In a Handful of Dust (20 page)

She went back to work, and Fletcher took a break of his own to get a drink and clean the horses’ hooves. He returned to her side, tugging a rock as wide as his chest from the rubble.

“Careful,” he warned, right before it became dislodged and hit the ground in between them, narrowly missing her toes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, “it missed me.”

A drop of blood fell onto the boulder in between them, and they both looked at each other in alarm before Lynn’s voice, unrecognizable in its weakness, came from above.

“I’m not feeling too great,” she said through the blood dripping from her nose, right before she toppled and Fletcher deftly caught her.

Lucy had seen Lynn’s blood before. The nature of their lives left them open to scrapes and cuts. Lynn had always brushed off Lucy’s concern and sewn up her own wounds, no matter how deep, with awkward stitches. But Lynn wasn’t conscious to tell her not to be worried, and the blood wasn’t stopping.

“What is it?” Lucy crouched at Lynn’s feet, peering over Fletcher’s shoulder as he rolled Lynn onto her side. “Why isn’t it stopping?”

“Don’t know,” Fletcher said brusquely, tilting Lynn’s head forward and pulling a clean rag from his pocket to stanch the flow from her nose.

“Will she be okay? You can’t bleed to death through your nose, can you?”

“Doubt it,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t say it’s impossible.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the red bloom spread across the rag. “Shit,” Fletcher said quietly, and handed it over to Lucy. “You got anything else we can use?”

“An extra shirt in my bag.”

“Go get it.”

Lucy glanced to Lynn’s face, where the blood was now seeping between Fletcher’s fingers as he tried to stop the flow with his hands. She ran toward the horses, startling Spatter and sending Mister into a concerned trot in the opposite direction. Lucy yanked sharply on Spatter’s reins to hold his head down and rifled through her bag with one hand. Spatter stomped his foot at her but she ignored him, all her thoughts focused on Lynn and the blood spilling onto the road.

When she got back to the adults, Lynn’s eyelids were fluttering and Fletcher was trying to get her to answer him. She pushed him away with little strength, her hand sliding off his shoulder and resting against his chest as she lost consciousness again. Lucy shoved a long-sleeved shirt, packed in anticipation of colder days, into his hands.

“She soaks through this and we’re in trouble,” Fletcher said, holding it to her face and resting Lynn’s head against his chest.

“What happened?” Lucy asked again. “Did she get hit with a rock or something?”

“Don’t think so,” Fletcher said. “There are no bumps on her head, and we didn’t hear her cry out. We didn’t even know she was hurt until she came to tell us herself. My best guess is she’s not responding well to the elevation.”

Lucy’s eyebrows crinkled. “Elevation? What d’you mean?”

“Certain areas of land are higher than others. You don’t necessarily notice it as you travel, but you’re much more elevated in relation to sea level right now than you were back in Ohio. The air is thinner, especially here in the mountains.”

“I don’t feel any different.”

Fletcher shrugged. “Some people respond to it differently than others. Most only get a headache.”

Lucy thought about the permanent line that had formed on Lynn’s face over the past couple of days. “She didn’t tell me. She wasn’t feeling well and she didn’t tell me.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Fletcher looked down at Lynn, who appeared to be scowling even though she was unconscious. “If it’s been bothering her for a while, her body is disagreeing with the thin air. She’s probably been weak and dizzy too.”

“And then the damn fool went over the rock slide to move boulders where we couldn’t see her,” Lucy mumbled, more angry with herself for not noticing Lynn’s sickness than she was with Lynn.

“Hard labor was a poor decision, I’d say. And she won’t be improved by the loss of so much blood,” Fletcher said. He pulled Lucy’s shirt away from Lynn’s face, and Lucy was relieved to see the flow had dropped to a trickle.

“So what do we do? How do we make her better?”

“The only thing that’ll help her is getting down off the mountain. That means pushing through and going on over, hoping for no more delays—”

“Or going back,” Lucy finished for him.

“Or going back,” Fletcher agreed.

