Devils Unto Dust(85)

My feet move forward of their own accord, like my body knows what I’m going to do before I do it. It’s only a few steps to Sam, but it feels like the distance is insurmountable. It takes forever to reach him and it takes no time at all. One arm shoves Sam out of the way as Dollarhide’s teeth sink into the other.





68.


The pain snaps me back into reality, and everything is fast and loud and harsh. Sam is screaming at me from the ground, but all my focus is on the jaws latched on to my arm. Blood bubbles up around Dollarhide’s mouth, staining his teeth red, but just as quickly he releases my arm. I don’t stop to think about why he let me go, I pull my gun free and jam it against his temple. He stares past me, his eyes feral and uncomprehending, even when I pull the trigger.

The shot blasts Dollarhide sideways and his body hits the ground with a thud. More shots go off as Ben and Curtis make doubly and triply sure he’s dead. Sam grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me away, turning me around to face him.

“Let me see it,” he says, his voice shaking.

“It’s not bad.”

“Let me see.”

I hold out my arm for him to see. The wound is jagged and bloody, but not too deep. Of course it’s my injured arm, because I certainly need more scars on it.

Curtis and Ben are by my side now, making me sit down. Despite how much my arm hurts, I’m surprisingly relaxed, a strange peace sitting like a stone in my belly.

“I need alcohol,” Sam says.

“From where?” Curtis asks.

“If Dollarhide’s here, there’s alcohol,” Sam snaps at him.

“Right.” Curtis runs begins to frantically search through the debris on the ground.

“Sam, please calm down,” I tell him.

“Willie, that was so stupid. How can you be this stupid?” Sam looks angry and frantic, like someone turned him upside down and shook him.

“Hey, now,” Ben says, “take it easy.”

“Got it,” Curtis calls, and returns grasping a bottle of whatever rotgut Dollarhide had on him.

Sam doesn’t offer any thanks, he just grabs the bottle and opens it. “Brace yourself,” he orders.

“Wait—” But he doesn’t, and I cry out as the whiskey burns into my wounds. My arm is on fire; everywhere the liquid burrows into my skin is a stinging spot of pain.

“Son of a bitch, Sam!” My calmness evaporates, especially when he tries to do it again. I yank my arm away and he grabs it back. “Let go.”

“Will, I need to clean this.”

“Like hell you do.”

Ben grabs my other hand and holds it, and I look at him, shocked. Sam uses my distraction to pour more liquor on my arm, and I squeeze Ben’s hand as hard as I can.

“Damn it,” I say, gritting my teeth in pain. I keep my eyes locked on Ben, and he stares back and something stretches between us that I can’t name, something sharp and bright and blinding.

“Drink this,” Sam says, breaking my focus. He hands me the bottle and I frown at him. “I’m out of laudanum.”

I let go of Ben’s hand somewhat reluctantly and take a long drink. I have to fight not to spit it out; it burns going down almost as much as it did on my arm.

“How deep is it?” Curtis asks, bending over.

“She doesn’t need stitches,” Sam says, prodding at the wound gently. Now that the blood is rinsed off, I can see that the bite is a perfect circle of teeth marks.

“He let me go. I told you it wasn’t that bad. But this is.” I take another swig of the foul whiskey.

Sam starts to bandage my arm, rolling clean white bands around my bleeding and dirty skin. The spots of red bleed through, little blooms of color dyeing the cloth.

“Damn it, Will,” Sam says. “Why did you—” he stops, his jaw working, and Curtis squeezes his shoulder.

“Sam. It wasn’t stupid.” I keep my voice low, but I want to make sure he understands. “I had to. This was the only thing that made sense. Why risk losing you when we know I can beat it? I fought it off once. I’ll do it again.”

“You can’t promise that,” Ben says. He looks at me sternly, his eyebrows almost meeting.

I try a smile. “I just did. No more lies, Ben. You have to trust me.”

Ben sighs and takes the bottle from me.

“I thought you didn’t drink on the road.”

“I’m making an exception.”

“How many times are you gonna make me patch you up, Will?” Sam asks, tucking in the ends of the bandage. He’s still angry with me, but his bloody hands are steady.

“Don’t scold. Give that here, Ben,” I say, and take the bottle away from him. I crook a finger at Sam to hold out his hands and I pour enough whiskey over them to wash away the red. “You can’t be getting sick, too. I’m counting on you to get me through this again, Sam.”

He stares at his wet hands. “And what if I can’t? What then?”

“Then we deal with it. Right now all I care about is getting home.”

“I got something that’ll help with that,” Ben says, his eyes glittering as they alight on something beyond the road.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Curtis says, his voice awed. “Is that Dollarhide’s horse?”