scream.
The gray man halted and cocked his head, hearing him. He turned, his long, weathered face, swiveling to see him. Even at that distance Connelly heard the word the man said.
“
Connelly stopped, stunned to hear his name. Then the man in gray looked at the night sky and the hills beyond, and there was a dreadful lull in the wind. The others were far behind Connelly, following his screams, and he heard one of them shout, “My God, look! Look! The stars!”
Connelly’s eyes trailed up to the sky.
The stars. They were dying. It started in the distance, the farthest star they could see winking out, then the next, then the next. A black wave thundering across the sky, drowning out the stars and the moon. It was as though some unseen godly hand was reaching into the heavens and pinching them out like candles.
Something was coming. Something behind the hills, but he could not see.
The scarred man turned once more to look at him. His eyes stayed on Connelly alone. Behind the man the black wave crested the hill and Connelly heard the others begin yelling in panic at the sight of it.
It was a massive gray-red cloud, crawling up the tops of the hills and charging forward like a vast, blank army. It swallowed up the trees and the hills and the creek, consuming everything in its path. The others shouted for him to run, run, for God’s sake, run, but he and the scarred man stood watching one another. They seemed to share some strange moment, caught between men screaming on one side and the sky raging down upon them on the other.
Then the gray man put his arms about his breast and bowed his head. The cloud approached and Connelly began shouting, “No! No!” but it was too late. The storm swallowed the man whole and he was lost.
CHAPTER NINE
The dust storm lasted for nearly three days. Connelly would have been marooned if the others hadn’t shouted for him. It was impossible to see anything. They broke into one of the homes and used it for shelter, piling mattresses and blankets up against the windows and the doors to try and keep the dust out. It still seeped in, a fine mist that filled each room. Soon they learned if they did not frequently brush themselves off they would gather a coating of crimson-red, like they had just crawled out of the earth’s bowels.
Jake would not leave his brother in the storm. He dragged the corpse through the dust and into the house and sat over it in the corner sobbing and praying and promising the dead thing he would make sure it was buried right. The others kept their distance. Though unnerved by its presence they did not have the gall to ask him to toss it out. Lottie convinced him to lay a sheet over it but before the first day was out it began to smell. Its intestines had been punctured and shit was leaking into its abdomen.
They did not know it, but this was one of the smallest storms of the time. Others filled the sky with red almost past the heavens. When winter came to New England, far away, it brought red snow with it.
Food quickly became a concern as they huddled in the center of the cloud. Neither party had packed much beyond a day’s rationing. Eventually Connelly and Hammond bound their heads up in scarves and ventured out into the storm to the general store. They found the place ransacked and when they returned they looked like tribal clay puppets brought to life.
They tried to ignore their hunger and the stink of the dead man and the chalky taste that filled their mouths. Each night Roosevelt made a new little idol out of things he found around the house, and each morning they were all whole. Roosevelt seemed to believe from this that there was no real danger but no one took his word.
“I think it’s dusk,” said Pike one day as he stared out the window. “I can’t be sure, though.”
“All this dirt in the air?” said Roonie. “That’s the livelihood of every fella in this state. Every man who grew cotton or corn, his future’s in the air right now. We’re breathing it in and brushing it off.”
“God has forsaken this place,” Pike said.
“That’s awful harsh,” said Monk.
“Certainly. It may be. But I find it hard to say otherwise. Look around. The land is a desert, cracked and empty. Hell’s storms stride across the earth. I can’t say what these people have done to incur His wrath, but His wrath is what they have and it is here now.”
Connelly withdrew to a small bedroom and found Hammond on the mattress frame, cross-legged, a blanket around his shoulders.
“Don’t know how much longer this’ll last,” said Connelly as he sat across from him.
“Wouldn’t expect you to.” Hammond sniffed and sneezed. “How are the others bearing it?”
“Not happily, that’s for sure.”
“I bet I know. They’re all saying this is something new. Something about a curse for something we did. Aren’t they?”
“Yeah.”
Hammond laughed.
“What’s so funny?” asked Connelly.
“It’s not new. Things like this have happened before.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened before. Just means you weren’t around to see it.” Hammond paused. His eyes grew wide and hollow and Connelly had never seen him look so fearful. “I think it’s more than just the storm.”
“What is?”
“I think it goes further. They say the storm is a curse and they say these hungry times are a curse. Like they expect things to always be safe and this hunger is new and strange. That there’ll always be plenty. But
“Think so?”
“I do.”
“Well. That’s an idea.”
Hammond sniffed again, then said, “Hey, Connelly?”
“Yeah?”
“You hear about how the last thing a guy does is shit himself?”
“Yeah?”
He paused. “Think Jesus did that when He died on the cross?”
Connelly started up, then sat back down uncomfortably. “Goddamn. That’s a crazy thing to say.”
“Isn’t it? But you have to wonder, don’t you. He was definitely human. And He definitely died. It would stand to reason, wouldn’t it?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in Jesus.”
“I’m just wondering, is all. We all want dignity. We all want plenty. But we’re probably not going to get it, are we.”
Lottie walked in, looked at the two of them, then sat next to Connelly. She undid her kerchief and her hair spilled down around her neck and she shook it out. Red clouds formed around her head like a halo.
“Look at me. I’m Irish,” she said, and tried to smile.
“What’s going on in there, Lottie?” asked Hammond. “Still a lot of moaning and groaning?”
“I’d be shocked if there wasn’t.” She chewed her lip. “He’s long gone, isn’t he.”
“Yeah,” said Connelly.
“I guess a man could run through that if he didn’t care where he was going,” she said. She chewed her lip more, then began to bite her nails. “Go over what happened in the house one more time,” she said.
“I been over it enough,” said Connelly. “Everyone’s been asking me about it ever since we calmed
