In a Handful of Dust (13 page)

HarperCollins Publishers

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R
iding jostled Lucy’s shoulder less than walking, and the burn of injury faded to the itch of healing before they crossed into Illinois. Lynn’s badly sewn stitches had been replaced with much apology and more awkward stitches, but they did the trick. The horses ate up the miles with ease, jauntily switching their tails to keep the flies away as they walked. They acclimated to their new riders much easier than Lucy and Lynn did to riding. Muscles they hadn’t known existed were sore after only a day in the saddle.

Heat and humidity fell on them like a blanket, wringing the sweat from their bodies and soaking their clothing through before mid morning. They rested the horses more often, taking the heavy saddles from their backs and nestling under shade trees until the horses wandered back to them, tired of grazing and ready to move once more.

The steady clip-clop of their hooves hypnotized Lucy in the heat of the afternoons, causing her thoughts to stray. Carter weighed heavily on her mind, his illness and the possibility that he wouldn’t carry it forever tucked away in a secret spot in her heart. Lulled by the road, she let herself imagine a future where she and Carter sat side by side on a beach. The feeling of hope that blossomed was always stifled by the midday heat, and the heavy air made breathing feel like work.

The heat was their enemy as much as the men with guns had been. The water left their bodies in streams of sweat, evaporating from their hot flesh so quickly Lucy swore she saw Lynn steaming at one point. Lucy’s mind wandered toward home, where the heat wave undoubtedly stretched, giving the polio that lingered a fresh gasp of life in the hot, heavy air.

She saw bodies in her mind as she rode westward; memories of real ones, friends from home whose corpses she’d helped burn. There were imagined ones too. Her mind played with the possibility of death touching everyone she’d known, leaving Stebbs and Vera alone. They were inoculated from the virus, but not the guns of strangers.

Lynn was silent through most of Illinois. Lucy pretended it was the heat stilling her tongue, but she knew better. Lynn had not killed since Lucy was a small child, and though the act was effortless, the effect clearly burned through her conscience. Lucy stayed small in her saddle, aware that the men who had died on the road would never have come for them if not for her.

The horses plodded on without complaint, their equine noses leading them straight to water. Lynn had worried the horses would prove more burden than boon, their need for water outstripping the riders’ and making it necessary for them to stop more often. But the horses had won Lynn over by leading them to water each evening, the prick of their ears and a liveliness in their steps the first indication they smelled something their riders couldn’t. Lynn would dismount, leaving Lucy with all three horses and a lump of fear in her throat until she returned to report it was safe.

They could drink.

“You really ought to think of a name for your horse,” Lucy said to Lynn, as they rested in the shade during midday.

Lynn lazily lifted one eyelid. “Why’s that?”

“Because the black horse likes you.”

“I don’t have time to spare thinking up critter titles. I’ve got a lot on my mind. We’re coming up on Iowa here soon, but we’ve got to cross a big river to get there. The Mississippi.”

Lucy held a hand out to the one she’d named Spatter as he ambled over to her, rubbing his velvety nose when he leaned down. “How big is it?”

Lynn rummaged in her backpack and unfolded the map. “The little streams the horses have been leading us to aren’t even on here, and that last one was a decent size.”

The last stream they’d crossed had been deeper than it looked, the water flowing over Lucy’s stirrups and to her hips as they crossed. At first the cold dousing had been a welcome relief from the penetrating heat, but her fear had risen along with the water, until even Spatter’s long legs were no longer touching bottom. She had felt solid ground go out from underneath his feet as the water buoyed him upward, and the flow of the river had carried both horse and rider southward as his strong legs pumped to get them to the other bank.

The watery fingers of the current had tugged at her, trying to pull Lucy from the saddle. She leaned across Spatter’s neck and grabbed the pommel, trusting to his strength. Beside her, she could see Lynn grimly clutching Black Horse as well, her mouth set in a straight line. They’d reached the opposite bank wet and frightened, both collapsing in a heap and gratefully giving the horses a breather.

“You don’t think the horses could swim the Mississippi?” Lucy asked.

