It's too dang windy. I know I should be glad fer it cuz it means we're movin' at a fair speed. But when we stop to rest the goats, the wind don't stop with us.

We're maybe five or six miles south of the farm. The girls have been real toleratin' of us, but I don't know where their limit is at. We ain't seen sign of no one, and that's good, at least. Ro don't wanna stop, but I say we have to. It's the heat of the day and we all feel it something awful. We cain't push the girls through it like this. If the dust takes 'em, what do we do then?

We find some fallen trees, their wood long dried up, that act as a bit of cover, a break from the wind. Our backs to the largest one's twisted trunk, we hunker down, each of us havin' ourselves a carrot, Reba and Nessie included.

The heat passes, but the wind don't.

"Ain't good," I say as we git the girls harnessed again.

Ro holds his hand out to gage the wind, and his opinion don't deviate from mine. "Ain't good."

By evening, it feels like we're gettin' battered by bits and pieces of everything' that ever died out here in this desert. The goin' is slow, but still, we've put nearly fifteen miles 'tween us and the farm. Late that night we find us a dune to block out some of the wind, and we wrap up, the four of us, in our wool blankets. In the morning, ain't nothin' changed, but I know it's bound to soon. And a dune ain't gonna protect us when the time comes.

"This is just what you call the prelude," I tell Ro. "We need to find us some shelter, 'fore the storm hits." And by storm, I don't mean no thunder and rain, as you cain imagine.

We continue on, the girls bleatin' their disapproval. Ain't a goat in the world don't get antsy when they know a dust storm's on the horizon. Pretty soon, we gotta get up and walk, coaxin' them forward, always with an eye toward findin' us a place that'll save us from bein' buried alive.

"Come on Reba." I'm to the point of yellin' now, pullin' on her halter fer all it's worth. I hold out a few kernels of grain and she edges forward. They sky's grown dark, hours 'fore the sun's due to set.

"May." Ro's voice barely reaches me even though we ain't more than a few paces apart. "Up ahead."

There's a building, thank the gods. We finally convince the goats to make fer it, then come to find it ain't no more than an abandoned shack. But it'll do. Ro scrapes away the dust piled up at the foot of the door and then pries it open. It's just an empty room, stripped bare of all its contents long ago. I light our lantern and we get to haulin' in our stuff.

"Look fer cracks." I yank clothes and blankets out of our pack and hand them to Ro. "Anywheres the dirt cain make its way in—we gotta stop it."

We set to work, stuffin' bits of fabric 'round the door frame, 'tween loose slats of wood, into the joints separatin' the ceiling from the walls. When we finish, I stand there with this horrible notion, like we just lined our own coffin. The girls bleat nervously in the corner and I slide to the floor, lettin' Ro fold me in his arms.

"It'll pass tonight, most likely." I nestle in against him. "If this ramshackle hovel don't collapse on top of us, we'll be all right."

Ro glances 'round, calculatin' how far the walls already lean to the left. "I feel so reassured."

The building shakes and howls, and so do we. Goat bleats of terror, tremblin' farm girl wrapped up in her lawbreaker's embrace. We spend a fitful night. I try to stay awake, cuz ain't no way I wanna miss the last hours of my life if that's what these are. 'Fore long though, I cain't help myself, and off I go, into a sorta half sleep state where dreams flow from me, pretendin' they're as real as the sun searin' itself into our parched land.

I come to a crossroads, take the turn to the right and walk and walk and walk through the clay baked terrain. A man's up ahead. It's not Granddad this time, and I git a thrill at the thought that it's Ro, my Ro. But when I approach him, all happiness and light, it ain't Ro, it's Orin. Reba's slung over his shoulder, slaughtered, gutted, bloody, and he says, "I did you a favor May June. Killed you a goat. Now what you gonna give me fer the killin'? I think I deserve something mighty fine, don't you?"

Then he's on me, and the earth is shakin' under us, and the wind is howlin', howlin', howlin', and I try to push him off, but my hands come away from him all blood-stained, and I look where his face should be, at the bits and pieces of skin and bone and brain oozin' out of his head like cream of chicken soup bubblin' over the edge of a kettle, and I scream.

I cain't be sure my shriekin' makes any impression over the violence of the wind, not until Ro tightens his hold and says my name. "Come back." He calls me out of my dream, and what else cain I do but listen. Cuz what's the use of wastin' terror on a dream nightmare when we've got a real one to fear.

The morning, or what I think's the morning, brings silence. But ain't no light to accompany it. Course, I say to myself, we done a good job of pluggin' the shack up fer holes. No way the sun cain git in.

Ro pulls his rolled up blanket away from the bottom of the door, where the biggest gap to the outside world is. Dust sifts in. We start unpluggin' everything', comin' away with nothin' but darkness and grit.

Ro shakes his head. Ain't good.

The world's had itself a renovation durin' the night. The desert put its mind towards redecoratin', and evidently, it saw this little shack as an affront to its ascetics.

