Lynn had slid off Mister’s back the moment they stopped, even though they hadn’t even traveled a mile. Her legs seemed to buckle, and Lucy saw Fletcher watching her out of the corner of his eye, poised to help. Lynn sank to the ground, Mister’s reins still in her hands. The black horse nuzzled her, and she pushed her head against his.
“I’m exhausted,” Fletcher announced loudly, glancing at Lucy. “We should all rest up.”
Lucy nodded, ready to ignore the fact that even though Fletcher had worked throughout the night, he didn’t look any worse for wear. Her own limbs were heavy, and her knees kept threatening to give out beneath her.
“I’ll find a stream, fill our bottles,” Fletcher said. “Be right back.” He tipped his hat to Lynn as if looking for her approval and she nodded, but her eyes slid shut moments after he’d left.
Lucy plopped to the ground beside Lynn. “How you feeling?”
“Shitty.”
“Oh.”
A rare smile, though weak, played across Lynn’s face. “Sorry, kiddo, I don’t have it in me to reassure you right now.”
Lucy’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt the pulse in her neck jump. “You’re okay though, right? There’s not, like, anything really wrong?”
“I’m not going to die, if that’s what you’re asking,” Lynn said, though her voice was thready and her eyes remained closed.
“Fletcher said it’s probably the mountains, something about how we’re higher than you’re used to.”
“Guess he would know.”
“Yeah he’s… he’s a decent guy.”
Lynn’s eyes flickered open, and she watched Lucy for a moment before letting them close again. “He seems to be,” she said.
“But…,” Lucy began, anticipating the word before Lynn could waste any of her hard-won breath on it.
“He’s still a stranger. Don’t you get too comfortable, with me feeling this way.” Her eyes struggled open again, and Lucy saw what she’d never believed possible: fear in Lynn’s eyes. “I don’t think I could even raise my rifle if I needed to,” Lynn admitted, and her eyes slid shut again.
Lucy pulled her knees into her body and let Lynn rest, her mind reeling. Lynn without a rifle was like the sky without stars. And if she couldn’t trust Fletcher, it was almost like being alone.
Twenty-Two
The first rainstorm came three days later, drenching the hot horses and creating a wet animal smell so thick, Lucy sometimes felt she was choking. They plodded on, determined to reach lower ground where Lynn could recover, until hailstones the size of Lucy’s small fists were pounding them. Terra Cotta, always the most nervous of their mounts, reared onto her back legs and nearly threw Fletcher.
Unable to shout over the storm, he signaled the women, and they coaxed the horses into the shelter of an outcrop after dismounting. The horses huddled together, as did the humans, and Lucy tried to ignore the fact that she seemed to be holding up most of Lynn’s weight.
Fletcher peered out at the storm and then back at Lynn, who was nearly dozing on her feet. “Might as well rest here. It doesn’t seem inclined to desist.”
Lynn leaned against the rock wall and slid to the ground without argument, and Lucy joined her there. The hail fell around them, coating the road and creating the illusion of snow, something Lucy wondered if she would ever see again.
When the storm passed they saddled up again, and the crunch of the hailstones underneath the horses’ hooves made it impossible to make conversation. Lucy stayed near Lynn, idly brushing Spatter up against Mister as they walked companionably alongside each other. Lynn was quiet, her eyes focused on the road ahead, which was not unlike her. What set Lucy’s nerves on edge was the blank look, the permanent daze that had settled over her ever since the nosebleed.
That night Lucy made their food, ignoring Fletcher’s insistence that he could do it and she should rest. “I’ve got it,” Lucy said stiffly, when he rose to take Lynn’s plate from her hand and carry it to her. She slept nearer to Lynn than necessary that night, curled close despite the heat.
The days went by slowly, and Lucy doubted they would ever be able to get the bloodstains from Lynn’s shirt. The first errant drops had been nothing new; most of their clothes had blood on them from themselves or someone else. But Lynn’s shirt was now streaked, and they stopped often to give her the chance to rest and stanch the flow.
“Dis ib ridicklob,” Lynn muttered through the rag she had pinched around her nose, eyes glaring over the dried stains.
“This is ridiculous,” Lucy translated for Fletcher.
Their mounts were circled in the middle of the highway, heads hung low in the heat. Lucy glanced up at the rocks above them, unable to escape the fear that any moment a boulder could land on one of them.
“Ridiculous or not, it remains a fact.” Fletcher watched Lynn out of the corner of his eye to see how she reacted. “Facts are stubborn things.”
“Doe am I,” Lynn said, and Fletcher waved away the translation when Lucy was about to offer.
Spatter shuffled closer to Mister, sensing Lucy’s concern for Lynn. Lucy reached out and touched Lynn’s shoulder. “Should we camp?”
Lynn shook her head ferociously, sending scarlet droplets onto Lucy’s hand. Lynn dragged the handkerchief across her face, leaving a smear that went all the way to her earlobe. “I’m fine,” she said, voice thick with blood. Lucy looked away from her teeth, which flashed red when she spoke.
“Not to be argumentative, but you’re not,” Fletcher said, refusing the handkerchief when Lynn tried to return it to him.
“I’m not going to be until we get lower, isn’t that so?”
“That’s my theory.”
“And we ain’t getting any lower, all of us standing here watching me bleed outta my face,” Lynn said, and delivered a kick to Mister’s ribs that sent her out ahead of them.
Fletcher sighed and looked at Lucy. “What do we do?”
“Nothing we can do,” Lucy said, wishing it weren’t the case. “She’s right. Getting down out of these mountains is the answer, and standing here isn’t getting us there.”
The two of them stood together, silently watching Lynn round the bend and move out of sight. Fletcher cleared his throat. “I want you to remember well what you’ve seen here.”
Lucy gave him a cold stare. “You think I can forget her blood dripping everywhere and the fact her rifle is on her back more than in her hands? It isn’t right. That isn’t Lynn, and I’m not about to forget it.”
“You keep it close in your mind though, little Lucy,” Fletcher said, all traces of his familiar smile gone. “I know you’ve got convictions same as she does. I won’t be with you to speak reason if you get it in your head to drag her back across these mountains for the sake of someone you don’t even know is still alive.”
Anger stirred in her stomach, sending her scalp prickling. “I didn’t tell you about Carter so you could use it against me.”
“And I’m not saying it to fill the empty air. Don’t ask her to do it.”
Lucy kicked Spatter harder than usual, and he hurried to catch up to Mister, his steps not slowing until he was safely nestled in the shadow of his leader.
Guilt nibbled at Lucy as they pushed on, often traveling through the night if the heat of the day had not overly tired the horses. Lynn’s condition remained the same, but Lucy’s own body never wavered. The thin air actually felt good in her lungs, and she could feel the difference as they descended, a certain heaviness that required some forgotten effort to breathe as they wound their way down. Fletcher never commented on their progress, though Lynn had given the map over to him after a particularly long-lived nosebleed had soaked one of the corners.