Blood Red Road

towards him.
    I cain’t speak. Cain’t breathe.
    Lugh’s gone.
    Gone.
    My golden heart is gone.
    I kneel in the dust.
    The tears roll down my face.
    An a hard red rain starts to fall.

    There’s a knife in my gut.
    It twists, rips me open. With every heartbeat, it slides in a bit further. I cain’t feel such pain an live. I wrap my arms around my body, double over. My mouth opens in a silent scream.
    I stay there a long time.
    The rain don’t let up. Around me, the parched earth turns into a churnin sea of mud.
    Look, Pa, it’s rainin .
    Too late.
    Nero flaps down an lands on my shoulder. Tugs at my hair.
    I straighten up. Move slow. I’m numb. I don’t feel nuthin.
    Git up. You got things to do .
    My hand. I look at it. Seems like it’s a long ways off. Like it belongs to somebody else. The shot scraped the skin off in a long strip. It must hurt.
    I stand. Make my feet move. Right. Left. So heavy. I wade through the mud to the shanty. Nero flies off to huddle unner the eaves.
    Hand. Clean yer hand .
    I pour water over it. Pack it with fireweed leaf an tie a cloth around it.
    Pa’s dead. You gotta burn him. Set his spirit free so’s it can journey back to the stars where it come from .
    I look in the wood store. There ain’t enough to build a proper pyre. But I gotta burn him.
    Think. Think .
    I find our little handcart. Wheel it towards the lake. Shove it through the mud till I come to where Emmi’s standin by Pa.
    She’s got bare feet. She’s soaked to the skin. Her hair hangs in wet rat’s tails. They drip down her face, her neck.
    She don’t move. Don’t look at me. She stares at nuthin.
    I grab both her arms, give her a shake.
    Pa’s dead, I says. We gotta move him.
    She leans over an retches into the mud. I wait till she’s finished. She looks at me sidewise, wipes a shaky hand across her mouth. She’s cryin.
    All right? I says. She nods. Take his feet, I says.
    I take him unner his armpits an pull. Emmi takes his feet. Pa’s got skinnier the past six months. No rain fer so long meant food’s bin harder to find, pretty much impossible to grow.
    You ain’t finished yer supper, Pa. Ain’t you hungry?
    Oh, I’ve et plenty, child. Here. Share the rest out between yuz .
    He knew he warn’t foolin us, but we all played along anyways.
    Skinny as Pa is, he’s a grown man. Too heavy to lift fer a scrappy little girl an me. We hafta heave him, inch by inch. Em slips an slides. She don’t stop cryin. Pretty soon she’s covered head to toe in red mud.
    At last we git him on the cart. Pa’s tall, so only the top half of him fits in. His legs trail out behind.
    Where’s Lugh? Emmi sobs. I want Lugh.
    He ain’t here, I says.
    Wh-wh-where is he?
    Gone, I says. Some men took him.
    He’s dead, she says. You jest don’t wanna tell me. He’s dead! Lugh’s dead! He’s-dead-he’s-dead-he’s-dead-he’s-dead-he’s—
    Shut up! I says.
    She starts to scream. She gasps an sobs an screams an screams an screams.
    Emmi! I yell. Stop it!
    But she cain’t. She’s gone. Outta control.
    So I slap her.
    An she stops.
    She gasps with shock. Takes in great shudderin breaths till she calms down. She wipes her nose on her sleeve. Looks at me. There’s a red mark on her cheek. I shouldn’t of done that. I know I shouldn’t. Lugh wouldn’t of. She’s too little to take a hit.
    I’m sorry, I says. But you shouldn’t of said that. Lugh ain’t dead. Don’t ever say he is. Now hold Pa’s feet outta the mud. Use his bootlaces. It’ll be easier.
    She does it.
    I turn an start pullin the cart behind me. It’s hard goin in the rain an mud. Water runs into my eyes, my mouth, my ears. Mud coats my boots an I slide.
    Em’s hopeless like always. She keeps fallin over, but every time she does I stop an help her up an we keep goin. At least she ain’t cryin no more. We reach the shanty. We shove an pull the cart with Pa on it inside.
    The shanty walls is made from tires.
    The home Pa built with his own hands is gonna be his funeral pyre. I bet he didn’t ever think of that.
    Emmi helps me turn our big old wooden table upside down an we drag Pa offa the cart an lay him on the table.
    I go to the chest where we keep what clothes we got, which ain’t much. When I lift the lid, the smell of dried sage rises up. I pull out Pa’s thick winter tunic an toss it to Emmi.
    Tear it into strips, I says.
    I lift out Lugh’s winter tunic. I bury my face in it an breathe in deep. But we put it away clean. It smells