Lucy looked at Lynn while Fletcher wiped the smeared blood from her face, dipping the shirt in what little was left of their fresh water. Turning around was appealing for so many reasons. Fletcher looked to Lucy, patiently awaiting her decision.

“If Lynn wakes up to find us pointing the wrong direction, she’s apt to kill us both,” Lucy said.

Fletcher pushed his hat back on his head and looked at the woman still cradled in his arms. “Well, she does have a fondness for pointing guns at me.”

They worked into the night by the light of the fire Fletcher built near the rock slide. Lynn was rolled in their blankets, watching them work with a glare in her eye Lucy swore she could feel penetrating right through the rocks when she climbed over to work from the other side.

Lynn had not been happy when she woke to find herself resting beside the fire while the two of them labored on. She’d been even less happy when they refused to let her help, or even stand. All her arguments had landed on deaf ears, and she’d finally relented when Fletcher threatened to tie her up.

Either the rocks were responding to Lynn’s willpower, or Lucy had found a renewed strength. After a quick meal by the fire with a sullen Lynn, Lucy had returned to work determined to clear a path before morning. She knew more than the rocks and dirt stood in the way of getting Lynn somewhere safe, but it was the obstacle in front of her, and she tore into it with ferocity.

By the time the morning sun was streaking the horizon with pink, they’d cleared a passage Lucy could slip through if she inhaled and held her breath. An hour later, Fletcher could slide through, and full morning found them leading an anxious Spatter through the narrow crevice, his grunts letting Lucy know he was not happy with her but willing to follow. Terra Cotta backed out when she felt the rocks brushing her sides, and it took another couple of hours of labor and strained patience to get the finicky mare through. Mister, by far the largest of the horses, flatly refused to walk through until Lynn stood and took his reins. He put his head down and followed her, meek as a kitten, and Lynn shook her head at him.

“You’re a dumb animal,” she said, but Lucy caught the older woman rubbing his nose when she thought no one was looking. They traveled until the rock slide was out of sight, lost in a bend in the canyon. A stretch of road lay ahead, reassuringly clear. The highway sliced confidently through the mountains, despite the looming peaks on both sides that seemed to Lucy to silently threaten to topple upon them at any moment.

Lynn had slid off Mister’s back the moment they stopped, even though they hadn’t even traveled a mile. Her legs seemed to buckle, and Lucy saw Fletcher watching her out of the corner of his eye, poised to help. Lynn sank to the ground, Mister’s reins still in her hands. The black horse nuzzled her, and she pushed her head against his.

“I’m exhausted,” Fletcher announced loudly, glancing at Lucy. “We should all rest up.”

Lucy nodded, ready to ignore the fact that even though Fletcher had worked throughout the night, he didn’t look any worse for wear. Her own limbs were heavy, and her knees kept threatening to give out beneath her.

“I’ll find a stream, fill our bottles,” Fletcher said. “Be right back.” He tipped his hat to Lynn as if looking for her approval and she nodded, but her eyes slid shut moments after he’d left.

Lucy plopped to the ground beside Lynn. “How you feeling?”

“Shitty.”

“Oh.”

A rare smile, though weak, played across Lynn’s face. “Sorry, kiddo, I don’t have it in me to reassure you right now.”

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt the pulse in her neck jump. “You’re okay though, right? There’s not, like, anything really wrong?”

“I’m not going to die, if that’s what you’re asking,” Lynn said, though her voice was thready and her eyes remained closed.

“Fletcher said it’s probably the mountains, something about how we’re higher than you’re used to.”

“Guess he would know.”

“Yeah he’s . . . he’s a decent guy.”

Lynn’s eyes flickered open, and she watched Lucy for a moment before letting them close again. “He seems to be,” she said.

“But . . .,” Lucy began, anticipating the word before Lynn could waste any of her hard-won breath on it.

