The hot wind is blowing stronger now, and I can taste the dust. I use the neck wrapper to cover my nose and mouth and turn into the wind towards Rivercross. The sun is getting a bit high in the sky. Ben is late this morning. Then as if my thoughts conjure him up, I see him, running across the sandy ground as if a bunch of devil cats are nipping at his heels. I smile underneath the wrapper. That boy is always rushing to get nowhere.
The familiar “Hey, Tar-Tar,” reaches my ears shortly before I’m lifted up in a bone-crushing hug.
“Happy born day.”
I punch him in the shoulder. “Put me down, you mule turd!”
He does as I say, and I look up into his face, amazed again that I have to do so. Growing up, I was always the bigger and taller one being as I was a few months older. But this year, he has grown so much. He must be a good head above me now. It’s a bit unsettling. He’s covered in a layer of dust from his boots to the top of his sun yellow hair, but his brown eyes are shining bright with laughter.
“And how does it feel to be an old folk now?”
“What? Who you callin’ old?” I snap. “I can still kick your butt, boy, like always, so show some respect.”
He laughs. A loud, belly-bustin’ sound. That laugh always brings a smile to my face.
“Aye, no doubt you could,” he says. “I brought you something.”
I grab eagerly for the cloth he takes from his slingbag, but he pulls it out of my reach and holds it high above his head.
“Hey! Not yet. We gotta eat first. Me and Pa have been out since before dawn, and I’m starvin’.”
His words irritate me some, and I let it clearly show but it just makes him smile more. He truly enjoys teasing me.
In the middle of the trap line there’s this pile of boulders with a small overhang. It kind of makes a shallow cave and gives a little protection from the wind and dust. It’s our usual place to rest up when we’re out hunting. We settle down in our little nook, and Ben pulls from his slingbag a water skin and two round wedges of sweet berry bread.
“Here. Ma said ‘cause it’s your special womanly born day, you can have an early treat.”
I ignore his snicker and eagerly take a wedge. It’s still warm. I hold it up to my nose and sniff, and the smell makes my mouth water in anticipation. Not able to wait any longer, I take a huge bite. The sweet berry flavor floods my mouth and I close my eyes … it’s so good.
“Shizen, this is delicious.” Well, that’s what I try to say around the hunk of bread in my mouth, but I don’t think Ben understands. I can tell ‘cause he’s looking at me all dumb-like, then shakes his head and laughs.
“Just close your mouth and chew, Tara.”
I do as he says. Taking a swig from the water skin, I wipe my mouth with my sleeve.
“Your ma is the best cook ever,” I say.
“Aye, that she is,” he agrees.
We eat in silence for a bit, just enjoying the rare treat and listening to the wind as it raises and swirls little dust devils outside our shelter. I keep eyeing the gift Ben has left sitting between us the whole time. He knows it’s bothering me, but he don’t let me have it.
“Found a good patch of berry bushes yesterday out past the old swimmin’ hole,” he says, breaking our comfortable silence.
“Oh yeah?” I ask. The swimming hole has been dried up for years now. I ain’t been there in a while.
“Got us a good bucket full, me and Pa. Ma was real pleased.”
I nod. “I reckoned the berries this mornin’ had come from you.”
“Aye. I snuck ‘em in real early. Your Grada asked me to. You were still sleepin’ and snorin’ like Lou’s ol’ hound used to do.”
“What?” My eyes open wide with indignation. “I was not. I don’t snore.”
“Now, how do you know if you’re asleep?” he says. “I ain’t lyin’; you nearly busted my eardrum.”
But he’s laughing, so I know he’s just teasing me some again.
“You’re a mule turd,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Oh, is that so?” He picks up the gift and starts putting it back in his slingbag. “If I remember correctly, Ma’s got a born day comin’ up soon. I’m pretty sure she don’t think I’m a mule turd.”
“No!” I lunge at the gift. “I’m sorry, Ben, truly.”
He holds it above my head again. “Truly?” he asks.
I nod. “Truly.”
“Okay, here.” I yank it from his hands, and once it’s safe in my possession, I mutter again, “Mule turd.” He laughs.
