In a Handful of Dust (2 page)

T
he knocks continued through the night and into the morning; the healthy came carrying the sick, and the sick carrying the virus. Lynn and Lucy dragged blankets to the grass downwind of the cabin for the invalids to be laid on. Most were dying even as Lucy settled them onto the ground, the eerie rattle that she had first heard from Maddy now filling her ears like the sound of cicadas. Vera talked with those who could still speak, desperate to find out where they had been before confessing there was nothing she could do for them.

“There’s really no cure?” Lucy asked, as she dumped a bucket of stream water into the kettle Lynn had set up near the bank. “There’s nothing Grandma can do?”

Lynn shook her head. “Way I understand it, it kills some, cripples some. Some only get a bit of a fever from it. Vera said it usually hits the kids, but it can get adults too. There was some president that had it.”

“It kill him?”

“No, your grandma said it crippled him, though. So I guess there’s no telling who’s gonna get it, and what it’s gonna do to them.”

Lucy snapped a branch over her knee. “That sucks.”

“Maybe,” Lynn said, as she took the kindling from Lucy. “Maybe those that get sick are just happy to have it done, no matter how it ends. Like when Poe said,

           
“The sickness—the nausea—

           
The pitiless pain—

           
Have ceased, with the fever

           
That maddened my brain—

           
With the fever called ‘Living’

           
That burned in my brain.”

Lucy sighed and cracked another stick in half. “Couldn’t your mother have taught you any happy poetry?”

Lynn smiled, but it was the one, slow and sad, that always came with talk of Mother. “She taught me what she knew. So has Stebbs. He told me once that people like me and him are badly built for times like this, when there’s nothing we can do.”

“You need an enemy,” Lucy said, understanding immediately.

“I do. And when it’s a sickness, I guess the best weapon I’ve got is the fire for the bodies.”

“That and the fact you’re not likely to be kissing anybody,” Lucy said, poking Lynn in the ribs with the end of a stick.

“That’s more of a precaution than a weapon,” Lynn said, easily grabbing the end and pulling Lucy onto her knees with one swift jerk. “And don’t worry yourself about whether I’m kissing anybody or not.”

“Touchy.” Lucy rose, brushing the dirt off her knees.

“But you’ve got a point.” Lynn smacked her flint together, trying to coax a spark into the branches.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve seen the way you and Carter have been looking at each other lately, and you shouldn’t be doing any kissing either.” A small spiral of smoke rose from the kindling, and Lynn rocked back on her heels. “Now’s not the time to be figuring out if you’re more than friends.”

Lucy tried to ignore the flush that spread up her neck and to the roots of her tightly cropped blond hair. “I’m not stupid.”

“Stupid doesn’t factor in when a boy’s mourning his sister and looking for comfort.”

“I’m not—”

The older woman held up her hand. “That’s all I’m saying about it. I’m not asking any questions, just telling you whatever’s going on needs stowed until we know more about this sickness. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Lynn held her eyes for a moment, then crouched low to breathe life into the fire she’d started. “I know we’ve not talked about . . . uh, some things.”

“Stebbs already explained to me about sex, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Lucy said, and the flush that had begun to recede reclaimed some ground.

“That poor man.” Lynn’s fire flared, and she studied it.

“What’s this about, Lynn? Why you talking to me about love when we’re burning the dead?”

“’Cause we’re about to hit some hard times, and I need you to listen to me. I tell you to go to the basement and not come back up, you go. I tell you to climb a tree, you head for the highest one, you hear?”

“You’re worried.”

“This whole conversation is me being worried.”

Even though the sun burned brightly, Lucy could feel a chill from the little graveyard nearby where her mother and stillborn brother lay, her uncle Eli with them. Lynn’s eyes shifted there too, as if following Lucy’s thoughts, and the chill settled into Lucy’s bones. If Lynn was worried, there was real danger.

Lucy reached for Lynn’s hair, long and unbound, tangled by the wind. “Sit down,” she coaxed. “Let me work on this rat’s nest.”

“Sitting down doesn’t do anybody any good,” Lynn argued, but sat nonetheless.

