The rain didn't come in May. It didn't come in June either. By July, the sky was the colour of a bruise, purple and swollen and producing nothing.
Jake Harlan sat in his truck outside the general store in Harlan and watched the dust blow across the parking lot. It moved in low swirls, like animals grazing, picking at the asphalt between the cracks. The dust was from the old mine road up the ridge, where the ground had been torn open forty years ago and never put back. The dust was what the mountain left behind when everything else was...
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