Death in the Desert (2 page)

When he woke the next morning, he forgot for a moment where he was. There was a little light coming from a small window in the back. Then it hit him. He put his hands to his face, felt the skin, then looked at his hands. They were steady, the skin was smooth. He sat up on the pallet and took stock. He could breathe, he could see, and he felt all right. So far, so good.

He sat up, pulled on his boots, then stood up. He waited a moment, and when he didn't fall down, he left the back room, went into the kitchen. He took the time to make himself some steak and eggs. There was no hurry. If he was sick, he was sick. He could have ridden to the next town and found a doctor, but if he was infected, he'd be killing another group of people.

He wondered why nobody had posted a sign outside of town. A sign announcing
QUARANTINE
or something like it would have been helpful. It would have kept him from riding into this town.

He finished eating and cleaned up. Not that he needed to. Force of habit.

He walked to the livery, saddled Eclipse, and walked him outside. That's when it occurred to him—he hadn't seen any dead horses.

Clint rode the length and width of the town. It was large enough to have been divided in two, but it hadn't been. No deadline. But he did find something.

He was checking out some of the buildings when he went into the kitchen of another small café. There was a frying pan on the stove, and the smell of cooked meat in the air. He went to the pan, stuck the tip of his finger in, pulled it back. There was grease in there, and it was still hot. He touched it to his tongue. Bacon.

There was somebody else alive in town.

He looked around, found lots of dirty plates. Recently used plates. Whoever it was didn't bother to clean up behind themselves the way he had.

He left the café, stopped just outside, scanned the streets, the buildings across the way. Where was this person sleeping? How large an area in town were they living in?

There was a saloon across the street. He crossed and went inside, went behind the bar. It was much the same as the other saloons he had been in—dirty glasses and empty bottles, but nothing recent.

Even at the café across the street. No whiskey, just glasses with remnants of water in them. No beer, no whiskey, unless the person had drunk them in another saloon.

Or they didn't drink.

Or it was a child.

A child who could cook?

A girl?

He went back outside.

Was he looking for a little girl?

He stepped into the middle of the street.

“Hello!” he shouted.

No answer.

“I know you're here,” he said, louder. “I just want to help you.”

Still no answer.

“I rode into town yesterday. I can see what happened here. Are you sick?”

He waited, but there was still no answer. Whoever it was could have been watching him from any window. Or they were already in another part of town.

He continued across the street to Eclipse.

“How you feeling, boy?” he asked, rubbing the horse's nose. “You're taking this very well. Actually, I'm taking it pretty well. I could be getting pretty sick in a little while, and maybe a doctor could help me. But if I go to find a doctor, I could make a lot of the people sick. So tell me, big boy, what do I do?”

Eclipse just stared at him. He had no answers. Maybe that was because the disease apparently did not affect animals. In addition to seeing no dead horses, Clint had not seen any dead dogs or cats, or livestock.

Well, one thing he could do was find the person who seemed to be the only survivor in town. Or else he could sit down and wait to die, but that was never his style.

“Where are you?” he called out, mounting up. “I just want to help you.”

He rode Eclipse through town, yelling like he was the town crier.

In the end, he depended on Eclipse to entice her out. He went back to the café where he or she had eaten last, left the big gelding right outside. Eclipse attracted a lot of attention. He was hard to resist, especially for a child.

Clint found a place from where he could watch, and settled in to wait.

It didn't take long.

As Clint watched, a little girl with blond hair came out of one of the buildings, looked around carefully, then started walking toward Eclipse. She was wearing a soiled yellow dress, her bare legs and arms also in need of a wash. Her hair was as yellow as the dress.

She walked carefully toward the horse, still looking around for Clint. He was sure that at first sight of him, she would break and run. He needed to sneak up on her once her attention was completely on Eclipse.

He knew the effect the big gelding had on people, especially children. He also knew that Eclipse would do nothing to harm the child. The Darley Arabian may not have liked being touched by strangers, but he'd never do anything to a child who tried to pet him.

The girl moved closer to the big horse. When she got around in front of him and extended her hand, the horse bent his head so she could reach him. She was now completely entranced by him, and it was time for Clint to make his move.

He came out the door of the hardware store and sneaked across the street to her side, then started moving slowly toward her.

Eclipse lowered his massive head enough for the child to rub his nose. As Clint got closer, he realized the girl was talking to the horse.

