Chapter 8 - The Arithmetic of Waiting
The younger girl stopped rubbing the bread.
Her thumb froze on the crust.
She pressed her face deeper into her sister’s spine.
The older girl’s jaw tightened.
The skin stretched taut over her cheekbones, highlighting the hollow cavities beneath her eyes.
She didn't speak.
In her mind, the calculation was simple.
If I say they are dead, the man with the gun takes us.
If I say they are coming, the man with the gun waits.
If the man waits, he gets hungry.
If he gets hungry, he gets mean.
She remembered what her father had told her about the desert.
The desert only hunts the things that run.
If you stay perfectly still, the desert thinks you are a rock.
She pressed her bare toes deeper into the dust.
She became a rock.
She closed her mouth tight, sealing her lips until they were a thin, pale line against the dirt on her face.
She would not give him a direction.
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She would not give him a grave.
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