Mindy McGinnis - In a Handful of Dust

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 that 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 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?”

Lynn gave Lucy a hard look over the map before walking away, leaving her to brood over the thick, threading finger of blue that blocked their way west.

They practiced making the horses run as they moved toward the river. Spatter didn’t do much more than flick his ears in irritation when Lucy kicked his sides, but Black Horse would glide into an easy gallop when Lynn urged him, Spatter would follow his lead, and Brown Horse, carrying their packs, brought up the rear.

“I wish he’d move a little faster,” Lynn said, rounding Black Horse back to ride beside Spatter. “Once we hit the bridge, I’d like to be running. Somebody wants to stop us, it’s the perfect place. Block either end and we’re sitting ducks.”

“You could try shooting up in the air,” Lucy suggested. “It got them moving before, back in Indiana.”

“It also made them pitch two of their riders.”

“True,” Lucy said, thinking of the bloody point of bone sticking from Joss’ leg.

Lynn looked morosely at a spot between Black Horse’s ears. “These horses attract a lot of attention. Some people might let two women with nothing but what’s on their backs walk on by, but two women with three horses is another matter.”

“I’m not giving him up,” Lucy said, running her hand along Spatter’s neck.

Lynn sighed but didn’t say anything. They were traveling along a gravel road. A hulking mass of gray clouds blocked the sun for the time being. An overgrown cemetery loomed on the left, only the tallest of the ancient headstones announcing its presence among the grass.

“How far to the river?”

“Not long now,” Lynn said. “I wish…”

Lucy glanced up as Lynn’s voice trailed off. “You wish what?”

“I was gonna say I wish I knew what the hell I was doing,” Lynn said, a slight smile on her face. “But I realized that’s kind of a stupid thing to say.”

“I’d have been dead hundreds of miles back without you.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Lynn said. “You get a light in your eyes now when we talk about California. You want it, and you’d keep going without me in order to get it. As far as me knowing what I’m doing,” she continued, “I’m not so used to being the one on the road, you know? I’m accustomed to being the kind of person we’re trying to avoid now. People with things to protect.”

“Is it weird, being on the other end of things?”

“ Weird ’s one word for it,” Lynn said, nodding toward the skeletal form of the bridge, looming in the distant haze. “I keep riding and hoping fate doesn’t feel like being an ironic bitch today.”

The town on the other side of the bridge was Fort Madison, Iowa.

“You like towns with the word fort in them, or what?” Lucy asked.

“I don’t like towns, period.”

Spatter picked up speed to keep pace with Black Horse. Lynn was leading Brown Horse, their packs bouncing along with her steps as they emerged out of the field and onto the main road. Lynn jerked her horse to a halt, and Spatter fell in beside him. The bridge was a mile distant, the haze making it hard to see more than its vague shape reaching toward the sky.

“All right,” Lynn said. “I’m going to get Black Horse moving as fast as I can, and yours should follow nicely. If Splatter—”