Dust and Dust

4 Josue

Josue reached into his pocket and grabbed a handkerchief—once it had been white—and ran it across his forehead leaving streaks of black soot instead of sweat. He shoved it back into his rear pocket and took a deep breath before he lifted the shovel again. Josue drove it into the ground mercilessly with the force of some unseen loathing driving each thrust. He lifted it again, but paused shovel in mid-air to listen to the pitter-patter heading towards him; it sounded like two pairs of feet.

He was tired and the earth hard. They had been in conflict now for the better part of five hours and he had not dug as deep as he would have liked. He didn’t want to look up at the distraction that was approaching, but he couldn’t help it. The shovel fell from his hand and leaned against the wall of the hole. In the distance, two individuals headed his way. They were blurry because the convective heat of the afternoon drew dancing lines across the arid land in a rhythmic struggle between the ground and heaven. Josue sat on the ground and took a drink from his yellowish plastic bottle.

“BPA free.” The bottle said as he turned it round and round on his hand. When they noticed him they would probably veer off to avoid interaction; people in these parts weren’t too friendly. But still, he waited. Josue had picked this spot precisely because it was deserted. The wind picked up and blew beige colored dirt in waves that whipped Josue’s exposed hands painfully—he pulled down his long sleeve shirt and slid into the hole.

Well, at least, they’ll pass without noticing me.

The amber daylight penetrating the cloud-covered day was being drowned out by the incessant pushing of the newly formed sand storm. He remembered a time when these storms were rear, but now it was something to wait out patiently. There was nothing one could do. Complain? Maybe, but that led nowhere, fixed nothing. There was a moment when the wind collapsed that he looked over the whole, but there was so much dust in the atmosphere he couldn’t see past the shovel sticking out of the hole. He closed his eyes, tied up the bandana over his mouth, and waited out the storm as the wind picked up strength once more.

“Sir?” a girl’s voice startled Josue him awake.

The wind had stopped and night had fallen. Black rolling clouds blotted out the forecasted full moon and Josue found it hard to make out the face floating above him. He immediately went for the shovel, but it was gone.

“We mean no harm,” the girl said in a dry tone.

“Then,” replied Josue, “where is my shovel?”

Another voice answered him, “Next to the the body you’re burying.” It was a boy’s voice, still high pitched.

Josue stood up, his eyes still adjusting to the darkness, and looked at the head sticking out of the mound of sand. He handn’t closed the guy’s eyes and they were now covered in sand. The man’s blue lips were still puckered in surprise, but his facial expression had twisted into a grimace, rather than shock, as the rigor mortise played with his facial muscles. The shovel was indeed next to the body.

What do you want?” Josue said tersely. He hated that he had lost control of the situation.

“Why’d you kill him?” the boy asked.

“Are you making that a concern of yours?” Josue replied through gritted teeth.

“No,” the girl replied wisely, “we are not. We saw you before the storm picked up and wouldn’t have bothered except,” the girl looked over at her brother who had started coughing, “except we need direction—we’ve never been this far east.”

Josue scoffed. “Neither have I.”

The girl’s head fell slightly, but then she said, “Well, did you see any wells near hear.”

The boy fell into a coughing fit and Josue understood immediate as the girl went to his side and patted the boy’s back repeatedly. It was a pitiful sight. Josue’s shoulder softened and he reached over to the dead body where he shoved the head aside to reveal, at the crook of the neck, a brown leather strap. He pulled at the strap and attached to it a checkered colored knapsack appeared.

The girl had been looking at Josue suspiciously and at the appearance of the bag stood up and tugged at the boy to do the same. The boy shook his head and continued his harsh, echoing cough.

“Here,” Josue fiddled with the knapsack before pulling out another dusty battled of water, “drink.”

The girl took the bottle and handed it to the boy who greedily sucked on the bottle while stopping briefly to take deep breaths. He returned the bottle to the girl who, unlike the boy, took measured steady gulps.

Josue passed his hands through his hair displacing a thick layer of yellow dust and revealing his jet black hair. He untied the handkerchief from his neck and wiped his face with it. The dust was replaced by a healthy tan complexion highlighting Josue greenish-hazel eyes.

“What’re you names?” Josue finally said.

The boy, who had recovered from his coughing fit, replied, “Dan,” he pointed at himself and then at the girl, “and Ray.” Dan watched as the girl carefully, meticulously twisted the top on the water bottle.

“Ray, then, give the bottle back to Dan let him finish it,” Josue said surprising even himself. Ray handed the bottle back to the boy, and with a jerk of the hand the boy had the top off and was drinking the remaining third of the water. “You’re heading to the land of milk and honey, I take it?” Josue spoke up again as he watched Dan lick the remaining drops of water with an avarice Josue knew all too well.

Ray, who had also been staring at Dan, said, “Is that what they call it in these parts?”

Josue chuckled. “It’s what I call it, at least.”

Dan nodded. “Yes, we are heading East.”

“We need to get there, it’s a matter of life and death,” Ray broke in.

“That I’d reckoned already,” Josue said looking straight at Dan, but then he turned to Ray, “are you of breading age?”

From deep within her, a primordial fear swept over her like the lighthearted gust that announces a hurricane. She half-stepped backwards; her face, which hitherto had shown little to no expression, cracked. No. No. No. No. No. How could he know—no one—all these months—no one.