In a Handful of Dust (4 page)

“Except they weren’t,” Vera said. “I thought so too, but then I realized the incubation period was wrong. If the second wave of patients were catching it from their siblings, they would’ve been symptomatic sooner. Instead they weren’t showing up here until their brothers and sisters were better.”

“Or dead,” Lynn added.

“Incubation period?” Carter looked from Vera to Stebbs. “What’s that mean?”

“It’s the time period from when you’re exposed to the virus to when it actually makes you sick. This second wave was getting sick
after
they came here.”

“So they caught it here,” Lucy said. “No big surprise, this place was crawling with sick.”

Vera shook her head. “No, sweetheart. We made sure there was no contact between the well and the ill. The first rule of keeping a contagion in hand is quarantine.”

“People break rules, Grandma.”

“If it were an isolated case or two, I would agree,” Vera said. “But
every
person in the second wave had been here. So it had to have been someone carrying it between the two groups.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Carter said, color draining from his face. “It was me, wasn’t it? I must’ve mixed up which canteen I was using for the sick and for the well.”

Lucy felt his fingers go cold in her own. “You wouldn’t do that,” she said, voice hard. “You wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”

Stebbs walked over from his place beside Vera and put a hand on Carter’s shoulder. “It’s best you sit down, son. There’s more to tell.” Stebbs steered him away from Lucy to the empty chair opposite Vera.

“Lucy,” Lynn said. “You come on over here with me now.”

Her body tensed in rebellion, every muscle wanting to follow Carter, but Lynn’s tone left no room for argument, and Lucy joined her against the wall.

“He wouldn’t have done that,” she said vehemently to Lynn. “He’s smarter than that.”

“It wasn’t the water,” said Vera. “Do you remember me telling everyone about the different kinds of polio, and how they affect people?”

“Yeah. Some people are paralyzed, like Adam. Some people only get a fever, and then feel fine. Some die, like my sister,” said Carter.

“And some don’t even know they have it,” Vera said.

Realization dawned on Lucy, her heart collapsing under the weight of what Vera was saying. “No,” she said, the word barely squeezing past her lips. “He is not sick.” Carter’s gaze jumped from Vera to Lucy, his confusion evident.

Vera reached across the table, clasping his hands in her own. “I’m so sorry. I tried to find another answer, but it fits. Your sister was the first, the people who came in after had all interacted with you at some point. The second wave was so perfectly timed it had to be someone here. You were the one moving between the sick and the well, carrying messages and sharing your water.”

“Can you . . . Is there any way to tell, to be sure?” Carter asked, his voice stronger than his shaking hands.

“Without a way to look at cells in your blood, no. All I’ve got to go on is timelines and crossed paths,” Vera said.

“So you could be wrong,” Lucy said.

“It’s possible,” Vera admitted, still looking at Carter. “But that would put me back at square one, searching for a source. So I need you to tell me—had you not felt well at any point before Maddy got sick?”

Carter shook his head, his throat too constricted for speech. Stebbs stepped behind him, put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “This is important, son. So think hard, and be honest.”

“No fever? No muscle spasms?” Vera continued.

“No, nothing,” Carter said.

“What about headaches?”

Carter stopped shaking his head and closed his eyes. “Shit,” he said, slowly and quietly, the one syllable damning him. “Yeah. The day we went swimming. I had a blinder, but I went anyway.” He opened his eyes and looked at Lucy. “’Cause I wanted to see you.”

A breath slipped from her hitching chest, and a sob followed it. She tried to go to him, but Lynn’s grip on her arm was like an iron band. She couldn’t offer him comfort when he put his head on the table and sobbed for the death he had brought upon his sister, the racking breaths shaking his frame, his tears soaking Vera’s notes. Vera and Stebbs did what they could, the inoculated surrounding the infected, the innocent watching from the shadows.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

“Y
ou can’t see him again, Lucy. I’m sorry,” Lynn said.

Lucy sat on her bed in the home she shared with Lynn, her heartbeat a dim echo inside her body. Light flickered across the walls from the oil lamp on Lucy’s nightstand, the flame burning low on the wick. Lynn sat at the foot of the bed.

“I mean it. It’s not games now. I know you’ve snuck out of here once or twice in the past, but you can’t go to him. I won’t let you.”

Lucy nodded absently, her mind still wrapped around the image of Carter sobbing, and Lynn pulling her away from his infected tears.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Lucy asked, her voice thick with hours of crying.

