In a Handful of Dust Page 4

  “Say it’s not me, Grandma,” she begged, clutching Vera’s hand so tightly her nails left crescent cuts that filled with blood. “Say I didn’t do it to them.”

  Vera’s soft, cool hand trailed over her hair. “I can’t tell you for sure. I’m sorry.”

  Lucy fell forward onto Vera, burying her head in her lap and sobbing as Carter had, with no hope and nothing left but pain. Vera clasped her arms around her granddaughter and cried as well.

  “So what’s it mean?” Lynn asked Stebbs, her mouth a hard line.

  “That’s what we’re here to talk about, kiddo.”

  Lucy touched her throat as the shot of whiskey Lynn had given her burned down. She imagined it drowning out the virus that might be living in her veins, purifying her blood in a surge of alcohol. But it wasn’t that easy.

  They had moved to the kitchen at Vera’s insistence. Her grandmother had washed Lucy’s face and put a cold rag across her swollen eyes, while Lynn and Stebbs had shared a glance and uncorked a bottle of whiskey for everyone. It was Lucy’s first taste of alcohol and she had sputtered, spraying droplets across the table that Vera wouldn’t allow Lynn to clean up.

  “I won’t believe it’s her,” Lynn said again. “The boy admitted to having a headache the day before his sister got sick. It has to be him. I’ve been with Lucy as much as anyone, and I’m not sick.”

  “It’s likely you’re right,” Vera conceded. “But there are other factors to consider.”

  “Like what?” Lucy asked.

  “When I brought Carter’s mom over to the cabin to break the news to her,” Stebbs said, “she went biblical—fell to the floor, gnashed her teeth . . . it was all Vera could do to keep her from harming her own self, which wasn’t exactly helpful.”

  “Monica’s never been one for helpful,” Lynn said.

  Stebbs shook his head. “Once we got her calmed down, we told her the boy would have to go. He took the news better than she did, I’ll say that. She broke down all over again, said she’d lost her daughter and now we was taking her son away. So Vera told her she could always go with him.”

  “What’d she say?” Lucy asked.

  “Exactly what you’d expect her to say,” Vera answered. “No.”

  “She cut him loose?” Lynn asked.

  “She’s not made of strong stuff,” Stebbs said. “Even if she had gone with him, she’d be more of a hindrance than a help to the boy.”

  Lucy imagined poor Carter standing in a corner of Vera’s house, his mother rejecting him in favor of her own comfort. “Maybe she would’ve been,” Lucy agreed, “but now he’ll be alone.”

  “What’s this got to do with us?” Lynn asked.

  “When I explained to Monica why I suspected it was her son infecting the second wave of victims, she came to the same conclusion I had,” Vera said. “She knew you and Carter had been working together during the epidemic.”

  “So she knows it could be Lucy,” Lynn said, guessing the end before Vera could come to it, “and she’s not likely to keep her mouth shut about it, with you two kicking her son out.”

  Stebbs nodded. “Monica’s a coward, but not stupid.”

  The warm spot the whiskey had formed in Lucy’s stomach had managed to calm her a little, and the exhaustion from hours of crying had lulled her into a stupor while the adults talked. But Lynn’s words brought a spike of cold fear bursting through the warmth.

  “Is she telling people I’m sick too? Are you going to make us leave?”

  “We don’t know what to do, honey,” Vera admitted. “But yes, it’s likely Monica will tell people you could have been the source. Which means a few things: people will expect us to treat you the same way as Carter, and if we don’t . . .”

  “If we don’t, it’d stir up an already pissed-off hornet’s nest,” Stebbs finished. “Lots of people are mourning right now, and once that’s done, they’ll turn to wanting to know why their people died. They’ll need somebody to blame.”

  “Even if we let you stay, you’d be in danger,” Vera said.

  “They’d hurt me?”

  “They would,” Lynn said. “Much as I don’t like agreeing. They would turn on you, if they thought it’d protect them from falling sick themselves, or losing more of their own. People are harsh animals. You’ve not had to see that firsthand in a long while.”

