I’m being awful, I know. Maybe some part of me is changed, maybe I’ve become something dreadful. Not a shake, exactly, but not myself, either. There’s a rottenness in me, something left over from the sickness. It’s a darkness only my fevered mind could see, damp and vile smelling underneath my skin. Why else am I so furious, so pathetically weak and brimming with bitterness? I could scream until my voice wears out and never empty myself of the anger inside.
After five days of liquid meals and one day with no drugs, I finally throw a spoon at Sam’s head.
“If you don’t bring me some solid food, I will gut you.” I breathe hard through my nostrils, my chapped lips pursed.
Sam bends down and picks up the spoon. It didn’t even come close to hitting its target. He sighs as he rights himself, a sigh full of weary righteousness that sets my teeth grinding. “You are the worst patient I’ve ever had.”
“You’re not even a real doctor yet!”
Sam shakes his head and walks away, leaving me alone with a bowl of soup and no spoon. I lie back in my cot and curse at myself. I can’t stand being stuck here, and I’m driving away the people who want to help. My mouth has always gotten me into trouble, but now I can’t seem to control it at all. Compared to this, I was downright restrained before.
I sip my soup straight from the bowl, burning the roof of my mouth. My sore jaw craves something to chew, anything that puts up the slightest resistance. The soup slips down my throat, oily and hot. I can feel it sloshing around my insides, simply moving from one bowl to another. I’m not even hungry, I haven’t been hungry since I woke up. I can’t eat without remembering the taste of bloody meat in my mouth. I eat because people tell me to, because I can feel my body creak when I move and see my finger bones through the skin on my hands.
“Knock, knock,” comes a voice from the opening of the tent, and Curtis peeks his head around. “Can I come in?”
Curtis likes to pretend he’s just dropping by my house to say hello. “You don’t have to keep doing that, Curtis. No one else does.”
“Girls like their privacy,” he tells me, like it’s some great piece of wisdom. He sits down across from me on the stool I’m growing to hate, I stare at it so much. I know every knot and chip in the wood, just like I know every scuff on the wooden beams and each stain on the canvas of the tent.
“Did Sam send you in here to deal with me?”
“Now why would he do that, I wonder?”
I glare at him, but it has no effect. Curtis watches me calmly, his arm in a sling folded across his chest. The silence stretches long and heavy between us, and I start to fidget under his even gaze. I’m too restless to play this game, I have too much pent-up energy and nowhere to direct it. I break first, like he knows I will.
“What do you want, Curtis?”
“Thought you might want some company.”
“What I want is real food. I want to sleep through the night, and I want to get out of this bed and I want to get home. If you can’t get me that, then I want you to leave me the hell alone.” My voice rises, until I’m almost shouting at him.
Curtis shrugs his shoulders at me, unmoved by my outburst. “I know you’re mourning, young’un, but yelling at people ain’t gonna make it better.”
I press my lips tight together and refuse to look at him.
“You’re gonna have to talk about him sooner or later.”
“I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Go away, Curtis.”
“No.”
“Go. Away.”
“Talk to me, Willie.”
“If you won’t leave, then I will,” I tell him, throwing my blankets off me. I swing my legs over the side of the cot, and even that small effort leaves me winded. After three steps I’m drenched in sweat and after four I’m falling; I clutch at the fabric of the tent to keep myself upright. Curtis just watches as I falter, making no move to help. Ashamed of myself, I let go of the tent and slowly slide down to the ground.
“I want to go home.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to talk about him, Curtis.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s my fault!” I scream at him. The truth echoes painfully in my ears. “It’s my fault,” I repeat, quietly.
I thought it was grief, the pinch in my chest, but it’s not. Grief I’ve felt before, great and gray and lonely, but this is different. When Ma died, I thought the sadness would be too much to bear, but I now I find the grief is nothing compared to the guilt. It gnaws at the center of me, drags at my skin and sets my teeth aching.
It’s my fault Micah’s dead. He was following me, he always follows me. Followed. The past tense hurts, and I let it hurt.
I wanted a way out of my life. I wanted out of Glory, wanted to leave behind the sickness and the fences and the empty plates. I wanted Pa to come back and save me from all that, and it turned out he wanted the same thing I did: freedom. And now he’s gone, and so is Micah. And I hate my brother for that, I think. For getting out when I couldn’t. I hate him for leaving me alone.
I finally start to cry. And once I start, it’s hard to stop. To his credit, Curtis stays until I’m done, until it feels like I’ve cried myself inside out. Then we just sit in silence.
“He was following me,” I say finally, my voice thick.
“You didn’t ask him to,” Curtis says. “It weren’t your fault.”
“He wouldn’t leave me. I told him to go, and he wouldn’t leave me.”
“What would you have done, if it were him falling behind?”
I look down at my hands. “The same,” I whisper.
Curtis nods slowly. “You remember that. You didn’t kill him, a shake did. And for that I’m sorry, Willie. I’m sorry we failed you.”
“No. This trip was cursed from the beginning. Anything that could go wrong, did. I think sometimes there’s something rotten in me, something unlucky. First Ma, then Pa, and now Micah. If I was you, I’d stay away from me.”