“Don’t know.” Lynn bit her lip as she ran her finger along the curvy line of the river. “River big as that one is, there’s gonna be a hell of a current, so I’d say we both better be lashed to the saddles. But if they got halfway across and couldn’t make it, we’d be tied to hundreds of pounds of sinking horseflesh.”

Lucy brushed her hand up Spatter’s long nose, as bothered by the thought of his drowning as by the idea that she’d be riding him when it happened. “So what’re our other choices?”

Lynn spread the map across both their laps, pointing to their route. “There aren’t any. We can’t go around it, and swimming it is too risky. We need a bridge.”

“Bridges mean cities, or towns at least.”

“I know, so I’ve been looking for the smallest one I can find with a bridge near our route.”

“You’re worried that there’ll be people along the river, aren’t you?”

“It’s a water source, a big one. It’s easy to find and’s got hundreds of miles of banks. There’s people, you can count on it.”

“Why can’t that be a good thing?”

“How many nice people we met so far?”

Lynn gave Lucy a hard look over the map before walking away, leaving her to look at the thick, threading finger of blue that blocked their way west.

They practiced making the horses run as they moved toward the river. Spatter didn’t do much more than flick his ears in irritation when Lucy kicked his sides, but Black Horse would glide into an easy gallop when Lynn urged him, Spatter would follow his lead, and Brown Horse, carrying their packs, brought up the rear.

“I wish he’d move a little faster,” Lynn said, rounding Black Horse back to ride beside Spatter. “Once we hit the bridge, I’d like to be running. Somebody wants to stop us, it’s the perfect place. Block either end and we’re sitting ducks.”

“You could try shooting up in the air,” Lucy suggested. “It got them moving before, back in Indiana.”

“It also made them pitch two of their riders.”

“True,” Lucy said, thinking of the bloody point of bone sticking from Joss’ leg.

Lynn looked morosely at a spot between Black Horse’s ears. “These horses attract a lot of attention. Some people might let two women with nothing but what’s on their backs walk on by, but two women with three horses is another matter.”

“I’m not giving him up,” Lucy said, running her hand along Spatter’s neck.

Lynn sighed but didn’t say anything. They were traveling along a gravel road. A hulking mass of gray clouds blocked the sun for the time being. An overgrown cemetery loomed on the left, only the tallest of the ancient headstones announcing its presence among the grass.

“How far to the river?”

“Not long now,” Lynn said. “I wish . . .”

Lucy glanced up as Lynn’s voice trailed off. “You wish what?”

“I was gonna say I wish I knew what the hell I was doing,” Lynn said, a slight smile on her face. “But I realized that’s kind of a stupid thing to say.”

“I’d have been dead hundreds of miles back without you.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Lynn said. “You get a light in your eyes now when we talk about California. You want it, and you’d keep going without me in order to get it. As far as me knowing what I’m doing,” she continued, “I’m not so used to being the one on the road, you know? I’m accustomed to being the kind of person we’re trying to avoid now. People with things to protect.”

“Is it weird, being on the other end of things?”

“Weird’s one word for it,” Lynn said, nodding toward the skeletal form of the bridge, looming in the distant haze. “I keep riding and hoping fate doesn’t feel like being an ironic bitch today.”

The town on the other side of the bridge was Fort Madison, Iowa.

“You like towns with the word ‘fort’ in them, or what?” Lucy asked.

“I don’t like towns, period.”

Spatter picked up speed to keep pace with Black Horse. Lynn was leading Brown Horse, their packs bouncing along with her steps as they emerged out of the field and onto the main road. Lynn jerked her horse to a halt, and Spatter fell in beside him. The bridge was a mile distant, the haze making it hard to see more than its vague shape reaching toward the sky.

“All right,” Lynn said. “I’m going to get Black Horse moving as fast as I can, and yours should follow nicely. If Splatter—”

“Spatter,” Lucy corrected her.

“If
your horse
stops for some reason, yell out. If I don’t hear you, shoot into the air. We’re crossing that bridge as fast as they’ll go. Assuming this horse will mind me, I’m breaking south the second we hit the town. The road follows the river a little ways before heading back west. You stay so close you can grab my tail, understand?”