  “Lynn’s right,” Stebbs said. “And Monica’s an injured animal, ready to bite at any threat. Right now, that’s us.”

  Lynn’s hand went to her gun. “She can’t bite if I shut her mouth for her.”

  “I won’t allow that, Lynn,” Vera said. “Killing her would only solve half your problem anyway.”

  “What’s the other half?”

  Stebbs gave Lynn a shrewd glance. “You’re not going to like what I have to say next, but don’t hit me, okay, kiddo?”

  Lynn’s eyes narrowed, and Lucy noticed she made no promises.

  “Abigail came down the hill today,” Stebbs said carefully, keeping an eye on Lynn.

  “Oh crap,” Lucy said. “I forgot to tell you.”

  Lynn’s eyebrows drew together. “Forgot to tell me what?”

  Vera put a hand on Lynn’s taut shoulder. “It seems she believes you and Devon have, um . . .”

  “Christ,” Stebbs broke in. “She thinks you’re sparking him.”

  Lynn flushed a deep red. “She thinks I’m . . . with . . .” She trailed off, eyes wide. “Well, I’m not.”

  “Much of a relief as that is to hear,” Stebbs said, “I don’t think she’s going to believe you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Lynn,” Vera said softly. “Sometimes when people are—”

  “What she’s saying is that Abigail is cracked in the head,” Stebbs finished. “She’s convinced herself you’re sleeping with her man, and no amount of truth is going to sway her otherwise.”

  “Have Devon set her straight,” Lucy said, seeing Lynn was beyond words. “She thinks the world of him. If he says it as well as Lynn, she’s bound to believe it.”

  “Devon passed away this morning,” Vera said quietly.

  “And with him dead, there’s no one to do the denying but the one she’s accusing, and Abigail half out of her head with grief—”

  “And the other half of her head not being all that stable to begin with,” Lucy finished.

  “She’ll be gunning for you,” Stebbs warned Lynn.

  She shrugged. “I got a gun too.”

  “And I bet Lynn’s a better shot,” Lucy said.

  “Good shot or not, is that your plan?” Stebbs asked Lynn. “Climb up on the roof again and shoot anybody comes near? That the kind of life you want for Lucy? What you had? Skulking in the basement and sniping from the roof? Scared to talk to anybody for fear they’re gonna take something from you?”

  Lynn swallowed hard, and Lucy could see the struggle tearing her in two. Lynn’s own mother had protected the pond against any who would take a drink from it, animal or human. The pond, and their home, had been the only world Lynn knew until she was Lucy’s age. Only her mother’s death and an injury had forced her to reach out to Stebbs for help; otherwise Lynn would’ve been content to remain as she had been. Alive, but alone.

  “No,” Lynn said slowly. “I wouldn’t have that for you, Lucy. It’s no kind of life, and you’re not suited to it, anyway.”

  “I can do it,” Lucy said, even though the thought of living in isolation made her skin grow cold. “You tell me and it’s done. I don’t want you to give up everything on account of me.”

  “Little one,” Lynn said sadly, “that’s what a real mother does.”

  The numbing effect of the alcohol had spread to her brain; it was the only way to explain the cool, calm way Lucy packed only the most essential things in a backpack. Her hand hovered over Red Dog, a stuffed animal Lynn had given her as the first indication her heart was softening toward the little girl she’d taken into her home.

  “Probably shouldn’t,” a gruff voic
e came from her bedroom doorway, and Lucy turned to find Stebbs leaning there.

  She clutched Red Dog to her chest. “It was Lynn’s when she was a kid too. Leaving him behind feels wrong.”

  Stebbs shuffled into her room, gently taking Red Dog from her hands. He peered into the black button eyes, seeing something other than a stuffed animal there. He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you leave him with me? I’ll keep him safe for you.”

  Lucy nodded dumbly, knowing it was a false promise meant to console a child. “Yeah, okay,” she said, swiping at the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

  “C’mere, girl,” Stebbs said, and folded her into his arms.

  She could only cry and inhale the strong smell of him, the woods and the water, the dirt and the air, one last time.