“Can’t say,” Lynn answered. “Your grandma and Stebbs said they’d be by after a while. You can ask your questions then.”

“It’s not fair.”

A wry smile twisted Lynn’s mouth, and she shrugged. “What is?”

Lucy teared up again, fresh salt water burrowing new tracks over her swollen cheeks. Lynn took her hand and squeezed it. “No, it’s not fair, little one. Carter did nothing to deserve getting sick. Knowing that he killed his sister, and brought death and twisted limbs on so many, is a weight to bear.”

“I don’t know if he can take it,” Lucy said, her fear welling into a panic. “What if he—he—”

The specter of suicide, the death her own mother had chosen, wasn’t a stranger in their bleak world.

Lynn shook her head. “I don’t think he’s the type, and I’m not just saying it.”

A heavy knock on the front door reverberated through the house, up to the second floor where they sat. Lynn’s hand shot to her side, and Lucy realized she was wearing her pistol.

“It’s probably your grandma,” Lynn said, her voice tense with other possibilities. “Sit tight.”

Lynn left the room, and Lucy wiped her face on the comforter, scrubbing away the dried salt and fresh tears that had gathered. She heard muffled voices below, recognized Stebbs’ low drone, along with Vera’s comforting tones. Three pairs of footsteps came up the stairs, and Lucy lengthened the wick on the oil lamp. The flame flared and lit Vera’s face as she walked into Lucy’s room, her wrinkles etched more deeply than before, eyes sunk with exhaustion.

“How you doing, honey?” she asked Lucy, gathering her into a hug.

“Okay,” Lucy croaked. “How’s Carter?”

“We had a good long talk,” Stebbs said, leaning against the wall. “He’s sleeping now, back at our place.”

Lynn propped herself against Lucy’s dresser. “Poor bastard. You talk to his mom?”

“Yeah,” Stebbs said uneasily, his gaze shooting to Vera. “Yeah, we did.”

Vera took Lucy’s hand and looked at Lynn. “Girls . . . we need to talk.”

“Why? What’s going to happen to Carter?” Lucy pulled her hand away from Vera. “What’s going on?”

“Carter is a sick boy,” Stebbs said. “He can’t be around other people.”

“For how long?”

“That’s where it gets tricky,” he said. “Your grandma can’t say for sure.”

Vera reached for Lucy’s hand again, but she yanked it back. “What do you mean?”

Vera sighed. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to understand. When I was in medical school, polio was nearly eradicated—that means it hardly existed anymore. It wasn’t something we spent a lot of time learning about.”

“One of the things you didn’t learn was how long somebody carries it. That what you’re saying?” Lynn asked.

“Yes,” Vera said. “He could be a carrier for a week, a month, or forever. I simply don’t know.”

“I fetched his mother,” Stebbs said, “brought her back to our place, and explained the situation. Told her that her son would have to leave.”

Lucy clutched a pillow to her chest, denial tearing a hot path down her insides. “No, you can’t do that. You can’t make him go just because your stupid college didn’t teach you something forty years ago. That’s not fair and you know it.”

“What’s fair then, little one?” Stebbs asked. “Letting him stay? Not telling people he’s sick and having him infect others?”

“Stebbs is right, Lucy,” Vera said. “It’s the only thing I can think to do.”

“But what if it’s only for a week, or a month, like you said? What then? He’s gone and he never comes back because you were
wrong
.”

“That’s true,” Vera said. “But what if we take the chance, let him come back, and more fall sick? What do we tell them?”

“And then what?” Stebbs continued. “Try again later and tell the next round of sick it’s their bad luck and we were wrong again?” He shook his head. “I know you got feelings for the boy, but we talked it and talked it and this is the only way we can think is best for everyone.”

“Except Carter,” Lucy said stiffly.

“What’s best for Carter is if it hadn’t ever happened,” Stebbs said. “But we’re past that.”

“Easy for you to say,” Lucy said, anger clipping her words. “You can’t get sick.”

Stebbs’ face went cold, and his tone matched it. “Kid, there ain’t been nothing easy about this. You don’t know the half of it.”

Lynn perked up at his words. “What’s that mean?” Stebbs looked away from her, and she rounded on Vera. “What aren’t you saying?”

“There is one other possibility I didn’t mention in front of Carter,” Vera said.

Lucy’s heart leapt. Possibilities meant options, and hope. “What is it?”