Gently, I place the cloth on my lap and start to unfold the layers. Lying inside is a flower, but it ain’t like any flower I’ve ever seen around Rivercross. What it’s made from I ain’t sure, maybe some kind of settler plastic. It has a center of pure white, but the petals surrounding it are all shiny black. One of the petals has a leather thong laced through it so as to wear it around my neck. Despite the couple of chipped edges, it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. But all I can manage is, “Oh.”
Ben lifts a worried brow my way. “That’s it? Oh? You don’t like it?”
“No, it ain’t that.” I hurry to reassure him. “It’s just … I ain’t never owned anything so pretty before.”
I guess it’s the right thing to say ‘cause he’s smiling again.
“Well go ahead … put it on.”
I untie my neck wrapper and start to place the leather strand ‘round my neck, but Ben scoots over and takes it out of my hands to do it for me. I lift my long braid out of his way.
“Found it last week when me and Pa were out at the pickin’ grounds. The bucket it was stuck to was full of these things, but this one …this one was special. Had a hell of a time getting it offa the bucket, but I knew it had to be this one ‘cause the black and white was just like your hair. Made me think of you.”
He stops talking, but right away my hands move instinctively to cover my hair. My hair is as black as crow feathers, but it has these two awful-looking white stripes on both sides of my face that run from the top of my head straight to the ends. It has always been like that for as long as I can remember.
I cain’t recall how many times the old folk would say “how strange” it was or joke about how I must be a mutie or something. I always tried to hide them in braids or under my hat, but they were a real sore spot with me. Hearing Ben speak of ‘em bothers me some. He just moves my hands back to my lap and goes right on talking.
“It reminded me of how darn pretty your hair is, so I says to myself, ‘Ben, this has got to be Tara’s born day gift.’” His hands brush the back of my neck, making me shiver. “There, nice and tight so you won’t lose it.”
I look down at it lying against my dingy tunic. I’m quiet for a bit. I ain’t ever been good at putting my soft feelings into words. Ben has always been better at that sort of stuff. But I want him to know what it means to me.
“Thank you, Ben. It truly is the best born day gift ever,” I say quietly.
He shrugs and then grins at me, the laughter back in his eyes.
“Weren’t nuthin’. Would have given you the bucket too, but Pa figured it would come in real handy for taking out the slop.”
I laugh at this. I laugh so hard I get a shooting pain in my gut. Trust Ben to turn our conversation to slop.
“You’re a—”
“Mule turd. I know, I know,” he says and ducks the punch I throw at his shoulder. “Hey, if you want help checkin’ the trap line, you better stop with the hittin’.”
“Lot of good you are to me … ain’t much of it left to check,” I say, but I’m just teasing.
My words turn his laughter into a frown, and he glances at my slingbag.
“You’re almost finished checkin’, and that’s all you got? Two dirt dogs?” he says in disbelief.
“Aye,” I say. “Ain’t much, I know. Was hopin’ for a couple more at least. If I don’t find any then I think I might head out a bit further into the sand land
s, see if I can get me a wild rabbit or maybe even a wild hog.”
He looks at me all funny before bursting into laughter again. But this laugh is tinged with a touch of sarcasm.
“Wild hog? Ain’t been no wild hog ‘round these parts goin’ on two years now, Tara. You’re talkin’ foolishness.”
I know he’s right. There ain’t been no decent game spotted anywhere near Rivercross in a long time. But his laughing at me only irritates my snarky self.
“Who are you to say I won’t find no wild hog? You a seer now like old Molly?” I snap.
“No, but I ain’t no fool either.” The smile drops from his face, and he looks real serious all of a sudden. It ain’t like his normal look at all. “I know what’s happenin’ even though none of the old folk will say so. Rivercross is a dyin’ place, Tara. I cain’t remember the last time we caught us a fish, or rabbit, or hog … can you?”
I wanna argue more. I don’t wanna admit he’s right but I finally concede with a shake of my head. “It’s been a long time,” I say.
“Exactly. And we ain’t ever gonna see them things again, mark my words. Shizen, we ain’t ever gonna see that river run no more either. Might as well call the place Muddy Cross ‘cause it’s all that’s left of that damn river!”