We're goin' to have to dig ourselves out. But we don't know how much of dust got deposited on top of us. Maybe it's only a few inches. Maybe it's the whole dang desert.

After some debatin', we decide to pry loose several of the boards near the top of the shack on the side that's leanin' the worst. The wind was from the opposite direction, so we're hopin' there's less dust build up on that side. 'Fore we git started, we tie kerchiefs 'round our faces to keep the dust out as far as that's possible. I even manage to cover Reba and Nessie's muzzles, despite their protests. Ro uses his knife and sets to work diggin' out rusty nails, tearin' the boards from their place on the wall. Dust files in, and we jump out of its way. It settles to the bottom of the shack and then keeps comin', till the room's half air, half drift. Ain't no sunlight yet.

Ro and I look at each other. If our efforts don't create a rabbit hole to the surface 'fore the shack fills up with dust, we're done fer. Once the pile reaches up to the hole Ro made, it stops its flow, so we scoop and scoop away from the hole. The desert keeps invitin' itself in.

Purdy soon, we're standin' in dust up to our knees, and I have to help the girls git themselves on top of it. Won't be long now till there ain't no place fer us to climb to.

"You still think the dust's on yer side, Ro?" My fear and frustration's makin' me spiteful. But Ro, he ain't givin' up just yet.

He digs some more, and there's a desperation to him, same as there was the day he showed up at the farm, dehydrated and hopin' very much not to die.

"Come on!" He digs furiously. I do my best to keep the goats and all our stuff from bein' buried and try not to think about how much air we got left. He scoops and scoops, and I don't want 'em to be, but my eyes are damp, cuz we escaped Orin's Pa and all them lawfolk just to be drowned by the Dust. It ain't fair.

That's when the wall gives a sound like it's birthin' a baby, a kind of low, determined wail. I know as certain as the desert is dry that we ain't got much time till the roof collapses. We gotta be out of here 'fore that happens.

Ro is frantic now. He's got himself half into the hole and I cain picture it cavin' in on him, his feet flailin' till the suffocation stills him ferever. I pull on the goats' reins with one hand and scoop dust with the other. Anything to speed this along.

That's when it comes. The light. Faint at first, cuz Ro is all up in that hole now blockin' my view. But he hollers back to me and I know I ain't hallucinatin'. Ro struck air.

When he hops back into the shack, it's my turn to holler. 'What you doin' back in here? You got yerself out. You should've stayed out. This place is gonna be flat and gone any minute.

"That's why I'm back. You go first, May."

"Why? Cuz you need to feel like yer rescuin' me?"

Ro makes a doleful face. "May, we don't have time for this, just go!"

"Fine." I reach up to the hole and Ro grabs me 'round the waist and hoists me into it. The shack has another contraction. Wood stretches and heaves.

"Climb, May!"

"What you think I'm tryin' to do, plant a rose garden?" My hands grasp at loose dust. They slide down as I try to aim myself up. I make slow progress, but I keep my eye on the prize, a circle of blue above me.

Coughin' and wheezin', I break free onto the surface, the sun stingin' my eyes nearly shut. My weary muscles complain as I use them to crawl full out of that hole. I've got one of the harnesses attached to my waste. I throw it back down the hole, and soon there's a sharp tug. Not long after, our packs, our reserves of water, all our stuff, is up on the surface. I pass the rope back down again and this time, up comes a very perturbed goat.

"Nessie, it's good to see ya, girl."

"May?" Ro's voice is all hollow, like it's comin' from the other end of a mile-long tunnel.

"Here's the rope again." I toss it down.

"Reba's fighting me on this, May," Ro's tunnel voice reports.

Dang it, I cain't have that goat holdin' up this rescue operation.

"Tie her to the rope and leave her then. Git yer ass up here, Ro. We'll hoist her up after that."

Ro makes his way through the rabbit hole, but the shack ain't ready to birth this one. It gives a shudder; the ground beneath me begin to give.

"Hurry it up Ro. Use the rope!" I pull on my end of it, hopin' that'll help. Just a little more time. That's all we need.

But we don't git it.

I cain just make out the top of his fair head, coated with filth, as he edges toward the surface. That's when the shack gives way, and the hole with it. Grimy golden hair disappears, a grain of sand being sucked through an hour glass.

He's gone, and all my hope's gone with him.

A/N: We have ourselves another cliffhanger! Has the desert just taken a huge bite out of May's plans? She sounded pretty hopeless at the end there... poor Ro!

Your vote for this chapter will be given to your DESERT WAKE charity of your choice: desert refugee children in the capitol, anti-bad men in the desert... you pick! In all seriousness, thank you for your reads/votes/comments! Much obliged!

Today's dedication is for the one and only JayVictor, who's phenomenal book SlaveDays (now called Gilded Cage) is on its way to stardom. It was released by Random House in 2017!