Fire Country

“Where was it?”

“Under my tugskin sleeper,” he says, metal in his voice.

“Someone put it there.” There’s conviction in my voice, which surprises me. Why should I believe this convicted murderer’s story? I just met him. He probably tells everyone this to get them to like him, when he’s really wooloo in the head, getting joy out of watching the life drain out of little girls. But I do believe him. ’Cause of his tears and ’cause I shouldn’t be in Confinement either.

“They had to of, ’cause I didn’t do nothin’ to that little girl. The Greynotes didn’t wa

“That’s awful,” I murmur. “I’m sorry, Raja.”

“Thanks for listenin’,” he says. “It helps to get it out. When I can’t speak it, my past is like a horde of burrow mouses inside my stomach, nibblin’ away at me.”

“There hasta be something you can do. Someone we can tell. It ain’t right, Raja. When I get out I’ll tell my father.”

“No! Don’t do that,” Raja says, his voice sharper’n a spear barb. “If you start makin’ dunes, they’ll lock you up too. There’s somethin’ dangerous going on here. A dangerous game by dangerous people.”

“Whaddya mean? Like a ’spiracy?” I say, shifting to my knees.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, but I won’t say no more. Too dangerous for you if you know the rest. They’ll kill me and they’ll kill you.”

“C’mon, Raja. You can’t do that. Tell me. No one’ll know.”

“My lips are sealed with tug-gut glue.”

“Fine. Whatever. I’m going to sleep.” As sad as Raja’s story was, if he don’t want to say no more, then I’m done with it. ’Spiracy—bah! The sun’s probably gone into his brain.

Chapter Thirteen

Although I got a whole swarm of flies buzzing in my head now, I fall right asleep. A day of doing nothing but talking and waiting can make you awful tired. Plus, the sooner I sleep, the sooner I’ll awake to a one way trip back to the village.

When I do awake I feel like I haven’t slept at all. It’s still pitch dark, so dark that waving my hand across my face results in nothing but a waft of air on my cheeks. It feels good. The night is hot, as if the ground sucked up all the sunlight and is slowly releasing it, baking me like a ’zard in a firepan.

I’m instinctively aware that I didn’t wake up naturally. Something woke me. Some sound, some force, someone. “Raja,” I say, sticking my ear between the bars to listen for a response. Nothing. I can’t even hear breathing, but that don’t mean nothing. He might just be a soft night-breather.

“Raja!” I hiss a little louder. No response.

Then I hear it. A clink. Not from Raja’s cage, but from further down the row. The clink is followed by a voice, low, but discernible. “Move out, you dogs!” Keep’s voice, gruffer’n a Killer’s bark.

As my night vision clears, there’s more clinking off yonder. This time I can see much better’n earlier. The black cloud army has marched on to another place, and the moon goddess and her star servants are casting a dim glow on everything. A night light.

I see bodies moving about, a thin line of men. They’re carrying something. Tools of some kind. Sharp and heavy. Axes. Saws. The type of stuff the hut builders use to construct the Greynote homes. Like ours. I remember watching in awe as what was just a big ol’ tree trunk and a patch of dusty land slowly transformed into our house.

I can also see that Raja’s cage is empty. A pile of durt sits next to the hole he crawled out of.

~~~

I gotta get out of this cage.

Something’s going on and I need to know what. If Raja won’t tell me, then I hafta find out on my own.

I could try digging out the hole, pushing the big rock outta my way, but if big guys like Bart can’t get out like that, it seems unlikely a scrawny runt like me’ll be able to do it. I walk around the cage, tapping on the wooden bars with a rock, checking for weaknesses. Seems pretty solid, but…

It’s not made for someone like me. The bars are relatively close together, but not so close that you can’t stick your arms and legs through. Like I did earlier with Circ, hugging and touching hands. In fact, some of the gaps are so wide, I might just be able to squeeze through.

They’re not made for someone with a child’s body, someone so thin and so skeleton-boned that she almost disappears when she turns sideways, as some of the other Younglings like to joke. It’s no joke now.

I try a random gap between the bars, try to force myself between the wood, careful to keep my broken arm tucked safely behind me. But this wood is sturdy and has no give. The wood won’t budge in either direction and the gap is too small. My hips get stuck ’fore I ever really get started.

Moving on, I try to find a gap that’s bigger’n the last one. Most of them are uniform, well measured, but then I find one that seems wider’n t’others. Perhaps it’s just an optical illusion, the moon shadows playing tricks on me, or…

I jam myself into the gap with a ru

Ahhh! The wood stings me, scrapes me, tears my flesh when it rubs, but I’m pushing forward, making progress, nearly through!

And then I’m stuck. Not stuck like I just can’t go forward any more, but stuck like I can’t go forward or backward or anythingward. Just plain ol’ stuck. Like a tug in the mud.

I’m wedged in so tight it’s hard to breathe. I suck in quick breaths as I try to think, but none of them fully satisfy my hungry lungs. If I got in, I gotta be able to get out, right? Wrong. I had a lot of momentum coming in, but I got nothing going out. Starting from a stuck position, I can’t get enough force going to unstick myself. No matter how much I strain—backwards or forwards—I ain’t budging. New tactic required.

Get ski

For me that’s difficult since I’m so ski

I count to three. Suck in my breath all the way so all you can see are my ribs. Let out the breath in a groan of effort, straining to squeeze through, my eyes squeezed tight and hard, every pitifully small muscle in my body working together to accomplish the same thing. Inch by torturous inch. And then…

Escape!

It’s not like what you’d expect the thrill of escape to be like, all happy and elated and airy. Well, it’s airy all right, ’cause a rush of air surrounds me as I go a-flying off into the desert. I was pushing so hard and not going anywhere, but then as soon as I breached the bars, all that energy had no place to go but off into the yonder. I crash land in the durt, practically right on my slinged arm, feel searin’, burnin’ ripples of pain tear through every nerve on that side of my body. I tumble, not once, not twice, not even thrice, but four times, rolling and bouncing and kneeing myself in the face, which hurts like scorch ’cause my knee is so bony it’s sharp like a spearhead. I moan and yell out things that would have my mother blushing, and then settle in a heap at the base of a prickler, which proceeds to jab and poke me in the gut with its barbs, adding injury to injury.

I just lay there. For a long time. I got no idea how long. My wrist’s throbbing something awful, and with each thump, thump, thump, I feel like I’m going to vomit up my unsatisfying meal and the tug jerky Circ gave me. The pain is so sharp I think I drift in and out of consciousness a little, too, like I’m in a strange fireweed smoker’s haze. First I see the stars, shining all perky and happy down on me, and then I’m seeing nothing, just black, as if every natural light in the night sky has been sucked into a void, where only the moon goddess can enjoy them.