Devils Unto Dust(91)

I think about those names scratched into the wood at the station and how many of them must be dead now. What did they leave behind besides a name? Micah left so much: half-finished projects, ruined watches, and curiosity. He left a deep rip in my side, one that I see echoed in Sam; we’re two broken pieces that can never be made whole. If I had died in the desert, what would I have left behind? Some dirty clothes and a fistful of flour. Two children and a lizard, all with short memories. Have I done enough to be remembered, have I made enough, loved enough?

I hear the twins before I see them. They must’ve been at the window, and my heart tugs to think they’ve been watching for me for days. I drop to my knees as they come running and they slam into me, one after the other.

“You came back, you came back,” Cath cries into my shoulder.

“I told you I would, tumbleweeds,” I say.

“What took you so long?”

“How many shakes did you see?”

“Did you find Pa?”

“Where’s Micah?”

Calvin asks the last one and I can’t even begin to answer.

“Micah is . . . he’s . . .” My first thought is to tell them a story, say he found a job in Best. But Micah hated lies.

“Give her some space, little ones,” Bess calls from the porch, stamping her cane. The twins peel off me and I struggle to my feet. I’ll never understand how she gets them to obey her; pure fear, perhaps.

Old Bess takes a long look at me, and I’m sure she sees my healing bruises, my cracked lips, and my red eyes. She gives me a small nod, her eyes crinkling up in her face.

“Looks like the desert chewed you up and spit you back out, my dear.”

“Feels that way, too,” I say. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Miss Bess, how can I even begin to thank you—”

She waves her cane at me to stop. “None of that. They were no trouble and I enjoy the company.” She tilts her head, appraising me. “You take care of what you needed to?”

I nod sharply. “I did.”

“Good.”

“Willie,” Cath says, pulling on my arm. “Where’s Micah?” Her small face is drawn with concern. “He said he was going to help you. Did he help you?”

“Yes. He helped me,” I say, and my throat closes up. I look at Bess pleadingly. I don’t know how to do this. Her dark eyes meet mine, a depth of understanding there.

“Your brother is gone, child,” Bess says gently. “He’s with your ma, wherever she is. I’m sorry.”

Cath starts to cry and even though she’s too big, I scoop her up and hold her close. Calvin throws his arms around my waist and presses his face into my shirt.

“It was quick,” I tell them, even though that doesn’t make it better. “And he was so brave.”

“I didn’t want him to die,” Cath cries into my neck.

“I know. But it ain’t up to us.” I look over to Bess, my eyes burning. “Thank you,” I say. I could say a hundred thank yous and never come close to how grateful I am to her.

“Take them home,” she says softly. “Grieve together, and come back when you’ve healed.”

I carry Catherine in my arms and hold Calvin by the hand. Almost home. It pounds in my head. We started as six, and now only half remain. I make a silent promise to Ma: no one else.

I never thought much about the future. Never thought I had much of one. It seemed foolish to make plans, to tempt fate and dare life to come and ruin everything. In Glory, planning for tomorrow is the quickest way to make sure you don’t get one. So I kept my head down, thinking it was enough to get through each day. To keep my family safe, to put a little food in my stomach and a few dollars in a tin. I thought that would count for something, that each little piece could add up to a life.

And it turns out none of it mattered. Fate came for us anyway. Life doesn’t care how hard you’re trying, doesn’t care how much you’ve already lost, it will still break in and crush you and leave you bruised and bloody. And still expect you to keep going, because what else can you do?

I promise, Ma.

It’s not enough, just getting by. I want us to remember what it’s like to be happy. I want a real life for us, with a real future. And if fate isn’t going to give it to me, then I’ll damn well take it. I may not be smart like Sam, or clever like Micah; I’m not a leader like Curtis, or a great shot like Ben. But there is one thing I’m good at, and that’s surviving.

I promise, Micah.

So I’ll be a hunter. I’m not afraid anymore. The sickness can’t touch me. The desert doesn’t scare me. None of it is permanent and nothing stays the same. It doesn’t matter if I’m a hunter, or a shake, or just Daisy Wilcox. Life can do its worst to bring me down. When the dust clears, I’ll still be standing.





74.


ONE MONTH LATER

There’s a moment, in the early morning, when the rising sun hits the perimeter just right. It turns the ugly tangle of barbed wire a deep orange, makes the fence light up like it’s glowing. My eyes linger on the blazing wires and I wonder if some things are more beautiful because they are deadly. A tug on my shirt drags me back to the house and the two small faces waiting in front of me.

“Do you remember the rules?” I ask, kneeling down so I’m level with the twins.