Vera claimed her hand and wouldn’t give it up. She smiled sadly at her granddaughter before speaking. “It could be you.”

“Me?” she said softly, touching her chest as if the continued beating of her heart stood in denial. “It could be me?”

“It’s not you,” Lynn said through her teeth, and moved toward Vera. “And damn you for saying such a thing to her.”

Stebbs yanked her back by the shoulder. “Easy now. Getting angry ain’t helping.”

“Neither is saying a bunch of bullshit,” Lynn spat.

“I wouldn’t think it, much less say it, if there weren’t a chance it was true,” Vera said. “She was with the sick and the well as much as Carter. She was with Maddy. I can’t condemn him without questioning her.”

Lynn struggled out of Stebbs’ grip and kicked the wall, but held her silence. Vera turned to Lucy.

“Sweetheart, has there been anything, any headache, fever, back pain? Anything at all out of the ordinary you can think of, before Maddy died?”

Lucy shook her head slowly, her mind poring over the hours and days before her friend’s death. “No . . . I . . . I don’t think so.”

Images of Maddy flickered through her brain—her friend in a painful coil under the bedspread, her dead body lying at the bottom of the pit. She took a ragged breath, and Adam’s tiny smile flooded her thoughts along with Carter’s slumped body at Vera’s table as he wept for his fate.

“Say it’s not me, Grandma,” she begged, clutching Vera’s hand so tightly her nails left crescent cuts that filled with blood. “Say I didn’t do it to them.”

Vera’s soft, cool hand trailed over her hair. “I can’t tell you for sure. I’m sorry.”

Lucy fell forward onto Vera, burying her head in her lap and sobbing as Carter had, with no hope and nothing left but pain. Vera clasped her arms around her granddaughter and cried as well.

“So what’s it mean?” Lynn asked Stebbs, her mouth a hard line.

“That’s what we’re here to talk about, kiddo.”

Lucy touched her throat as the shot of whiskey Lynn had given her burned down. She imagined it drowning out the virus that might be living in her veins, purifying her blood in a surge of alcohol. But it wasn’t that easy.

They had moved to the kitchen at Vera’s insistence. Her grandmother had washed Lucy’s face and put a cold rag across her swollen eyes, while Lynn and Stebbs had shared a glance and uncorked a bottle of whiskey for everyone. It was Lucy’s first taste of alcohol and she had sputtered, spraying droplets across the table that Vera wouldn’t allow Lynn to clean up.

“I won’t believe it’s her,” Lynn said again. “The boy admitted to having a headache the day before his sister got sick. It has to be him. I’ve been with Lucy as much as anyone, and I’m not sick.”

“It’s likely you’re right,” Vera conceded. “But there are other factors to consider.”

“Like what?” Lucy asked.

“When I brought Carter’s mom over to the cabin to break the news to her,” Stebbs said, “she went biblical—fell to the floor, gnashed her teeth . . . it was all Vera could do to keep her from harming her own self, which wasn’t exactly helpful.”

“Monica’s never been one for helpful,” Lynn said.

Stebbs shook his head. “Once we got her calmed down, we told her the boy would have to go. He took the news better than she did, I’ll say that. She broke down all over again, said she’d lost her daughter and now we was taking her son away. So Vera told her she could always go with him.”

“What’d she say?” Lucy asked.

“Exactly what you’d expect her to say,” Vera answered. “No.”

“She cut him loose?” Lynn asked.

“She’s not made of strong stuff,” Stebbs said. “Even if she had gone with him, she’d be more of a hindrance than a help to the boy.”

Lucy imagined poor Carter standing in a corner of Vera’s house, his mother rejecting him in favor of her own comfort. “Maybe she would’ve been,” Lucy agreed, “but now he’ll be alone.”

“What’s this got to do with us?” Lynn asked.

“When I explained to Monica why I suspected it was her son infecting the second wave of victims, she came to the same conclusion I had,” Vera said. “She knew you and Carter had been working together during the epidemic.”

“So she knows it could be Lucy,” Lynn said, guessing the end before Vera could come to it, “and she’s not likely to keep her mouth shut about it, with you two kicking her son out.”

Stebbs nodded. “Monica’s a coward, but not stupid.”

The warm spot the whiskey had formed in Lucy’s stomach had managed to calm her a little, and the exhaustion from hours of crying had lulled her into a stupor while the adults talked. But Lynn’s words brought a spike of cold fear bursting through the warmth.