The Drought (26 page)

At the age of twelve, he couldn’t have known what affect the gentle gesture would have on a young girl’s heart and had he been a full grown man, he couldn’t have delivered his words with more sincerity. Her bravado crumbled. Before she knew what she was saying, it was already out. “We can take my dad’s truck.”

As soon as she made her offer he realized he hadn’t thought the whole thing through, hadn’t even considered how he was going to get all the way to Louisiana. Another thought occurred to him. “What about your dad?”

She hooked her thumb toward the wall. “He’s passed out. He won’t be up before noon at the soonest.” In a wry voice she added, “I always warned him someday someone was going to steal his truck, I just never thought it was going to be me.”

After everything he’d been through it wasn’t a time for smiles but he couldn’t keep one off his face. He said, “Okay. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to need a few things.”

*

Across the dark, silent town people hunkered down to wait out the storm. The golden air, thick, relentless, swept through the streets whistling through buildings, insinuating itself in every crack and crevice until it found its way inside. The sand drifted across the floor of the Junction Eagle, forming a long wedge against Edna Mae who had baked in the small office when the electricity went out. She was one well done tater.

On the other side of town, Maple McManus rummaged through an old box from her youth. She pulled out a small brown nub and stared at the crayon in wonder. Clutching the worn Crayola in her hand she sank to her knees. “Listen, God. I’m not much for prayer and I guess you know that but this here’s not for me. You take care of that boy. You get him through this. That’s all I’m asking.” The only response was the howling wind and the sound of sand grating against the side of her house.

Reserve, Louisiana

For the third time within a month, Nathan was in the marsh with Agador on a lead. This time however, he was not alone. More than half the men in Reserve were with him. Some looked like they had come straight from the Shack, a local bar that served until 4:00 a.m., but regardless of appearance they had rallied together to find a missing little girl.

The gathering had the energy of a long-awaited hunt. Men stood in small groups sharing thermoses of coffee while others sat in the morning sun, cleaning and loading their rifles. As Nathan looked out over the group of men, he was relieved to see Steve Mallar and his dog, Scoop. Scoop was a yellow Lab and one of the finest trackers in the area.

Nathan’s eyes wandered to a tight group of men who were gathered around Daniel. For the most part Daniel seemed to be holding up all right. He was laughing at something one of the men said but Nathan sensed his joviality was forced. Nathan felt a twinge of guilt for believing Daniel might have something to do with the missing dogs.

Among the men gathered, there were quite a few who had brought dogs. The sight made Nathan’s chest expand with hope. If Angelina was in the marsh, this group of men was bound to find her.

*

Nute stood back among the trees, watching the gathering of men with their guns and dogs. He knew he couldn’t linger long. One of the dogs might catch his scent and track him down. He also knew white men with guns usually shot first and asked questions later. He watched Nathan organize the large group of men into smaller search parties. Agador sat next to the sheriff, his large head held high and looking regal as if he were the one doling out the commands.

Nute had led the hound and Nathan on a merry chase for weeks—but they no longer had the luxury of time. Jean-Claude Brunache was coming home to Reserve. Nute had felt the current of energy arc across the heavens the moment the boy touched the govi. He did not question the Loa or the role he had been given. If Brunache came as a boy then the boy’s fate was already decided.

For now there was nothing he could do about the boy or the malevolent cargo he carried. As the boy neared Reserve, Nute would feel the coming of his enemy as would Narried.

He wondered if Nathan Singer would feel Brunache down in the marrow of his bones where his link to the Sansericqs lived and breathed like a living thing.

One thing was certain, if any of them were to survive the coming nightmare, Nathan would need to shed off his logic, accept the history of his bloodline and give himself over to the power of the Loa.

They traveled East

Jar and Suzy made slow progress through the deserted streets of Junction. At Main-street she had to put the truck into four-wheel-drive to make it through a sand drift. There was not a single person or vehicle out on the road. She felt a thrill of excitement when they made it to Interstate 10. She expected that the road conditions would improve. She was wrong. Nestled down between the bluffs, Junction was protected from the full impact of the wind and the drifting sand.

Once they were out on Interstate 10 there was no protection from the wind. The drifts got worse instead of better. The old truck crawled down the interstate heading east, going less than twenty miles per hour.

They had brought with them jugs of water, sandwiches, hats, sunglasses, bandanas and paint masks (a last minute find Suzy had unearthed in the garage.)

“How far do you think we’ll get?”

Suzy looked at the gas tank, “Maybe San Antonio.” She wasn’t worried about gas. Instead of passing through, the sandstorm was getting thicker.

They drove in silence for over an hour; the only sound, the sand grating against the side of the truck and skittering across the glass.

Jar finally asked, “Can you see anything?”

She threw him an annoyed look, “You mean besides sand?”

Visibility was nearly zero.

White knuckling the steering wheel, she spent most of the time hoping no one else was stupid enough to be out driving. The larger sand drifts were forcing her toward the center of the road. The center line wasn’t visible so she had no way of knowing whether she was driving on the correct side of the road. Plus she was afraid if she hugged the right side of the road too aggressively she might end up going over the side.

