In a Handful of Dust

The flash came again, this time bearing with it the faintest hum that in her delirium Lucy mistook for an insect. She waved her hands around her head to fend it off, and the movement sent her to the ground, tearing a hole in her jeans at the knee. The knobby white skin of her kneecap poked through and she stared at it, amazed at how easily her dry skin had peeled away from the lower layers, how slowly her thick blood rose to the surface.

The sound grew louder, and she felt vibration underneath her that seemed to pierce through her skin and rattle her bones. The light on the horizon was gone; in its place a dark shadow hurtled toward her. Her fevered brain struggled to find a word that would make the phenomenon sensible.

“Car,” she croaked, the word sticking in her throat and resisting her enlarged tongue. The single syllable roared through what was left of her logic, and she said it louder, hoping to cut through the fog of fear that had immediately swirled around the one word.

“People,” she said, rising to her feet, not knowing whether to run into the desert and hide or toward them with her arms uplifted. Then she remembered Lynn’s still body left miles behind. Lucy straddled the yellow line in the middle of the road and put her hands into the air, wishing she could touch the light-blue dome that stretched above her and pluck down the merciless yellow glare of the sun.

The car came to a stop in front of her, the waves of heat rolling off its hood so thickly Lucy feared they might knock her over. With her hands still in the air, Lucy said in the strongest voice she could muster, “My name is Lucy, and I can witch water.”

Part Three CITY

Twenty-Five

Lynn’s skin was so dry it didn’t dimple around the needle when the woman put an IV in her.

“She’ll be fine,” Lucy said. “She’s too proud to die.”

“Pride won’t keep your mom hydrated,” the nurse said simply, and hung a bag of liquid next to the bed Lynn lay in. A thin pulse pressed against Lucy’s fingers, light as the wings of a butterfly. Lucy pressed back against it, not bothering to correct the woman’s assumption that Lynn was her mother.

There had been no time for details when Lucy had crawled into the car with the help of the two men who had found her. Unconsciousness had been calling, but Lucy was frantic to explain they had to go back and get Lynn. Fever and fear had driven all words from her brain, and Lucy had only been able to point back in the direction she had come, and then to her own heart.

The drive into the city had seemed nearly obscene to Lucy, the speed at which the car ate up the miles of road mocking the hard-earned progress they had made on foot. Lynn’s head had rocked in her lap, unresisting. The driver had braked suddenly, and Lynn had rolled with the momentum, dropping to the car floor like a bag of rocks. The men had looked back at the noise and shared a glance even Lucy couldn’t miss.

But Lynn had defied them without uttering a single word. Her heart kept beating, her breath kept coming, and Lucy’s pride in her had soared to new heights. Lucy stayed in a wheelchair by her bedside, her own IV trailing behind her, snaked with Lynn’s.

“You should get back to your own bed,” the nurse said. “You weren’t in much better shape than your mother twelve hours ago.”

“I need to stay where she can see me,” Lucy said, not glancing up.

“She’s not been conscious since they brought her in, little girl. She’s not seeing you, or anyone else.”

“It’s best I be here when she can though,” Lucy said. “Otherwise she’s likely to start killing people.”

There was a disgruntled snort; then the woman was gone and Lucy sighed with relief. “I hope she’s here when you do wake up,” she muttered to Lynn. “You should definitely meet.”

The nurse who had been on shift when Lucy was carried into the hospital was an older woman she had mistaken for Vera. She’d struggled from the arms of the man carrying her and fell forward into the nurse’s arms, weeping for joy. When her wits had been restored to her hours later, Lucy was not sure how her mind had made the leap. The only similarity between Nora and Vera was age and the ability to heal, but Lucy was thankful both for the proof that people could live long lives in the desert, and that someone was around who could save hers.

Lynn’s hand twitched underneath her own, and Lucy leaned forward, eyes searching Lynn’s face for any sign of movement. “Lynn? Can you hear me?”

One eyelid flickered, opened slowly, and focused on the needle in her arm. Lynn licked her lips before trying to speak. “Cold.”

“That’s your IV,” Lucy said, rubbing her hands up and down Lynn’s arm to warm it. “Mine was cold too, at first, but you get used to it.”

“IV?”

“Yeah, it’s like a vein with water in it, and they pour it into your body, kind of,” Lucy said. “So don’t try to move a whole lot, ’cause you’re connected to it.”

“Hurts,” Lynn said, weakly lifting her other arm.