He’s angry. His face is flushed a deep red and his brow furrowed. I’ve never seen him look like that and it truly surprises me. Ben is never angry. He’s always joking, or laughing, or downright irritating … but never angry. The surprise must show on my face ‘cause he looks away in shame.
“I’m sorry, Tara,” he says. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that and on your born day and all. It’s just …,” he looks back at me, and his eyes remind me more of some old man than his true seventeen years. “Don’t you ever worry ‘bout what’s gonna happen to Rivercross? To us?”
“What are you sayin’, Ben?” I don’t like how he’s talking.
He scratches his head, mussing his hair even more so and loosening some dust that floats lazily in a stray sunbeam sneaking through the cracks above our heads. “I cain’t understand why the old folk don’t do nuthin. Every year is worse than the one before. Every year, we have less, and it gets harder to find. And what do they say? ‘Oh, the gods will provide. The gods will bring rain.’ It’s a load of shite. We ain’t had rain in months. The well is all but dried up along with the river. All of the animals have practically died off. And the harvest … well, there ain’t no way in dirt dog hell we’re gonna have a harvest this year or the next!”
I know he’s speaking the truth, but like the old folk, I reckon I don’t want to admit it either. “Then we go look for water,” I say. “There’s gotta be another river or spring sure enough. We find it, and we bring water back. We dig another well maybe, whatever we have to do. If we gotta travel further into the sand lands to find game, then we do that, too. And the rain will come, you’ll see, and there will be a harvest next year—”
“Tara,” he stops me from talking. “Open your eyes. You sound worse than the old folk, than Pa. Rivercross is dead.”
“No,” I say.
“Yes, Tara.”
“No, you’re wrong.” His words fuel my anger.
“Why you bein’ so mule-headed about this?” he asks.
“Because. This is our home. To say Rivercross is dead is to give up on our home, and I ain’t no quitter and neither are you.” I poke him in the chest so hard it hurts my finger.
He just sighs at me. “I ain’t sayin’ we should give up, hell no. What I’m sayin’ is we should move on elsewhere. And if the old folk weren’t so stubborn, they would know that’s the right thing to do. There’s gotta be a better place out there,” he jerks his hand toward the sand lands “somewhere.”
I tamp my anger down and stare at him. “You talked to your pa ‘bout this then?”
He nods. “Aye. He’s too stubborn to see it though, just like the rest of ‘em. He keeps sayin’ it will turn around, and that a boy my age shouldn’t be concerned about things of that nature. It’s just frustratin’.”
“Well, then maybe he’s right,” I say. “Maybe we ain’t got no reason to be concerned. The old folk have been around a long time. They ain’t gonna let Rivercross perish. Surely, you know that. Grada and your pa and the others, they know what they’re doin’. And as for out there,” I use his words, “there ain’t nuthin out there except ruins and dead lands. And beyond that, what? Muties and raiders and critters that’ll just rip us into pieces, gobble us up, and shite us out.”
I ain’t expecting it but he laughs.
“We ain’t ever been more than a day’s travel from Rivercross. How the hell do you know what’s out there? Muties? Raiders? Have you ever seen such things, Tara, or you just lettin’ the old folk scare you with such nonsense?”
In all the years I’ve known Ben, I ain’t ever heard him talk like this. Something sure has got him riled up. “It ain’t just the old folk. The traders that pass through Rivercross sometimes speak of such things, too. You’ve heard ‘em same as me,” I say.
“Aye, I’ve heard their stories ‘round the campfires. I’ve also heard ‘em speak of magic and demons and monsters. Does that make it all true? It’s just tales, Tara, meant for scarin’ young’uns. Don’t try to tell me you don’t believe the same.”
He knows me too well. But unlike Ben, I don’t want to say those thoughts out loud. To speak ill of the old folk seems wrong and disrespectful somehow. He takes my silence as a yes.
“Look, we know there’s other places out there somewhere. Other villages. The traders prove that much. They have to come from somewhere. They ain’t just blown to life by the dust and the wind. All I’m sayin’ is maybe where they come from is better than here. Don’t you think we should at least find out for ourselves?”
