In a Handful of Dust

“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.

Four

“You 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?”