It wasn’t long before a million tiny cuts from the brittle shale had sliced open Lucy’s hands, never deep enough to draw blood. Dirt filled them quickly, bringing with it a persistent itch she didn’t start scratching for fear of never stopping. Her fingernails bent backward, most of them snapping clean off as she dug, leaving the soft white skin underneath unprotected against more cuts and more dirt.
Lucy continued to claw at the pile, working alongside Fletcher, who did most of the heavy lifting. Lynn had scrambled to the top and was pushing boulders too heavy for her too lift and rolling them down the opposite side, the thunderous cracks of their landing sending vibrations through Lucy’s feet. Loose dirt slid down from Lynn’s efforts, settling into Lucy’s scalp and mixing with her sweat to create a thin mud that covered her like a second skin.
The sun climbed, bearing down on them as Lynn slid down to the other side of the road and began digging from there. Fletcher wordlessly touched Lucy’s shoulder and motioned to her that she should drink. Too tired to speak, she only nodded and went to where Spatter stood listlessly, his ears flicking away blackflies in the midday heat. Her water bottle was warm from being next to his body, and she swished the first swallow around in her mouth before spitting it out.
She went back to work, and Fletcher took a break of his own to get a drink and clean the horses’ hooves. He returned to her side, tugging a rock as wide as his chest from the rubble.
“Careful,” he warned, right before it became dislodged and hit the ground in between them, narrowly missing her toes. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Lucy said, “it missed me.”
A drop of blood fell onto the boulder in between them, and they both looked at each other in alarm before Lynn’s voice, unrecognizable in its weakness, came from above.
“I’m not feeling too great,” she said through the blood dripping from her nose, right before she toppled and Fletcher deftly caught her.
Lucy had seen Lynn’s blood before. The nature of their lives left them open to scrapes and cuts. Lynn had always brushed off Lucy’s concern and sewn up her own wounds, no matter how deep, with awkward stitches. But Lynn wasn’t conscious to tell her not to be worried, and the blood wasn’t stopping.
“What is it?” Lucy crouched at Lynn’s feet, peering over Fletcher’s shoulder as he rolled Lynn onto her side. “Why isn’t it stopping?”
“Don’t know,” Fletcher said brusquely, tilting Lynn’s head forward and pulling a clean rag from his pocket to stanch the flow from her nose.
“Will she be okay? You can’t bleed to death through your nose, can you?”
“Doubt it,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t say it’s impossible.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the red bloom spread across the rag. “Shit,” Fletcher said quietly, and handed it over to Lucy. “You got anything else we can use?”
“An extra shirt in my bag.”
“Go get it.”
Lucy glanced to Lynn’s face, where the blood was now seeping between Fletcher’s fingers as he tried to stop the flow with his hands. She ran toward the horses, startling Spatter and sending Mister into a concerned trot in the opposite direction. Lucy yanked sharply on Spatter’s reins to hold his head down and rifled through her bag with one hand. Spatter stomped his foot at her but she ignored him, all her thoughts focused on Lynn and the blood spilling onto the road.
When she got back to the adults, Lynn’s eyelids were fluttering and Fletcher was trying to get her to answer him. She pushed him away with little strength, her hand sliding off his shoulder and resting against his chest as she lost consciousness again. Lucy shoved a long-sleeved shirt, packed in anticipation of colder days, into his hands.
“She soaks through this and we’re in trouble,” Fletcher said, holding it to her face and resting Lynn’s head against his chest.
“What happened?” Lucy asked again. “Did she get hit with a rock or something?”
“Don’t think so,” Fletcher said. “There are no bumps on her head, and we didn’t hear her cry out. We didn’t even know she was hurt until she came to tell us herself. My best guess is she’s not responding well to the elevation.”
Lucy’s eyebrows crinkled. “Elevation? What d’you mean?”
“Certain areas of land are higher than others. You don’t necessarily notice it as you travel, but you’re much more elevated in relation to sea level right now than you were back in Ohio. The air is thinner, especially here in the mountains.”
“I don’t feel any different.”
Fletcher shrugged. “Some people respond to it differently than others. Most only get a headache.”
Lucy thought about the permanent line that had formed on Lynn’s face over the past couple of days. “She didn’t tell me. She wasn’t feeling well and she didn’t tell me.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Fletcher looked down at Lynn, who appeared to be scowling even though she was unconscious. “If it’s been bothering her for a while, her body is disagreeing with the thin air. She’s probably been weak and dizzy too.”