In a Handful of Dust

She felt Spatter’s legs pumping beneath her, working with the current to move them forward. His courage gained them precious minutes until the first swell came, rushing over his back and plucking Lucy from the saddle as easily as she pulled overripe pears from the trees at home.

The water enveloped her, shocking in its coldness. She kicked upward to break the surface, managing a single gulp of air before the strong current took her in its own direction and slammed her against an outcrop. Her head struck rock, and she felt the thin skin of her temple parting easily, the hot blood releasing from her head to mix with the cold flow of rainwater.

Lucy clutched the outcrop and managed to drag herself on top of it. She swiped at her eyes only to realize a darkness was seeping into her vision that wasn’t blood, the ringing in her ears overwhelming even the rushing of the river sweeping by only inches from her face.

“This isn’t fair,” she managed to say weakly as she slipped into unconsciousness, knowing she was about to drown in a place where little water could be found.

Twenty-Four

She was out long enough that her clothes were dry when she woke, as was her mouth. Lucy tried to sit up, but a wave of vertigo forced her back down, the lump on her head pulsing in time with the nausea. She vomited over the edge of the outcrop, into the serene water below. The angry rolling white froth was gone, but Lucy knew enough about moving water to know that didn’t mean the current wasn’t strong. She rolled onto her back to glare at the mockingly blue sky above, clear of any trace of the storm. She had no way to judge how long she had been out. It could be the same afternoon, or two days later. The only gauge she had was the scratch of dehydration in her throat and the gnawing hunger in her belly.

She sat up by inches the second time, letting her pounding head adjust to the change. Once upright, she leaned back against the canyon wall, which soared at least a hundred feet above her head. Climbing out was not an option. Neither was staying and waiting for the river to recede more. If she waited too long she could die of thirst, hunger, or even the drop down to the shallow water. Jumping now meant a drink, and the very real possibility of drowning. In the best of health she would’ve jumped without question, trusting to the strength of her body. As it was she couldn’t move more than a foot at time without feeling dizzy.

She swallowed once, ignoring the thickness of her own saliva, before calling out. “Lynn?” The single syllable echoed off the walls, bouncing back and forth as it traveled upwards toward nothing, to the endless expanse of desert. There was no answer.

It was what she had always feared.

She was alone.

An hour later the water had receded another five feet, and there was still no answer to her increasingly panicked calls. Her heart beat so quickly, she could feel the answering pulse under the thin scab that had formed on her temple. The sun had dried her lips, and as she thought, she chewed on the thin strips of skin that flaked off.

Delay would only increase the drop as the river fell, and Lucy knew it was time. Her legs were still shaky, but her weakness would grow along with hunger pains. She shimmied to the edge and swung her legs over, meaning to dangle and drop after taking a deep breath. But she’d misjudged the strength left in her arms, and the sudden weight was too much for them. Her hands scrambled for purchase as gravity yanked her over the edge. She had a pristine moment of clarity as one fingernail was ripped off, the pain standing out like a sharp moment in time.

And then she was falling. She gasped deeply and closed her eyes. The water was so cold it felt like hitting rock as she sliced through it, her heart stilling for one second at the shock. Her feet struck bottom for one moment and she pushed upward with the strength she had left, scissor-kicking to propel herself to the surface. She gulped the air, which tasted sweet and made it seem like her lungs were the only warm part of her body.

The current had her, but its fingers lacked the cruel grip that had ripped her from Spatter’s saddle, and she allowed herself to relax until her foot was caught up by something beneath the surface and she was pulled under. The water closed over her head, before she was able to take a lifesaving breath.

Darkness came again, calling with a comforting numbness she knew had little to do with the cold water. It was the same futility she’d seen in her mother’s eyes, in the few memories Lucy still had of her life in the city. Dark days with curtains drawn and Neva lying in her bed though the sun was high in the sky outside. Even as the current forced her lips open and the cold water slid into the crevices of her lungs Lucy thought of Neva, and the living death that had been in her eyes years before she put a pistol to her head.