and wailing. She uses her body as a battering ram, smashing people out of her way. One of the Middies pushes up behind her, grabs her elbow, and attempts to drag her back. The wailing woman shakes her off.
“Leave him be!” she wails. “Let him go!”
More shoving and pushing as men surge to grab her. Mordecai, who's been watching this open-mouthed, jumps down from the carousel and launches toward his mother. The Messiah's mouth moves, though no words reach us over this racket. It doesn't matter. I spot Clay's head above the crowd and he shoots me a frantic look. He struggles toward me, but gets pinned behind a wall of bodies. I slip around an elderly woman and a hand cinches around my wrist.
I turn. Stephen flashes me a nasty smile.
“Messiah said all dusts are to be put up for the night.” His other hand clasps around my free arm. “Let's go, pretty.”
I struggle, but his hands are big as baseball mitts and his grip is unbreakable. He scowls and drags me along. I crane my neck to catch a view of my boys. A wall of burly men is corralling them. Goddamn these people. If they hurt Ethan—
Stephen yanks me so hard my shoulder socket twangs with pain. He flashes a nasty smile, his bearded upper lip curling. He shoves me into the empty store that serves as my bedroom and slams the grate. I glare at him as he fumbles with the padlock.
“What’s wrong with the water, Stephen?” I ask, now that he can't reach me.
He flashes me a startled look and then his eyes harden. “None of your business, dust.”
“What'll they do to that boy?” I gaze out into the hallway. Women wander back down the hall, murmuring with hushed voices.
Stephen clicks the lock and stands. My eyes fall on the wide sore that has sprouted on his neck: red and goopy.
He points a massive finger at me. “What'll happen to that boy is what he deserves. We do what the Messiah decrees, or the Gods punish us. Kemuel put this whole community in danger. He'll be dealt with.” He grips the grate, rattles it loudly, laughs, and strides away.
I walk over and curl up on the dirty mattress. The bloody stain, now dried to a brown rust, reminds me of Mama. I tuck my head to my knees as the emptiness seeps in. At least on the road we were together.
***
That night I dream of swirling sands that swallow me. Of clawing cactus clutching me with spiked limbs, piercing my skin. Of the Messiah with eyes like frosted glass staring at me, seeing through me. Lastly I dream of waking to find Mama in a pool of her own blood.
When I sit up, gasping, it's that image that stays with me.
“Bad dream,” a voice behind me says.
I whirl around. The morning lights are on in the hallway. Mage sits Indian-style on the other side of the grate, working on a paper animal in her lap. Watching her deft fingers fly over the paper helps my pounding heart to slow.
“Where did you learn to do that?” I ask, slowly standing. My legs are boiled leather from yesterday's work.
Mage finally looks up. Her face is neither kind nor menacing. “My papa.”
“You mean the Messiah.” I walk to the grate. The bars between us rattle a little as I crouch down next to her. She shrugs and goes back to folding. In a moment she has a crinkly snake in her palm. She slips it through the bars and I take it.
“Thanks,” I say. A peace offering perhaps? I put my hand on the bars. “You look fretful as a snared rabbit, as my Auntie would say. Did what happened last night bother you?”
She tucks her golden head down. “I liked him. He was in my class in the Willow Room.”
I nod, weaving my fingers through the metal bars. “What'll they do to him?”
Mage grabs the grate, her fingers inches from mine. She stares into my eyes. “He'll be put out. They think I don't know what that means, but I do. It means he'll die. The coyotes will eat his guts.”
It's hard to meet her wide gray eyes. I swallow. “Do they do that a lot?”
She shifts, one strap of her jumper sliding down her bare
“Leave him be!” she wails. “Let him go!”
More shoving and pushing as men surge to grab her. Mordecai, who's been watching this open-mouthed, jumps down from the carousel and launches toward his mother. The Messiah's mouth moves, though no words reach us over this racket. It doesn't matter. I spot Clay's head above the crowd and he shoots me a frantic look. He struggles toward me, but gets pinned behind a wall of bodies. I slip around an elderly woman and a hand cinches around my wrist.
I turn. Stephen flashes me a nasty smile.
“Messiah said all dusts are to be put up for the night.” His other hand clasps around my free arm. “Let's go, pretty.”
I struggle, but his hands are big as baseball mitts and his grip is unbreakable. He scowls and drags me along. I crane my neck to catch a view of my boys. A wall of burly men is corralling them. Goddamn these people. If they hurt Ethan—
Stephen yanks me so hard my shoulder socket twangs with pain. He flashes a nasty smile, his bearded upper lip curling. He shoves me into the empty store that serves as my bedroom and slams the grate. I glare at him as he fumbles with the padlock.
“What’s wrong with the water, Stephen?” I ask, now that he can't reach me.
He flashes me a startled look and then his eyes harden. “None of your business, dust.”
“What'll they do to that boy?” I gaze out into the hallway. Women wander back down the hall, murmuring with hushed voices.
Stephen clicks the lock and stands. My eyes fall on the wide sore that has sprouted on his neck: red and goopy.
He points a massive finger at me. “What'll happen to that boy is what he deserves. We do what the Messiah decrees, or the Gods punish us. Kemuel put this whole community in danger. He'll be dealt with.” He grips the grate, rattles it loudly, laughs, and strides away.
I walk over and curl up on the dirty mattress. The bloody stain, now dried to a brown rust, reminds me of Mama. I tuck my head to my knees as the emptiness seeps in. At least on the road we were together.
***
That night I dream of swirling sands that swallow me. Of clawing cactus clutching me with spiked limbs, piercing my skin. Of the Messiah with eyes like frosted glass staring at me, seeing through me. Lastly I dream of waking to find Mama in a pool of her own blood.
When I sit up, gasping, it's that image that stays with me.
“Bad dream,” a voice behind me says.
I whirl around. The morning lights are on in the hallway. Mage sits Indian-style on the other side of the grate, working on a paper animal in her lap. Watching her deft fingers fly over the paper helps my pounding heart to slow.
“Where did you learn to do that?” I ask, slowly standing. My legs are boiled leather from yesterday's work.
Mage finally looks up. Her face is neither kind nor menacing. “My papa.”
“You mean the Messiah.” I walk to the grate. The bars between us rattle a little as I crouch down next to her. She shrugs and goes back to folding. In a moment she has a crinkly snake in her palm. She slips it through the bars and I take it.
“Thanks,” I say. A peace offering perhaps? I put my hand on the bars. “You look fretful as a snared rabbit, as my Auntie would say. Did what happened last night bother you?”
She tucks her golden head down. “I liked him. He was in my class in the Willow Room.”
I nod, weaving my fingers through the metal bars. “What'll they do to him?”
Mage grabs the grate, her fingers inches from mine. She stares into my eyes. “He'll be put out. They think I don't know what that means, but I do. It means he'll die. The coyotes will eat his guts.”
It's hard to meet her wide gray eyes. I swallow. “Do they do that a lot?”
She shifts, one strap of her jumper sliding down her bare
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