In a Handful of Dust

Lynn’s hands dropped from her, and Lucy rested her head on the other woman’s shoulder, letting the panic and fear of the night coalesce into a deep sleep that the pain could not penetrate.

When they woke, Joss was gone.

“She must’ve really been offended when you burned her blanket,” Lucy said, ignoring the cold sweat that had broken out on her face as soon as Lynn probed her shoulder wound.

“Mmm,” Lynn said, turning Lucy to get the best of the new morning light on the bullet hole. “Doesn’t look like it hit too much important, bone-wise. Here, feel this.”

She pulled Lucy’s good hand around her chest to put it on the right shoulder blade, where Lucy could feel a small, hard lump resting below the skin. “Am I breaking out again?”

Lynn actually smiled. “You’re in good humor, for being shot.”

“I don’t know that it would hurt less if I complained about it.”

“I don’t know either,” Lynn said, unsheathing her knife. “Never been shot, myself.”

Lucy looked away from the naked blade as Lynn circled behind her. “Seriously? I thought you would’ve been shot at least seven, eight times?”

“Been shot at plenty, just too quick to ever get hit.”

“So now I’m slow?” Lucy said, baring her teeth as she felt Lynn pinching the trapped bullet between her fingers.

“Hold still now,” Lynn said as she hovered over Lucy’s back. “No, I’d say you’re more like an easy target, what with putting on your bucket show back there.”

There was a flare of pain across her back, no worse than a bee sting. “Just trying to make you laugh,” Lucy said. “Dammit! I forgot the buckets.”

“I think you did more damage to it than it did to you,” Lynn said, holding a bloody, smashed bullet out to Lucy.

Lucy rotated her arm, wincing. “Doubt it.”

“As for making me laugh, a few more inches to the left and it wouldn’t have been worth it.”

“Oh, but right where it ended up puncturing me was a fair trade, in your estimation?”

Lynn shrugged. “It was pretty funny.”

Lucy smacked at her with her good arm, but Lynn had moved out of reach. “All right, that’s enough silliness. Joss took the water bottles we set out in the night. She didn’t get into our food, or the full bottles, because we were sleeping on our packs. Otherwise I think she would’ve gladly left us with nothing.”

“That makes up my mind about not liking her then,” Lucy said. “So what’s she going to do, you think?”

“We came across people stronger than us, with more to offer. She took off to see if they’ll have her. My guess is whoever was doing the shooting last night is the same people attached to that field of corn. They probably don’t want anyone spreading the word of their success.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause they’ll either want to join ’em, or take what they’ve got. And they can only support so many.”

“What about Joss? Think they’ll take her?”

Lynn shrugged. “She’s not my problem anymore. We’re moving on, and quick as possible. Can you keep a good pace?”

“I can try.” Lucy struggled to her feet. “You’ll have to carry my pack, though.”

“Sit back down, we’re not done with that shoulder yet.”

Lucy groaned but did as she was told. “What now?”

Lynn rummaged through her pack. “Your grandma gave me some honey before we left, said it’s good at keeping wounds clean.” She looked dubiously at the plastic bottle she produced. “Better than nothing, I guess.” Then she pulled a small plastic box from her pack that Lucy recognized as a sewing kit. Lucy shot to her feet.

“No—no way! You’re not stitching me up.” Lucy had seen grown men down hard cider and still cry quiet tears while Vera sewed them up at her kitchen table.

Lynn pulled a needle from the box and threaded it. “Trust me, little one, this is going to hurt me way more than you.”

Thirteen

The gnats hovered around Lucy’s shoulder, drawn by the sweetness of the honey mixing with her sweat. Lucy’s right arm rested against her chest, cradled in the makeshift sling Lynn had fashioned out of braided twine. The pain from being shot hadn’t hurt nearly as bad as being stitched by Lynn’s shaky hands, and Lucy walked with her teeth clenched, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other instead of the burning pain in her flesh.

Lynn glanced back, her own face flushed and dripping with sweat. Both packs and two rifles were strapped across her back, and Lucy knew the weight was tremendous. Lynn had kept up a steady pace nevertheless, glancing back at Lucy often to make sure she was keeping up.

“How you doing?” she called back loudly, even though only twenty feet separated them.

“I’m shot, not deaf,” Lucy shouted back.

Lynn halted and drew a bottle from her pack, waiting for Lucy to catch up before handing it to her. “Let’s take a rest.”

Lucy gratefully collapsed under the shade of a maple and took a deep pull of water. It was warm, but welcome.

Lynn stayed on the road, wiping the sweat from her brow. Lucy watched her as she shaded her eyes against the noon sun. Lynn’s water bottle fell from her hand, turning the dirt to mud at her feet.