“You're a good boy, ain'tcha?” she said. “You're a good boy, and a big boy. How'd you get here? Where's the man who rode you?” She rubbed his nose harder. “Can you take me out of here? Can ya? I'll bet if I could get on your back, I could ride you away from here.”

Clint was behind her now. He said, “I can help you ride him.”

She whirled around, wide-eyed, stared at him, and then tried to run. He was too fast for her, and grabbed her.

“Let me go, let me go!” she shouted, trying to kick him.

“Take it easy,” he told her. “Come on now. We have to help each other.”

She continued to struggle.

“Don't you want to ride my horse?”

She struggled a bit more, than stopped and looked up at him. She had the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, a beautiful but grubby-looking little girl.

“He's—he's yours?”

“That's right.”

“I can ride him?”

“Sure you can.”

“Can you—can you take me away from here? I don't like it here.”

“I don't much like it either,” Clint said, “but I can't leave just yet. When I do, though, I'll take you with me. Where are your parents?”

“My mother and father . . . they left me here.”

“Left you? But why?”

“I was sick, and they weren't. They said I was going to die and they had to leave.”

“Who told them you were going to die?”

“The doctor.”

“What's your name?”

“Emily.”

“How long ago did they leave, Emily?”

“I—I ain't sure. Mister . . . are you gonna die? All the grown-ups, they either left, or died. There's lots of dead bodies in this town.”

“I know,” he said. “I found them. Look, Emily, we have to help each other. If I let you go, do you promise not to run?”

She thought about it a moment, then said, “Okay, I promise.”

He released her. She immediately turned, but instead of running, she reached for Eclipse's nose again.

“What's his name?” she asked.

They went into the café where he'd discovered the hot frying pan with the bacon grease.

“Will Eclipse be all right alone out there?” she asked.

“He'll be fine.”

“Will he get sick?”

“I don't think so,” Clint said. “I haven't seen any dead animals around here.”

He walked her to a table and they sat down.

“Emily, have you been taking care of yourself all this time? Since your parents left?”

“Yes,” she said. “When they left, I was in my bed. I think I slept for a very long time. When I woke up, I felt weak and thirsty. I—I got up, and got dressed and went looking for Momma and Papa, but I couldn't find them. I couldn't find anybody, except for dead people. So I made myself something to eat.”

“And you've been doing that ever since?”

She nodded. “Mama showed me how to cook so I could help around the house.”

“How old are you?”

“Ten.”

“Can you show me where you lived?” Clint asked. “Maybe I can find something there that will tell me how long your parents have been gone. Or where they've gone.”

“I can show you.”

“Is it far?”

“Not far,” she said, “if we ride.”

He smiled at her and said, “Let's ride.”

Clint put Emily in the saddle and walked alongside her so he could catch her if she fell off. She directed him this way and that until they came to a stop in front of a small, one-floor, wood-framed house.

“We lived in there,” she said, pointing.

“Okay,” he said, lifting her off Eclipse's back to the ground, “show me.”

They walked to the front door, where she balked.

“Emily? Are there any . . . dead people in there?” he asked.

“N-No.”

“Then we can go in, right?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Are you afraid?”

“No,” she said, “I'm sad.”

She reached for his hand, grabbed it, and they went into the house together.

“Okay,” he said, “why don't you sit on the sofa while I look around?”

“No,” she said, squeezing his hand, “I want to stay with you.”

“All right,” he said, “show me your parents' room.”

“This way . . .”

She took him down a hall to a bedroom which obviously belonged to adults. However, it also looked as if it had been hit by a cyclone.

“I didn't do it,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Make this mess,” she said. “I didn't do it.”

“Oh, honey, I know you didn't do this. Your parents obviously packed in a hurry.”

“Because they were afraid I'd make them sick?” she asked.

“Not you,” he said. “The disease.”

“But . . . what disease? Why didn't I die?”

“Obviously,” he said, “you were immune to the disease.”

“Huh? What's im-immune?”

“It means that while the disease killed a lot of other people, it didn't kill you.”

“Is that why my momma and papa didn't get sick? Because they was immune?”

“I think so. I think a lot of people were immune, and they decided to leave town.”

What they hadn't done was try to warn travelers about the disease that had ravaged their town, or burn the town down, which was what they should have done. But if they had, they would also have burned up Emily.

“What's your last name, Emily?”

“Patterson,” she said. “My name is Emily Rose Patterson.”

“Well, Emily Rose Patterson, let's take a quick look around and see if your parents left anything that will tell me where they are. And then we'll go and get something to eat. How's that sound?”

“Good, I guess.”