  Lucy found Lynn pondering the racks of purified water they kept in the basement, a grim expression on her face. She glanced up when she heard Lucy’s step.

  “You ready?”

  “I’m packed, yeah.”

  “That’s not the same thing as ready.” Lynn looked back at the bottles of water. “The thing about water,” she said, almost to herself, “is that it’s so damn heavy.”

  Years of hauling water from the pond to the holding tanks in the barn had taught that lesson to both of them. “Yeah,” Lucy agreed. “It is.”

  “We can’t carry enough to get us far. And we can’t trust water we find along the way to be clean. And that’s assuming we can even get to any that hasn’t already been claimed.” Lynn’s voice drifted off, their problem evident.

  “Want me to bring my witching stick?”

  With her forked ash stick Lucy had found water for many of the families in their community, always in private, and always attributing the find to Stebbs. The ability to witch water was a blessing and a curse—it could save lives, or ensure the bearer was marked for life as a person of high value in a world where money no longer mattered. Those who could find water worked in secret for fear their ability would earn them a pair of chains, with a stern master on the end.

  “Bring it,” Lynn decided. “I haven’t lived this long to die of thirst on the road.”

  “We’d be stupid not to,” Lucy said.

  “It’d be stupid to use it. That’s a last resort, and you remember it.”

  Lucy nodded and sat down on the steps to watch Lynn, who couldn’t tear herself away from the water. She ran her fingers over the bottles and heaved a sigh.

  “Saying your good-byes?” Lucy teased.

  “Beyond Stebbs and Vera, who else have I got to say it to?” Lynn asked, a self-deprecating smile on her face.

  “There’s others that like you, if you’d let ’em.”

  Lynn hefted her own backpack onto her shoulders. “Now’s a poor time to start liking people,” she said gruffly. “You say yours?”

  “Yeah,” Lucy said, pushing the single syllable past the lump in her throat.

  Lynn gave her a searching look. “If you didn’t do it good and thorough, you go do it again, understand?”

  “You don’t think we’re ever coming back, do you?”

  “Coming back or not, don’t matter. We’re leaving behind an old woman and a cripple in the wake of an epidemic. They’re stuck with a bunch of helpless children, and half the adults here got one arm or leg that don’t work. You say good-bye and you say it right, ’cause either we’re gonna die or they are.”

  Lucy nodded, emotion choking off her voice when she tried to speak. The pond and her family had been her world for years, slowly sprinkled with new faces as more people found safety among them. Always her life had been planned—a man, a home, a well, and eventually children. Now it was all skewed, thrown off balance by an invisible enemy she couldn’t fight. “What if . . . what if it is me, Lynn? What if all those dead children and ruined people are my fault?”

  Lynn was on her knees on the step below Lucy in a second, gripping her face so tightly Lucy could feel her skin stretching.

  “You listen to me now—I know you, understand? I know you right past your skin, through your bones and down into your blood, and there is nothing inside of you that could hurt anyone. I know it for a fact, I know it the way I know the sun’s going to come up tomorrow the same place it did today. You hear me?”

  “I hear you,” Lucy said. If Lynn, who was faithless, had faith in her, it was all the validation she needed.

  Lynn let go of her cheeks, smoothed the short strands of blond hair from her forehead. “If you want to go and say a bit to Carter, he’s still over at Vera and Stebbs’ place.”

  Lucy couldn’t control her surprise. “Really?”

  “I shouldn’t let you,” Lynn said. “But I know what not getting to say good-bye feels like. Stay a good piece away from him while you’re talking, no matter how hard it is.”

  “I will.” Lucy nodded emphatically, an odd mixture of elation and fear coursing through her body. She wanted to see Carter, needed to see him so badly the possibility had her stomach dipping to her knees and her heart jumping into her throat. But the excitement was tinged with sadness, the knowledge that no matter what they said to each other, it would be their last words.