Curtis gives me a lopsided smile. “Willie, you’re the first person to ever catch the sickness and live to tell about it. That’s the kind of unlucky I’ll take.”
That’s part of my curse, though. I’m still standing, when all the people I love are dying, one by one. Is there anything worse than being alone in the world? If this keeps up, I’ll be left with only the shakes for company.
63.
I fall asleep early, exhausted from crying, and then wake up halfway through the night with a stiff shoulder and a jaw sore from grinding. I don’t remember my dreams, a small mercy. I spend hours alternatingly sweating and shivering, and finally fall back asleep sometime around dawn.
A hand on my shoulder jerks me awake, dragging me unwillingly into consciousness. I blink heavy eyes and look around, confused when I see morning light and Sam bending over me. He always lets me sleep as late as I can, going on and on about how I need to rest to heal.
“Willie,” Sam says urgently. “Willie, you have to wake up.”
“Mm?” My mouth feels mushy and has trouble forming words.
“Wake up.”
I grunt some kind of agreement but my eyes close in protest. Water splashes my face, cold as a slap, and I sit up sputtering.
“Sam, what the hell,” I say, glaring at him. I’m wide awake now, wet and angry.
“Get your stuff,” Sam says, still holding a soaking rag. “We’re leaving.”
“What?” I focus on his face and see he looks grim. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a hunter here, just came from Glory last night. Curtis got to talking to him over breakfast.”
My heart thuds in my chest. “And?”
“I guess McAllister got tired of waiting. He put a bounty on you and your pa.”
The words ring in my ears and I wait until it sinks in.
“How much?” I ask, getting out of bed and feeling for my belt and gun. My legs are unsteady and I lean against the cot for balance.
I give a rough laugh. “Good. I’d hate to think I was worth a small amount.” Inside I’m starting to panic, and my hand trembles as I put my gun on, the weight more noticeable after days without it.
“He musta thought you skipped off with the money. We just need to get you back to Glory and he’ll call it off.”
“I don’t see why he didn’t make it an even three hundred. I mean, for that price—”
“Stop it,” Sam snaps at me. “This isn’t funny.”
“I know it’s not, Sam.” I take a deep breath, already winded, and sit down weakly. “You said I needed more time,” I say, looking up helplessly. “I can barely walk. How the hell am I supposed to get to Glory?”
“Curtis has an idea, he’s working on it. But right now we need to get you out of here and away from the other hunters.”
“What about Pa?” I ask, thinking aloud. “You think someone will find him? If McAllister finds out I let him go—”
“We almost didn’t find him,” Sam says. “If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay hid.”
I nod absently. Maybe it was stupid of me, to let Pa go. It didn’t seem right, to kill someone that broken down. Not like that, not after Micah. But this is what being soft gets you: hunters on your tail. I put my slicker on—it hangs much looser now—grab my hat, and realize I have nothing else to take.
“Ready?”
“I reckon so,” I say. I’ve been wanting out for days, but leaving the tent causes my back to knot with anxiety. Sam walks next to me, one hand on my elbow to help keep me standing.
Outside, the morning is coming along begrudgingly, pale and musty. Everything washes together, the sun and the sky the same diluted color as the ground, a milky gray that turns my stomach.
A whistle grabs my attention and I turn my head to see the Garretts walking toward us wearing guns, rucksacks, and severe faces.
“Sam explained?” Curtis asks when they reach us.
“I hear I’m worth a lot of money,” I say. “You looking for some extra cash?”
“Not if it’s blood money,” Ben says, looking tired and worried.
Sam squeezes my arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I know you ain’t up to this yet, but we’ll make it.”
“I wanted to leave,” I tell him with a bony smile. “Couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
“Let’s just get out of here before anyone sobers up,” Ben says. He offers me a handful of cold leftover corn dodgers from supper. It’s the first bit of solid food I’ve had, and I fit three into my mouth before I start to choke. “Put your hair up and keep your head down,” he tells me.
I raise one eyebrow.
“Folks are looking for you. Ain’t that many girls to choose from out here.”
Ben waits while I make sure all my hair is tucked under my hat.
“You really ain’t gonna hand me over?” I ask him quietly.
Ben frowns. “You think we’d do that? After everything?”
“I wouldn’t blame you,” I tell him. “That’s twice now you should’ve left me.”
“You get dragged back to McAllister on a bounty, he’ll kill you,” Ben says. “And I already had to make my peace with you dying. I ain’t interested in doing it again.”
I tug the brim of my hat down low so it hides my eyes. “You’re a good man, Benjamin Garrett. You and your brother. For all that you’re hunters.”
I can’t see Ben’s face, but I can feel his sleeve brushing against my arm.
“Yeah, well, go on and keep that to yourself.”
We head to the gate, Ben and Curtis keeping me and Sam slightly hidden behind them.
“Morning, Lopez,” Curtis calls to the guard. “We’re heading out.”
Lopez gives an impressive yawn, either bored or tired. I’ve never seen him before, or maybe I have; his features are outstandingly forgettable.
“All right then, on you go.”