“And you know what?” he said. “I'm a terrible cook. Maybe you could cook something for us to eat?”

She brightened at that.

“We could go to Flo's Café,” she said. “I ain't cooked for myself there yet. There's bound to be a lot of food.”

“Good,” Clint said. “After we look around, we'll ride Eclipse over to the café.”

“Okay!”

Still holding hands, they looked around the room, and then walked through the rest of the house. Clint found nothing that would tell him where the parents had gone. He also did not find any mail that would tell him where some of their relatives might live.

They left the house. He put Emily back in the saddle, then mounted behind her. After that, she directed him to Flo's Café.

Emily knew her way around town very well. She easily guided Clint to Flo's Café. They went inside to the kitchen, and once he saw how at home she was there and that she didn't need any help, he went and sat at a table.

Obviously there were many citizens of Medicine Bow who had not succumbed to the disease and had left town. This was a good sign for him. It was possible that he'd be one of those people who was immune, but it would take a while before he'd be comfortable that he had survived.

He also wondered if, after a reasonable amount of time went by, the citizens would come back, or if they had given up on the town and started over somewhere else. If they came back, perhaps Emily's parents would come back with them. However, if they had started over somewhere else . . . well, there was no guarantee that the whole town had stayed together. Maybe they would have split up, rather than be reminded of the disease every time they looked at one another.

Soon the smells from the kitchen wafted out to him. If those aromas were any indication, Emily really did know how to cook.

When she came out, she was carrying two plates teeming and steaming with eggs and vegetables.

“The meat is bad,” she told him. “But there were plenty of eggs and vegetables left behind.”

He frowned. The steaks he'd prepared for himself had tasted kind of funny, but he'd assumed that was a result of his own cooking skills. Was it possible he'd eaten bad meat? If the disease didn't take him, would the bad meat kill him?

She sat across from him and said, “Go ahead, eat your food.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You didn't tell me your name,” she said, as if scolding him. “My daddy always says people should introduce themselves.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “My name is Clint Adams.”

“Mr. Adams, what's your horse's name?”

“Well, you can call me Clint, Emily,” he said. “And the horse's name is Eclipse.”

“Eclipse,” she said, was if tasting the word. She nodded. “I like that.”

“I'm glad. By the way, these are the best eggs I've ever tasted.” It was true, they were the best eggs he'd ever had . . . without meat.

“Thank you. I know my daddy likes his eggs with ham or bacon, and sometimes steak, but I just ate the last of the good bacon. Sorry. Like I said, the rest of the meat's no good anymore.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Oh,” she said suddenly, “I forgot the coffee.”

Coffee? He hadn't smelled coffee. She left the table and hurried into the kitchen, then came out walking very carefully with a mug of coffee.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the mug. She ran back to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water for herself. She sat back down to eat. Clint wasn't sure about the water, which was why he'd been drinking beer or whiskey. He sipped the coffee. It was hot, but weak, although that didn't really matter.

“It's very good,” he lied, putting the cup down. “You really are good in the kitchen, aren't you?”

“My momma says I am.”

The child obviously loved her mother and father. How, he wondered, could they have left her behind without knowing for sure that the disease had taken her?

“Clint?”

“Yes?”

“How come you and me ain't dead?”

“Well,” he said, “I guess we're just able to resist the disease, Emily. But from what you told me, you did get sick, right?”

“Oh, yes.”

“But you didn't die,” he said. “So I suppose I might still get sick . . .”

“And die?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I hope not.”

“Can't we leave before you get sick?”

“No, honey,” he said. “First we have to make sure I don't have the disease. We don't want to take it with us to another town, do we?”

“I suppose not,” she said, leaning her elbow on the table with her face in her hand. “But when can we leave?”

“Soon,” he said. “I'm still feeling pretty good, so we may be able to leave soon.”

She brightened. “We have the whole town to ourselves”—and then her expression soured—“but it kind of smells bad.”

“All those dead people should have been buried,” Clint told her. “The people must have been in a real hurry when they left here.”

“I was in bed,” she said, “but I could hear people shouting outside . . . and then it got quiet.”

Clint figured if the townspeople left en masse, he should be able to pick up some kind of trail once they got outside of town, depending on how long ago they left.

“What should we do after we eat?” she asked.

“I think we'll look around town some more,” Clint said, “see if we can find some supplies that we'll need for our ride.”

“Clint?”

“Yes.”

“I'm glad I'm not alone anymore.”

“So am I, Emily,” he said. “So am I.”