I finally understand what he’s saying, and it scares me. “You want to leave Rivercross?” I say, shocked. I cain’t imagine living here without Ben. We grew up together. Did everything together. We were kin.
He shrugs. “Dunno … maybe. Been thinkin’ ‘bout it for a while now. Who knows what I could find? The world’s a big place, Tara. Bigger than you or me can imagine, I reckon. Maybe I’d find some magical place where there’s always fresh water, always a good harvest, and always clean beds with not a single damn grain of sand in ‘em.”
I think about this in silence for a moment. “Aye, maybe you will,” I say finally. “And then again, maybe I’ll shoot me a wild hog today, too.”
I know he’s trying to stay somber, but he cain’t keep a straight face and he laughs. A big, honkin’ belly laugh. “Okay, you win this one,” he says.
“I win always,” I say and toss his water skin at him. “Come on. Enough talkin’ already. We still got work to do. That trap line ain’t gonna check itself.”
He pretends to scowl at me, but his eyes are still twinkling and he packs up like I ask. I follow him back out into the heat of the day, glad we ain’t arguing no more. It would have ruined my born day gift with all that talk about leaving Rivercross. I know he ain’t serious about that … he’ll come around. He never was one to stay serious for long. I cain’t help but look back down at my flower and smile, and I’m so busy admiring it I don’t see Ben stop suddenly in front of me. I ram into his back, almost knocking me offa my feet.
“What the …?” I right myself and follow his gaze to the horizon. A huge cloud of dust, about two leagues away, is rolling towards Rivercross.
“What is it?” I say, anxiously. “A rider?”
He squints into the sun. “No, too big.”
“A dust storm?”
“Dunno … maybe.”
We watch in silence as it draws closer.
“Whatever it is, it’s movin’ fast,” I say.
Then we feel it. Vibrations under our feet like thunder, only it don’t stop. I ain’t ever felt the ground shake like this, and a lump of fear starts growing in my belly. We look at each other, and I can see the concern on Ben’s face.
“Maybe we should head back,” he says.
“Aye,” I agree.
We don’t hesitate. We run full out as the vibrations get stronger. Even the land is disturbed by the dust cloud ‘cause I can feel its distress, and what I’m feeling right now is danger.
Every villager is out watching the dust cloud move in. Some of them are holding their axes or bows, but all of ‘em are looking mighty scared. Their fear hangs heavy in the air, almost like you could reach out and touch it. I’ve never experienced this kind of dread before, not even with the lightning storms or massive sand devils, and the cold knot of fear in my gut pulls tighter.
Shelly runs right up to us as soon as she spots us, panic etched in her face. “Have you seen Jane and young Thomas?” She’s nearly screaming at us she’s so scared. I shake my head no, and she wrings her hands. “Oh gods, they were out playing … I gotta find ‘em! Help me find ‘em!”
She don’t wait for us to help though. She just takes off, yelling their names, her worry making her voice high and shrill. I look over at Ben, and I can see that his dark eyes are clouded in panic.
“Go get your crossbow,” I say. “This ain’t good. And tell your pa to get his ax. I gotta find Grada.”
Used to my gut instincts, he don’t question me. He just gives me a quick nod and runs off. I head for the shanty, the vibrations in the ground so strong now they jar my bones.
Grada comes limping ‘round the shanty, his look of relief evident as he spots me. He calls to me, but I cain’t hear him over Shelly’s yelling. I run to him, and I’m struck by the panic in his face. I ain’t ever seen him look like that. Grada is a big man, a brave man. I ain’t ever seen him scared of anything. It makes me afraid something fierce.
“Tara! You have to come with me right now. You have to get to the storm cellar,” he says as I reach him. He don’t give me time to respond. Grabbing my wrist in his beefy hand, he starts hauling me around the shanty toward the back.
“Grada, no. It ain’t a dust storm,” I say, thinking he must be confused. As if to confirm what I’m saying, the rumbling vibrations from the cloud are made much worse by a high-pitched screeching. No … it’s screaming. I look over my shoulder. It’s almost upon Rivercross, this massive dust plume, and every villager can now see what was hiding in it. I stop in my tracks, frozen.
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