“He’s still a stranger. Don’t you get too comfortable, with me feeling this way.” Her eyes struggled open again, and Lucy saw what she’d never believed possible; fear in Lynn’s eyes. “I don’t think I could even raise my rifle, if I needed to,” Lynn admitted, and her eyes slid shut again.

Lucy pulled her knees into her chest and let Lynn rest, her mind reeling. Lynn without a rifle was like the sky without stars. And if she couldn’t trust Fletcher, it was almost like being alone.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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T
he first rainstorm came three days later, drenching the hot horses and creating a wet animal smell so thick Lucy sometimes felt she was choking. They plodded on, determined to reach lower ground where Lynn could recover, until hailstones the size of Lucy’s small fists were pounding them. Terra Cotta, always the most nervous of their mounts, reared onto her back legs and nearly threw Fletcher.

Unable to shout over the storm, he signaled the women, and they coaxed their mounts into the shelter of an outcrop after dismounting. The horses huddled together, as did the humans, and Lucy tried to ignore the fact that she seemed to be holding up most of Lynn’s weight.

Fletcher peered out at the storm and then back at Lynn, who was nearly dozing on her feet. “Might as well rest here. It doesn’t seem inclined to desist.”

Lynn leaned against the rock wall and slid to the ground without argument, and Lucy joined her there. The hail fell around them, coating the road and creating the illusion of snow, something Lucy wondered if she would ever see again.

When the storm passed they saddled up again, and the crunch of the hailstones underneath the horses’ hooves made it impossible to make conversation. Lucy stayed near Lynn, idly brushing Spatter up against Mister as they walked companionably alongside each other. Lynn was quiet, her eyes focused on the road ahead, which was not unlike her. What set Lucy’s nerves on edge was the blank look, the permanent daze that had settled over her ever since the nosebleed.

That night Lucy made their food, ignoring Fletcher’s insistence that he could do it and she should rest. “I’ve got it,” Lucy said stiffly, when he rose to take Lynn’s plate from her hand and carry it to her. She slept nearer to Lynn than necessary that night, curled close despite the heat.

The days went by slowly, and Lucy doubted they would ever be able to get the bloodstains from Lynn’s shirt. The first errant drops had been nothing new; most of their clothes had blood on them from themselves or someone else. But Lynn’s shirt was now streaked, and they stopped often to give her the chance to rest and stanch the flow.

“Dis ib ridicklob,” Lynn muttered through the rag she had pinched around her nose, eyes glaring over the dried stains.

“This is ridiculous,” Lucy translated for Fletcher.

Their mounts were circled in the middle of the highway, heads hung low in the heat. Lucy glanced up at the rocks above them, unable to escape the fear that any moment a boulder could land on one of them.

“Ridiculous or not, it remains a fact.” Fletcher watched Lynn out of the corner of his eye to see how she reacted. “Facts are stubborn things.”

“Doe am I,” Lynn said, and Fletcher waved away the translation when Lucy was about to offer.

Spatter shuffled closer to Mister, sensing Lucy’s concern for Lynn. She reached out and touched Lynn’s shoulder. “Should we camp?”

Lynn shook her head ferociously, sending scarlet droplets onto Lucy’s hand. Lynn dragged the handkerchief across her face, leaving a smear that went all the way to her earlobe. “I’m fine,” she said, voice thick with blood. Lucy looked away from her teeth, which flashed red when she spoke.

“Not to be argumentative, but you’re not,” Fletcher said, refusing the handkerchief when Lynn tried to return it to him.

“I’m not going to be until we get lower, isn’t that so?”

“That’s my theory.”

“And we ain’t getting any lower, all of us standing here watching me bleed outta my face,” Lynn said, and delivered a kick to Mister’s ribs that sent her out ahead of them.

Fletcher sighed and looked at Lucy. “What do we do?”

“Nothing we can do,” Lucy said, wishing it weren’t the case. “She’s right. Getting down out of these mountains is the answer, and standing here isn’t getting us there.”

The two of them stood together, silently watching Lynn round the bend and move out of sight. Fletcher cleared his throat. “I want you to remember well what you’ve seen here.”