  “You go on now,” Lynn said, turning back to the bottles of water. “Be back in an hour. We’re leaving as soon as there’s morning light.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  Five

  The long grass was wet with night dew, soaking Lucy’s jeans as she crept quietly to Vera’s house by the creek. The sick were still lined up in rows, their blankets tucked around their hunched shoulders as they slept under the trees along the bank; the healthy made similar lines on the other side of the cabin, at a safe distance from their stricken loved ones.

  There was a candle burning inside the cabin, and she saw Vera’s shadow pass by a window. She tapped lightly on the glass, and Vera motioned her around to the door, smiling as she opened it.

  “Are you packed, sweetheart?”

  “More or less.”

  “I think ‘less’ would probably be best,” Vera said.

  “Lynn said I should say my good-byes.”

  Vera stepped outside and took Lucy’s hand, leading her down to the creek bed. “I want to talk to you, before you go.”

  Lucy nodded, felt the warm rush of tears returning to her eyes. She’d been so wrapped up in wondering what she would say to Carter, she hadn’t realized this would be the last time she saw her grandmother.

  Vera pointed toward the bend in the creek, where a small break in the trees allowed them to see the cemetery crosses in the moonlight. “Do you remember your mother?”

  “Not much,” Lucy admitted. “I remember how sad she was, and how—” She broke off, not wanting to say anything that could be misunderstood. “How different from Lynn,” she finished.

  “I think ‘delicate’ is what you’re trying to say.”

  “Yeah, that’s definitely it.”

  “She was delicate, very much so. Your mother wasn’t made for this kind of life, and while I know that, it still kills me every day to think what she chose instead.”

  Lucy felt her grandma’s hand shaking in her own, and she squeezed it. “I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m sorry you had to lose her like that.”

  “And now I’m losing you.” Vera turned to her, eyes wet. “Don’t think for a second we didn’t try to find a way for you to stay.”

  “I know it,” Lucy said, her own voice growing thick. “Could you come?”

  Vera shook her head, and the little flame of hope that had sparked in Lucy’s chest died. “No, little one. I’m an old woman, and my man is a cripple. We’d slow you down, and more than likely die along the way.”

  “Lynn thinks you’ll die if you stay,” Lucy said.

  “We may. But you two won’t have to stop to bury us, and I can lie here with my daughter and her little son.” Vera wrapp
ed her arms around Lucy, who sank into her like a child.

  “I’m going to miss you,” Lucy said. “And I love you a whole lot.”

  “I love you a whole lot too, little girl,” Vera said, then pulled back to give Lucy a stern look. “I’ll let you see Carter, but you don’t go past this line.” She made a mark in the dirt with her foot. “Promise me.”

  “Why not?” Lucy asked, the tears she’d been shedding all day erupting again, along with her frustration. “If you think I’m infected too, what does it matter?”

  “Sweetheart”—Vera’s hand rested on her arm, her touch as light as always—“I don’t think it’s you. But I can’t back that up in any way other than the feeling in my heart.”

  “Lynn said the same thing.”

  “She’s got a mother’s instincts without ever having borne a child, and for once she and I agree on something. You’re not the carrier, little one. But like Stebbs said, Monica isn’t stupid, she’s figured out it could be you just as well as Carter, and we can’t very well exile one of you and not the other.”

  “Then I’ll leave with him,” Lucy said, the words tumbling out of her as the idea occurred. “Lynn won’t have to leave her pond and he won’t have to be alone.”

  “And that leaves Lynn behind to deal with Abigail gunning for her with all the bitterness in her heart. And more than likely you’ll be dead from Carter’s love in less than a week,” Vera said sternly.

  Lucy was about to say that was fine, but the words were stuck.

  Vera watched her closely. “That’s not what you’re meant for. Life’s got more in store for you than dying to prove a point. This conversation is one I’ve been meaning to have with you, but I never thought it’d take the deaths of so many for me to talk to you about life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean maybe this is your chance to break free, to get out and see the world beyond this little place. I know there’s good out there; I’ve seen it. It’s not all hardship and strangers the way Lynn thinks. There’s more to life than a water source, and I’ve prayed you’d get to see that before you settled here.”