Moon shaped grooves appeared in her palms where her fingernails bit into the skin. If the sandstorm weren’t enough, she had the overwhelming feeling something bad was with them or following them and she wondered if Jar was right. Maybe that clay box was cursed.

Shear bluffs on the left side of the road gave the sand something to gather against. A giant sand dune spread out across the road. The front tires of the truck hit the deep sand and pulled left. She tried to correct the truck but it continued to pull to the left. She fought the wheel, but it was no use. The truck was caught in the deep sand. It slowed from fifteen miles per hour to ten, then to five and finally came to a complete stop.

“Why are you stopping?”

She snapped. “I’m not. The truck is stuck in a drift.”

“Try reverse.”

She shifted into reverse. The tires spun. The sand was too deep. She dropped it into first gear. The strain on the motor increased but the truck didn’t move.

A fine coat of sand settled across the windshield of the truck. It thickened within a matter of minutes until the window was nearly covered.

The sand swirled against the glass, switched directions and went back the other way. Jar thought about the miniature jets of sand blowing through the electric socket and his moms bleeding fingers. He felt suffocating certainty that the sand was trying to get in just like it had in the trailer.

Suzy turned off the engine.

Sand skittered across the hood and drifted alongside the truck, whispering its intent.
You won’t last long. Not out here.

She thought back to the day Luke disappeared into the drainage pipe. If Barry hadn’t stolen that stupid ball from his dad’s collection would they be here right now? She couldn’t say for sure—but it felt like the answer was yes. It felt like they were being pulled toward something, like they didn’t have any choices and no matter which way they stepped they’d end up walking the same path.

She let go the steering wheel and leaned back. “You mind handing me the jug of water.”

Jar gave her the water.

She took a long drink, passed it to Jar and said, “You never told me what happened when you got to Barry’s house.”

He took a swig and capped the jug. “Tanner caught me in his collection room.” Jar thought about the moment Tanner’s hand clamped onto his shoulder. His heart had constricted so tightly in his chest he thought he might die right there out of fear. “Out of nowhere Barry walks in wearing boxer shorts and carrying a shotgun and starts blasting up his father’s collection.”

She said, “That sounds like Barry.”

Jar looked at the shifting sand. “If he hadn’t come in, I’m not sure what Tanner would have done to me.”

“Well he sure wouldn’t have made you a tomato and mayo sandwich and given you a ride back to your house.”

Jar thought about Maple’s brash no nonsense attitude. The ride to her farm felt like it had happened eons ago instead of days. He said, “I’m pretty sure Barry killed his father.”

Suzy’s eyes widened but she wasn’t surprised. Not really. So much had happened since the baseball went into the pipe. She said, “If he did, it was a long time coming.”

“That’s true.”

They fell silent.

Along Jar’s side of the truck the sand had already drifted up as high as the tires, and was still climbing. Inside the truck, the air was getting hotter. Each breath was thick and tasted like sand. Suzy licked at her dry lips and Jar handed her the jug of water. This time she took two small sips before reluctantly handing it over to Jar. He did the same and then capped the bottle. It was unspoken but clear, they were conserving water.

She asked. “How long do you think we can last out here?”

“I don’t know.” He held out his arm. His skin was coated with a fine layer of gold sand.

“Look.” She pointed to a plume of golden sand floating through the door crack in the old truck. “The sand is getting in.”

He looked at the sand and felt a thrill of fear. He sent out a mental plea, feeling for his mother.
Please let her make it. Please let her be all right.
He wondered if his mother was still sleeping and if the tape they had plastered across all the holes was still holding up.

Junction, Texas

Beth Riley tossed restlessly in her bed. Something had awakened her. The sheets were tangled around her legs and soiled from her own sweat. She could feel the grit of sand on her pillow and she could taste it on her lips. She kicked at the sheets weakly; trying to untangle the mass but was unable to free herself. Exhausted, she lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes against the familiar pain. The headaches had been with her for over two months. Nothing she took could get rid of the excruciating pressure. She knew she wasn’t the only one with the headaches. They were like a goddamn plague affecting more than half the town. It was the heat. Somewhere in her pain-induced delirium she understood the heat wanted everyone to stay at home. It was easier to pick them off one by one.

There was no reason to go to work. No one came in to eat anymore. No customers, no tips, no mortgage payment. She laughed.
Hell, let them take the trailer, we’re all going to die anyway
. That was a certainty she couldn’t shake. That and the fact Jared was gone. Jared, God bless him, had tried to take care of her but he was just a boy. She felt a pang of guilt because she knew she had cursed at him to get away from her when the pain got unbearable.

Jared was gone. She didn’t know for how long. She had a vague memory of him coming to her and standing over her. He’d gone looking for something. More than anything she wished she could have helped him. He’d come to say goodbye and she had just let him go. Just like with his father, she didn’t have the strength to tell him no, she just let them both slip through her hands.

A noise wrested her from her thoughts.

It sounded like someone knocking on the front door. The sound was faint. A persistent tap, tap, tap. Why didn’t they just go away? She couldn’t possibly make it all the way to the front door. What if it was Jared? What if someone had information about Jared? She didn’t even know how long he’d been gone. She tried sitting up in the bed but the pain felt like a vice grip squeezing ever tighter as she moved. She dropped back down.