When her crutches broke, he’d had to leave her. Davey’s weight across his back was already too much, wasted though he was. She couldn’t cry, there wasn’t moisture enough for that. She put her face against his, pulled the cloths from their mouths and kissed his dry lips. He couldn’t watch while she cut away one last piece to take, though later he would feed the boy and pray to be forgiven.
‘Take care of him.’
He’d wanted to promise, but there was too much dust in the air. He left her lying on the sand. He’d wished for his pistol, but there’d been only so many things he could carry, their son the last thing of all.