Lucy watched Lynn’s shoulders relax as she worked the knots free, then bound her thick hair into one large braid. “You need to learn how to do this yourself.”

“Can’t see the back of my own head.” Lynn said. “I should hack it all off, like yours.”

“No, I like it.” Lucy gave the braid in her hand a yank.

Lynn yelped good-naturedly. “All right, let go of me. We got work to do.”

Lucy kept her hand on Lynn’s braid a moment longer, delaying the trips from the line of sick to the pit where the fires burned. “It’s hard, watching the small ones go.”

“I know it. You were terribly sick when you were small. It was more than I could stand.”

“And the medicine from back then, it won’t help these kids?”

“No. Your grandma said it’s only good against sicknesses caused by bacteria, and polio’s a virus. She said even before the Shortage, there was nothing anyone could do for polio once you had it.”

“So she’s trying to figure out where it came from?”

Lynn rose to her feet. “That’s the plan, it seems. Figure out who or what Maddy got it from. In the meantime, we’re not to let anybody near our pond.”

“That should come naturally enough to you,” Lucy said, and Lynn gave her a swat on the behind.

They walked up the bank, away from the shade trees and into the heat of the spring sun. Around the bend in the stream they could see Stebbs and Vera’s cabin. Beyond were the rows of sick, waiting to die or recover. A few had blankets tossed over their faces. Lucy stopped in her tracks, unable to go farther. “I can’t stand lifting the edges to see who we lost.”

“Won’t make ’em any less dead.” Lynn took Lucy by the hand, her touch more gentle than her words. “Don’t forget your handkerchief,” she added, pulling hers up to cover her nose and mouth.

Lucy followed suit, and they made their way through the lines. Vera spotted them and wound her way through the maze of the ill. “Lynn, I’m sorry, but I need you to—”

“I’ve got it.” Lynn headed for the nearest bundle.

“Who was it?” Lucy asked.

Vera spoke softly. “There were quite a few, here in the early morning. Myrtle lost her two youngest.”

“Hank and little Frannie?” A sound followed their names up through her throat, a wordless mourning that Lucy couldn’t keep in. “How’d she take it?”

“She’s sleeping right now, was up all night caring for them. I don’t have the heart to wake her just yet.”

Vera motioned Lucy away from the line of blankets, and they walked into the tall grass, the only privacy there was. “I haven’t told anyone else yet, but Alex Hale died too, and Caroline Bowl.”

“But they’re Lynn’s age, at least. I thought it only killed babies.”

Vera motioned for Lucy to lower her voice. “Usually, yes. From what I know of polio it mostly killed children, the old, or the weak. But Stebbs and I were the last generation to be vaccinated. You remember what vaccination means?”

“It means you can’t get sick.”

“That’s right.” Vera sighed and raised her heavy black hair, shot with silver, off her neck. “For now all we can do is separate the sick from the well, find the source, and hope for the best. I moved the adults over to the other side of the road, by the bridge. There’s no sense in the children seeing their parents ill. It’ll scare them more than anything. They need to be told everything is going to be all right.”

“And what do you want me to do?”

Vera closed her eyes against the sun that was helping the contagion bloom and grow in her patients. “Can you tell
me
everything is going to be all right?”

Lucy spotted Carter in the mid morning, moving among the sick with a water jug. Her usual surge of happiness at seeing him—somewhat boosted of late by the feeling of her heart jumping into her throat—faded when she thought of Maddy.

Looking at Carter now caused the tears to spring back into Lucy’s eyes, and she turned her back on him. The child at her feet glanced up at her. “You okay?”

She dropped to her knees beside his blanket and put her hand on his forehead. “Adam, you’re making me look bad. I’m supposed to be the one asking after you.”

He shrugged. “Seems like you’re laughing most of the time. Just not today.”

“Not today. How
you
feeling?”

“Better, I think,” he said cautiously, as if voicing the possibility would make it a lie. “Thirsty.”

“Water over here,” Lucy called out, and Carter was beside them in seconds.

“Hey, little man, you’re looking strong,” Carter said, and Lucy had to crush her eyes shut to prevent tears from leaking at the sound of his voice.

