My pulse whispers against my eardrums, growing louder.No, no.
I had already said goodbye to Pa, felt the awful sting behind my eyes, but this feels truly final.
No turning back.
The girl touches my hand and flicks her head away, gesturing for me to follow. “Let’s go,” she snaps, a bite in her voice now. “You have to get far away from this town.”
My breathing turns heavy.I shouldn’t go with her,I think.This girl I don’t even know, who I have no reason to trust.
But I also don’t have a choice.
Her eyes meet mine, she nods, and I let her pull me away from the edge of Fort Bell, from the men who are coming after me—men who peered down at me inside the saloon with a look of crazed desperation: I was something they needed, someone they just might tear apart once they got their hands on me.
So I let this strange girl pull me out into the dark.
Into the wide-open plains of the desert.
We run through the night.
Strange, low plants grow up from the prairie floor with spikes sprouting from their green, fleshy exteriors. At the top of each plant, snow-white flowers unfurl their petals to peer up at the waning moon, as if praying to it. They are night bloomers, craving the moonlight instead of the sun.
The girl doesn’t slow her pace ahead of me.
She is strong, used to running—accustomed to fleeing on foot. Whenever I stop, buckling over to draw in deep breaths of the dry night air, she turns back to me and says, “We have to keep moving.” Her eyes flicking behind us.
If we pause too long, we hear voices echoing over the low valley—the men getting closer. They’re slower than us, staggering, stumbling—still drunk—but they’re always there. Not far behind.
The sun begins to edge up from the west—the white flower petals shrinking back closed in unison, fearful of the sun—and I knowwe can’t be out here in the heat of the open plains once it’s fully risen. We have no water. Only the half-drunk bottle of booze.
“It’s not far now,” the girl says back to me, picking up her pace.
“Until what?”
She flashes me a look. “The water tower.”
Just hearing her say the words makes my tongue feel like clay in my throat, closing up with each dusty breath into my lungs.
“The men will turn back, now that the sun is up,” she assures me. “It’s too dangerous in the heat. But they’ll go back for their horses, and when they sober up, they’ll track us again.”
I try to dampen my mouth enough to speak. “Or maybe they’ll—” I swallow, try again. “Maybe they’ll just give up.”
She swivels, plants her gaze on me. “They won’t. They’ve been looking for you for too long.”
She reaches into the back pocket of her dark pants and pulls out a piece of paper, folded into a square, then holds it out to me.
I blink down at it, and she nods for me to take it.
I have no idea what it is, but I take it from her and begin unfolding the creases, flattening the piece of paper against my palm.
POSTED:
The cure is near!
Any who bear a mark: constellations, star patterns, tattoos of unknown celestial formations, should be reported immediately.
Unharmed, preferable.
Reward to be negotiated.
