doc Junior says people survived the plague, once upon a time.”

“What do you think?” I ask, meeting Ben’s eyes.

“I think you can take a punch.” He stares at me evenly, with none of his mockery.

“How’s Curtis’s wrist?”

Ben huffs out a breath. “Worst thing to ever happen to man, to hear him tell it,” he says. Ben doesn’t look injured, aside from a bruise on his cheek that’s still puffy.

“You don’t have to stay here on my account.”

“Sam hired us fair and square. Can’t go breaking our word, now, bad for business. Speaking of,” and Ben reaches down into a pocket. He pulls out a roll of bills and tucks them into my hand.

“What is this?”

“We didn’t hold up our end of the bargain, so Curtis and I don’t feel right taking your money.”

The bills spread out in my hand like a fan. “This is more than what I paid you.”

Ben averts his eyes. “It’s your brother’s share. I reckon it’s yours now.”

The pain hits me again, right between my lungs. I close my eyes and take deep shuddering breaths until it passes. “I don’t need your charity, Garrett.”

“That’s funny, coming from someone who can’t sit up.”

“Sam paid for Micah, this money is his.”

“He won’t take it. I tried, and he near bit my head off. Kid’s got a stubborn streak,” Ben says, admiringly.

“Just because you feel sorry for me—”

“Will you just shut up and take the money? This ain’t about charity, it’s about doing what’s right.”

I look down at the bills in my hand. It’s more money than I’ve ever held in my life, and it will still only last me a matter of months. But those are months where I can feed the twins and pay our dues and survive enough to figure out the rest.

“How much would you charge to get me back to Glory?” I ask Ben. He raises his eyebrows at me.

“You know we’ll do it—”

“How much?”

Ben sighs. “Twenty dollars.”

“Fine, then.” I peel off some bills and hold them out. “I’d like you to take me home, please.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but it’s a compromise we can both live with.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.