“You don’t have a tail.”

“And don’t get distracted by the river,” Lynn added, ignoring the joke. “I’m guessing it’s a sight to see, but you concentrate on staying on your horse.”

“’Kay.”

Lynn gave her a grim smile and looped Brown Horse’s reins around her pommel. “Well, here we go.”

She slapped Black Horse’s rear, sending up a cloud of dust from his rump and the sharp sound echoing over the fields. He only flicked his ears at her. Lynn growled in irritation and dug her heels into his side, getting a slow walk that kicked up into trot when she did it again.

Spatter jumped to follow and Lucy dug her own heels into him, surprised when he immediately bolted past Lynn’s mount with his head in the air, flying toward the bridge at a pace she’d never guessed the little horse had in him. She tightened her thighs around his middle, wrapped the reins around her wrists, and closed her eyes against the wind whipping past her face. Behind them, she heard the other horses burst into a matching speed.

At that pace, the bridge came up quickly, and Lucy ignored the bite of the wind and opened her eyes to see the river. Spatter broke onto the bridge at a dead run, his hooves sending out an echo that rang back at them from metal struts and the endless expanse of water.

At first glance Lucy thought Lynn must have been mistaken. This was no river. Water stretched as far as she could see, wider than any field from home. It had to be a lake, or even the ocean itself. It should have made her glad to see a seemingly endless supply of what so many yearned for, but she screwed her eyes shut against it. The sheer terror of something so large existing in the world she had thrown herself into only made her own smallness more apparent, the very fact that she was alive meaningless to anyone besides herself.

She heard Lynn pulling up beside her, Black Horse’s hoofbeats ringing out in time with Spatter’s, gaining on them, then passing them, followed closely by Brown Horse. Still, she kept her eyes closed.

When the first raindrop fell on her cheek she cried out in alarm, her eyes flying open. The dark clouds that had hovered all day were cracking open and dropping their burden. She could see the far shore now, and the buildings of the river town they were heading toward at breakneck speed. Most of the houses looked deserted; the empty eye sockets of glassless windows stared blankly at their approach.

Lucy leaned low over Spatter’s neck, not daring to glance left or right at the endless stretch of water, focusing only on Black Horse’s flying tail and the flash of his hooves. They cleared the bridge and Lynn’s horses followed her guidance, breaking to the left and following the river as it flowed south. Spatter was losing ground on the bigger horse, his smaller legs unable to eat the distance as quickly.

Lucy clamped down on the urge to cry out to Lynn. Buildings stretched along her right, more than she had seen in a long time, sparking memories of Entargo. Lynn shot a glance over her shoulder, but Lucy waved her on despite the distance opening between them. There were no signs of life, no reason for concern as their mounts sped southward.

The wet smell of the ground opening up to welcome the rain filled Lucy’s nostrils, and she pulled it deeply into her lungs, happy for the reminder of home—a place where she had mattered. The buildings on the right gave away to a residential area with houses set so close to the water it made Lucy shiver to think of every drop of rain falling into the river and swelling it. A brick house flashed past, and she just had time to register the sight of three buckets set out on the sidewalk to catch the rain as she passed.

Soon the houses grew sparse, and the road veered west again. Spatter followed it, a deep huffing in his lungs giving voice to his irritation at Black Horse for leaving him so far behind. Lucy could see Lynn had slowed her mount after breaking into the open. Spatter pulled up alongside him, and they matched each other at a slower pace, the riders not exchanging words until they were well clear of the town, and the river no longer lingered in the air.

“Well,” Lynn said, wiping raindrops from her brow and motioning toward the unbroken road ahead of them. “We’re in Iowa.”

“Wow,” Lucy said, still breathless from their ride. “And I thought Indiana was flat.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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T
he heat beat down on them, drawing all their water to their skin and killing the grass that filled the plains. An endless sea of brown stretched to all sides, undulating with the wind and reminding Lucy of the rolling Mississippi, but drawn in dead tones. The horses stopped to rest more often, and their riders let them, their own misery trumping the need for progress.