We file out past him, Sam still supporting my arm. As I walk by, Lopez gives me a sharp look. He opens his mouth to say something, but Sam coughs and quickly pushes me past him.
“Good hunting,” Lopez calls after us, and just like that we’re outside.
The road sweeps out in front of us, cutting through the expanse of the desert. It’s a familiar sight, too familiar, and the memories flood into my head and suddenly I have no air in my lungs. I feel exposed, and the tremble in my hands has nothing to do with being weak. My heart sounds loud in my ears and my breath rattles in my chest. Ben and Curtis walk out ahead, but my feet refuse to move forward.
“Willie?” Sam is at my elbow, his brow knit with concern.
The desert smells like the sun hitting metal and old rotting paper, the smell of heat and dust. Nothing’s changed out here, but I have; something in me is broken and bent. I thought the desert was immobile, a fixed place that I moved through, but that’s not the case. The desert is a shifting thing; the cracks widen and the shadows shrink, burrs scatter and plant and grow. The sand moves itself from one spot to another, bones and bullets are covered and uncovered. Nothing is ever lost here, only buried; only waiting for the sand to shift, waiting to be found.
“I’m all right, Sam,” I say. “Let’s go home.”
64.
It’s slow going. I keep looking back at the station, half expecting to see a posse riding out to round me up. My boots scratch at the dirt, and it’s that sound more than anything that calms me. It’s steady, like a heartbeat, but more rhythmic than my own erratic heart. Every noise startles me, sends me skittering to one side like an insect under a turned rock. I’m not afraid, exactly; McAllister most likely assumes I’m dead or running, so I doubt anyone will think to look for me heading back to Glory. But I know what can happen out here now, and I’m wary. I scan the desert with wide eyes, looking for dark shadows against the sand.
“Relax,” Curtis says when I glance over my shoulder yet again. “We got a good head start. And we ain’t gonna let any hunters truss you up and carry you off.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Sam asks.
“Two hunters protecting me from other hunters. I never woulda believed it.” I look down at my feet, feeling grateful and undeserving. All that time I spent hating hunters, and now I trust these two with my life.
“I told you, we don’t go around killing clients if we can help it,” Curtis says. “Bad for business.”
“Speak for yourself,” Sam interrupts. “I’m turning her in first chance I get. Gonna buy me a horse with that money.”
I turn around to punch his shoulder and pause, fist midair; a cloud of dust rises lazily from the road behind us.
“We got company,” I say loudly. A single gunshot echoes out, and Curtis swears.
“So much for slipping out early. Let’s get this over with,” he says, firing a shot back.
“Stay behind us, Willie,” Ben orders, and he moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with his brother.
I hear the other hunter’s heavy tread before I see him; he stops in front of the Garretts, bending over with his hands on his knees.
“Mornin’,” Curtis says pleasantly.
“Y’all thought you could sneak out and no one would notice?” the man says, panting. I frown; his voice is harsh and familiar.
“That was the idea,” Curtis says. “You look mighty beat. Up too late or drinking too early?”
I peek around Ben’s shoulder as the man catches his breath and stands up.
“You,” I say with a sneer, recognizing the hunter who stole my biscuits back in Glory.
“You know him?” Ben asks.
“His name’s Grady.”
Grady glares at me angrily. He rests his hand on his gun, but doesn’t draw it.
“I don’t want any trouble,” he says, his eyes darting nervously. “Just give me the girl.”
I open my mouth to give my own opinion but Sam puts a restraining hand on my shoulder.
<
br /> “Why don’t we let them handle it,” he says softly, which is his way of asking me to not make it worse. I sigh and keep my thoughts to myself.
Curtis smiles blandly at Grady. “You’re outnumbered and outgunned, friend. Now you go on your way and we’ll go on ours.”
Grady screws up his mouth in thought, which I’m sure is hard for him.
“I’ll split the bounty with you,” he says abruptly. “We take her to McAllister, split it fifty-fifty.” I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, like I’m something to be eaten.
“You’re not hearing us,” Ben tells him, sounding annoyed and thoroughly unimpressed.
Grady licks his lips. “Sixty-forty,” he says, getting desperate. His hand trembles ever so slightly on the butt of his gun.
“I don’t think—”
“No,” I interrupt Curtis. “It’s a good deal.”
“What are you doing?” Sam hisses at me, but I shrug off his hand to shoulder my way between Ben and Curtis. I face Grady squarely, drawing my neck up so I’m just as tall as him.
“I’ll go with you,” I tell him. “But I get the share. Sixty-forty.”
“Willie—” Curtis starts, and I hold up a hand to silence him.
“We have a deal?” I ask.
Grady blinks wet and hungry eyes at me. He’s calculating in his head, trying to figure out if McAllister will pay before or after he kills me.
“Deal,” he says, nodding once.
I move closer and hold out my hand; he hesitates a moment before he moves his own off his gun to shake on it. Then I knee him, hard, in a place where no man should be hit. Grady grabs himself and drops like a stone, his face white. I bend down and pluck his gun off him and hand it to Ben, who doesn’t try and hide his amusement.
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