Lucy continued to claw at the pile, working alongside Fletcher, who did most of the heavy lifting. Lynn had scrambled to the top and was pushing boulders too heavy for her too lift and rolling them down the opposite side, the thunderous cracks of their landing sending vibrations through Lucy’s feet. Loose dirt slid down from Lynn’s efforts, settling into Lucy’s scalp and mixing with her sweat to create a thin mud that covered her like a second skin.
The sun climbed, bearing down on them as Lynn slid to the other side of the road and began digging from there. Fletcher wordlessly touched Lucy’s shoulder and motioned to her that she should drink. Too tired to speak, she only nodded and went to where Spatter stood listlessly, his ears flicking away blackflies in the midday heat. Her water bottle was warm from being next to his body, and she swished the first swallow around in her mouth before spitting it out.
She went back to work, and Fletcher took a break of his own to get a drink and clean the horses’ hooves. He returned to her side, tugging a rock as wide as his chest from the rubble.
“Careful,” he warned, right before it became dislodged and hit the ground in between them, narrowly missing her toes. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Lucy said, “it missed me.”
A drop of blood fell onto the boulder in between them, and they both looked at each other in alarm before Lynn’s voice, unrecognizable in its weakness, came from above.
“I’m not feeling too great,” she said through the blood dripping from her nose, right before she toppled and Fletcher deftly caught her.
Lucy had seen Lynn’s blood before. The nature of their lives left them open to scrapes and cuts. Lynn had always brushed off Lucy’s concern and sewn up her own wounds, no matter how deep, with awkward stitches. But Lynn wasn’t conscious to tell her not to be worried, and the blood wasn’t stopping.
“What is it?” Lucy crouched at Lynn’s feet, peering over Fletcher’s shoulder as he rolled Lynn onto her side. “Why isn’t it stopping?”
“Don’t know,” Fletcher said brusquely, tilting Lynn’s head forward and pulling a clean rag from his pocket to stanch the flow from her nose.
“Will she be okay? You can’t bleed to death through your nose, can you?”
“Doubt it,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t say it’s impossible.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the red bloom spread across the rag. “Shit,” Fletcher said quietly, and handed it over to Lucy. “You got anything else we can use?”
“An extra shirt in my bag.”
“Go get it.”
Lucy glanced to Lynn’s face, where the blood was now seeping between Fletcher’s fingers as he tried to stop the flow with his hands. She ran toward the horses, startling Spatter and sending Mister into a concerned trot in the opposite direction. Lucy yanked sharply on Spatter’s reins to hold his head down and rifled through her bag with one hand. Spatter stomped his foot at her but she ignored him, all her thoughts focused on Lynn and the blood spilling onto the road.
When she got back to the adults, Lynn’s eyelids were fluttering and Fletcher was trying to get her to answer him. She pushed him away with little strength, her hand sliding off his shoulder and resting against his chest as she lost consciousness again. Lucy shoved a long-sleeved shirt, packed in anticipation of colder days, into his hands.
“She soaks through this and we’re in trouble,” Fletcher said, holding it to her face and resting Lynn’s head against his chest.
“What happened?” Lucy asked again. “Did she get hit with a rock or something?”
“Don’t think so,” Fletcher said. “There are no bumps on her head, and we didn’t hear her cry out. We didn’t even know she was hurt until she came to tell us herself. My best guess is she’s not responding well to the elevation.”
Lucy’s eyebrows crinkled. “Elevation? What d’you mean?”
“Certain areas of land are higher than others. You don’t necessarily notice it as you travel, but you’re much more elevated in relation to sea level right now than you were back in Ohio. The air is thinner, especially here in the mountains.”
“I don’t feel any different.”
Fletcher shrugged. “Some people respond to it differently than others. Most only get a headache.”
Lucy thought about the permanent line that had formed on Lynn’s face over the past couple of days. “She didn’t tell me. She wasn’t feeling well and she didn’t tell me.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Fletcher looked down at Lynn, who appeared to be scowling even though she was unconscious. “If it’s been bothering her for a while, her body is disagreeing with the thin air. She’s probably been weak and dizzy too.”
“And then the damn fool went over the rock slide to move boulders where we couldn’t see her,” Lucy mumbled, more angry with herself for not noticing Lynn’s sickness than she was with Lynn.
“Hard labor was a poor decision, I’d say. And she won’t be improved by the loss of so much blood,” Fletcher said. He pulled Lucy’s shirt away from Lynn’s face, and Lucy was relieved to see the flow had dropped to a trickle.
“So what do we do? How do we make her better?”
“The only thing that’ll help her is getting down off the mountain. That means pushing through and going on over, hoping for no more delays—”
“Or going back,” Lucy finished for him.
“Or going back,” Fletcher agreed.
Lucy looked at Lynn while Fletcher wiped the smeared blood from her face, dipping the shirt in what little was left of their fresh water. Turning around was appealing for so many reasons. Fletcher looked to Lucy, patiently awaiting her decision.
“If Lynn wakes up to find us pointing in the wrong direction, she’s apt to kill us both,” Lucy said.
Fletcher pushed his hat back on his head and looked at the woman still cradled in his arms. “Well, she does have a fondness for pointing guns at me.”
They worked into the night by the light of the fire Fletcher built near the rock slide. Lynn was rolled in their blankets, watching them work with a glare in her eye Lucy swore she could feel penetrating right through the rocks when she climbed over to work from the other side.
Lynn had not been happy when she woke to find herself resting beside the fire while the two of them labored on. She’d been even less happy when they refused to let her help, or even stand. All her arguments had landed on deaf ears, and she’d finally relented when Fletcher threatened to tie her up.
Either the rocks were responding to Lynn’s willpower, or Lucy had found a renewed strength. After a quick meal by the fire with a sullen Lynn, Lucy had returned to work determined to clear a path before morning. She knew more than rocks and dirt stood in the way of getting Lynn somewhere safe, but it was the obstacle in front of her, and she tore into it with ferocity.
By the time the morning sun was streaking the horizon with pink, they’d cleared a passage Lucy could slip through if she inhaled and held her breath. An hour later, Fletcher could slide through, and full morning found them leading an anxious Spatter through the narrow crevice, his grunts letting Lucy know he was not happy with her but willing to follow. Terra Cotta backed out when she felt the rocks brushing her sides, and it took another couple of hours of labor and strained patience to get the finicky mare through. Mister, by far the largest of the horses, flatly refused to walk through until Lynn stood and took his reins. He put his head down and followed her, meek as a kitten, and Lynn shook her head at him.
“You’re a dumb animal,” she said, but Lucy caught the older woman rubbing his nose when she thought no one was looking. They traveled until the rock slide was out of sight, lost in a bend in the canyon. A stretch of road lay ahead, reassuringly clear. The highway sliced confidently through the mountains, despite the looming peaks on both sides that seemed to Lucy to silently threaten to topple upon them at any moment.