Scarlett Hopper's Arc

Chapter 23 of 33

Scarlett slept four hours and woke before the light. Her wrist throbbed under the bandage. She flexed her fingers. They moved. That was enough. She found Maranda in the kitchen boiling water. John was already outside, checking the beds. Marcus sat at the table with his tool bag open, sorting hinges into piles. His tabby cat watched from his shoulder. "The scorched ground past the split rock," Scarlett said. "I have to heal it today. If we don't get it back, the garden can't grow any wider. We won't feed everyone through winter." Maranda set down the pot. "You bled all night. You cannot lay hands on dead ground and stay standing." "I know what it costs." Scarlett looked at Marcus. "That's why I need help while I'm under." Marcus closed the tool bag. "Tell me." "Maranda, John — take the crops. Water the rows, check the netting, feed the crows. Don't leave the beds alone." She turned to Marcus. "The house needs two more rooms. Maranda's sleeping on the couch. If more people come through, we need walls. Can you frame it?" "I can frame it today. Finish it in three." Marcus stood. "Where will you be?" "Working." She did not say where. She filled the brass watering can at the cistern and pulled the mask over her face. The straps bit her ears. Duke waited at the gate, tri-colored coat matted with yesterday's dust, one blue eye and one brown fixed on her. She did not call the others. She slipped out the side while Marcus hauled lumber off the porch and the hammer started up behind her. The scorched patch stretched past the split rock. Black crust. Bone flakes. She knelt and pulled off her good glove. Duke lay down at the edge and pushed her a picture — the road, empty, clear for a mile. "Watch," she said. She pressed her palm flat to the burned ground. The heat drained out of her arm and into the soil. She poured water from the can over the crust, then set her hand back down. The black loosened. She moved a foot, pressed again. Another foot. Another. The sun climbed. Ash on her mask ticked like sand. Her bandaged wrist wept pink through the cloth. She did not remember finishing. She remembered the last patch under her fingers going soft, and Duke's nose against her ear, and the sky tipping sideways. Marcus found her face down past the split rock. The watering can lay tipped beside her hand. Duke stood over her, tail low, refusing to move. Marcus lifted her. She weighed nothing. He carried her through the gate, past the framed studs of the new rooms, and laid her on the bed. He set the watering can on the floor where she could see it when she woke. The soil would turn. The house was open to the wind, half-built, and she was out cold with no one watching the road but a dog and a hammer.