A smile tweaked the corners of Adam’s mouth. “Maybe.”

“Better let me hold it,” Carter said, then looked at Lucy. “Vera said not to let it touch their mouths, so it’s more like pouring it down their throats.” Lucy saw he had two canteens, one with an
X
made out of electrical tape on the lid.

“What’s that?”

“One’s for the sick. The other’s mine, and for the people that got nothing to do but wait.”

Lucy nodded quietly, breaking away from his gaze. His eyes were dry, but she knew Carter well enough to see the pain in them. She slid her arms under Adam’s shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. His eyes closed in relief as he swallowed, and Lucy laid him back gently.

“Rest,” she whispered to him, brushing some hair off his forehead. “I think you’re one of the lucky ones.”

“One of the few,” Carter said, and her hand found his.

“I’m so sorry,” she tried to say, but her voice broke and the tears she’d been fighting swelled out of her in a rush, coursing down her cheeks and spattering Adam’s shirt along with the wasted water that had seeped from around his weak lips.

Carter’s arm went across her shoulder and pulled her into him, squeezing strength into her body. “I know it, I know,” he said, his own voice thick. “But not here, not in front of the small ones.”

She nodded and pulled away, but he kept his hand on her shoulder. She’d not given much thought to his hands until the past few months, when the calluses and the strength of his fingers had taken on new meaning as she’d wondered how they’d feel against her skin. He brushed this thumb against her cheek, moving the tears back into her hair.

He cleared his throat and stepped back from her. “I need to refill this,” he said, picking up a canteen. “Wanna come with?”

They headed toward the stream, the midday sun baking the backs of their necks.

“Adam seems to be getting better,” Lucy said cautiously.

“I think so, yeah. Might take some time though. I’ve noticed the adults who went down are bouncing back quicker than the kids.”

“And their legs?”

“Not good,” Carter shook his head. “Jeb Calkins is getting better, sure enough, but he can’t move either of his.”

Jeb was a single man, with a young son. “Who’s going to take care of Little Jeb?” Lucy asked.

“Shit, who’s going to take care of Big Jeb?” Carter dipped the canteen in the creek. “What’s going on here, Lucy . . . it’s bad. It’s going to change things. We’ll be a community where half the adults are cripples, most of the children invalids.”

“Stebbs is crippled, always has been. Doesn’t slow him down none.”

“Stebbs has a twisted foot, broken in a trap and never healed right. That’s different from losing the use of your whole leg.”

Lucy sat on the bank, quiet. Carter’s reasoning explained why Lynn had been scared. As usual, she’d realized what something meant in the long run, like how this year’s garden would affect the next, and why a sickness moving through the deer meant she should avoid killing the young ones, so they could repopulate It wasn’t only people who were being crippled, but their entire way of life. Without healthy adults, they could not defend themselves. Even though outside threats were not nearly as common as they had been a decade earlier, there were still passing bands of people who wanted what they had—water.

And now it would be easier to take it from them.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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T
he next day a fresh wave of patients came in. Siblings lay on blankets their brothers and sisters had vacated, either by going home or to the pits Lynn kept burning.

“I don’t understand it,” Vera muttered, her head resting in her hands while her blank eyes coursed over her notes: jumbled, mismatched scraps of paper torn from whatever had been handy as she questioned the sick. So far, nothing had led her back to the beginning, to Maddy.

“You need to rest, Grandma,” Lucy said from her seat on the floor. Her own body was worn out from long hours tending the patients, her emotions worn so flat she no longer flinched when even the smallest bundles headed for the fires. Lynn looked no better, her hair covered with a fine powdering of soot from the dead.

“I can’t rest,” Vera said. “Not until we know where this came from. All we’re doing is treating the symptoms, not stopping the sickness.”

“Maybe so.” Stebbs moved behind her, his strong hands working to ease the tension in her shoulders. “But you’re not going to make any sense out of those scribbles in the state you’re in. You’ve not slept longer than a few hours since this started.”

“I wouldn’t even call it sleeping, what you do,” Lynn agreed. “You just kinda sit real still and doze.”