In a Handful of Dust

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?”