Nuthin slow like never arrivin.
The group all gree when Malk lift the guidin stick. Then Becca say she thirsty. Whole groups thirsty, say Rona, an suns gearin up for a hotten. One hour since dayup an the sands bakin, the airs meltin an carders workin up they skikishik. Lan give Becca the dregs from her jercan.
In a kayshas shade we share beetle grubs cook in last nights ashes. Nathin give up three strips of jerk he bin keepin in his belt. The stink of jerk bring flies. We sit flappin our swats. Long wait fall on us then. No thinks, just breathin. Rest our eyes on the plain, all swimmy like water tho there aint none. Watch birds hangin up high, specks turnin to wild dog, camel, blackbuck.
We cant stay here, say Malk. Grubs low an water too. How fars the nearest well?
The Winnel, say Nathin. Bout an hour. Half at night.
Stedder place, say Becca. Why risk it?
Cos we jercans empty, say Rona.
Winshams close, say Nathin. Shop there after.
Can do, say Aban. Need fresh legs if stedders catch us.
Well it is, say Malk liftin the guidin stick. Hole up an wet throats till nightfall. Then we shop at Winsham.
In parch time a waterin place show from its palms an willows. We creep in slow, lookin out for stedders. Fresh earth smells. Hoopoes in the branches. Soil between our toes cool an sucky after sand an dust. Only mud tho so long the dry an stream gone underground. In wintertime a waterin place flood again or should do. Old wintertimes leastways before the rains fail.
The Winnel have three wells. Two in use by stedders but one near us just gapin sayin, Coo-yoo, wet yer beaks here.
We run to the well our jercans ready. Nathin Aban bend they backs to lift the bucket. Soon as done the group fan out lookin for things to eat. Lan find a ditch of slime boilin with frogs. We catch the frogs, stuff em in our packs, skewer em on sharpsticks. Good eatin if we risk a fire. Not tonight tho. Best eat raw. Keep out of stedders sight. Fat up our nerves for shoppin.
Lan put a snail on her tongue an all the group laugh. Malk take out the knife an start to skin frogs. Efia watch the bodies fall at his feet like squirmy little blokes.
Our jercans full, we hole up the day in a cork grove. Far enuf from hearin but close enuf to watch. Sussin out the doins on the Winsham palisades.
When shadows spread, Aban crawl out thru scrub an grass to the gate of the sted. He look round, see women poundin grain, carryin water on they heads. Sentries dozin in a cedars shade. Others nabberin by the meetin tree. Creepin closer Aban find gaps in the fence, look at the market stalls. Suss out the grain store. Then snake an scrabble back to us.
Wassup, say Malk.
Hungers comin.
How so?
Winsham folk sellin goods an stocks. Fuelwood. Dung cakes. Nuthin blokes can sink they teef in.
Less blokes eat shit, say Lan.
What grains?
Sorghum. Maize. Meat too an cows blood.
Killin what they cant keep, say Rona.
The group turn quiet. Look into the trees so pictures in our heads stay hid. None of us as dont know the pain of hunger.
Abans first to bright up. Makes sense shop now then dunnit? Go in fast an quick.
Take what? You say theres nuthin sellin.
We aint buyin. Look they got grain stores on stilts. Keep rats an coons out give us nifty cover. Drill our way in.
Like in Whey Bitch, say Becca.
No, say Malk. This shop we get back. All on us.
What if some don’t, say Becca.
We go nifty. Not like last once.
Sez you, say Becca an Rona hug her for quiet. Malk take his eyes off Becca slow an warnin.
Boys go, say Nathin.
Balls, say Rona. You shop grain stores we scout the sted. See whats goin.
An the sentries?
Run if we can fight if we cant. Malk take up his sharpstick. On my signal, he say. Click an slick.
Slicks our movin. Clicks our speakin without words. All on us kneel in mud an black our faces.
When the sun cook like an egg on the ground, its time. Hoods down. Turbs in place. Pray patches on our clothin. Sit in our heads readyin for danger.
The sky hatch a fat moon. Nightspit on the grass an spidie threads like smoke on the ground. Cool breeze good as sleep after the blazin day.
Fires in the sted die out. Stedders go sleep in they huts. Only sentries pacin over the gate.
Now, say Malk an we move. Like Aban before we shift cross the plain to our bizness.
Malk bein strongest hoist us over. Lan Efia Rona Becca hide next a pigsty but Aban almost land on a billy, it run bleatin, bell janglin an Nathin go to split its throat but Malk stop him. Goats get spook for nuthin, he say, leave it be. Nathin nod tho his eyeballs dancin. Grains this way, say Aban an he click, Upyer.
Aban wriggle under the grain store. Down in the dark best not think on rats or spidies. Lan Efia Nathin follow with packs open an Aban use the drill. Happen the floors made of wood so he blow dust from his hands an spin till a breakthru. Nuthin here so start again. An again. Fourth time some grain come tricklin so he gouge hard with his sharpstick an out it come like steam. Aban shove fast now makin holes an everyones sweatin, the sand an sawdust in our eyes, our packs gapin yorr an gobbin up the spillin grain.
Outsight samewhile, Malk Rona Becca creepin bout the sted seein what they find tho nuthin much, all lock up for the night. Clothes dryin worth a trade. Some blokes hoe by a wall, a pair of sandals, a clutch of piggly pears. Malk Rona Becca drop when a watch pass nabberin too loud to know shoppers near.
More clicks from Aban. Lan Efia Nathin scrape clear of the grain store, packs bulgin. Malk Rona Becca scurry to join us but Lans pointin, Look, an all look at lights winkin an wavin in the huts. Lanterns movin in the darkness.
Quick!
First Becca Rona jump over an fall crump on other side. Aban next then Nathin but the crys up, the watch hollerin an lantern lights nippin at our faces. Lan hop, she skip like shes standin on hot sand an quick, shout Malk, quick, but Lan run from the chasin lights. Malk reach out but grab only the wind of her. Toss over his loot, his sharpstick, help Efia an take a run after, splinterin his fingers, warpin his nails to get over.
Other side of stockade its no use creepin. We run till our hearts bash gainst our ribs. Back to the grove. Find others, grab loot, get away from Lans cries.
Malk Efia tumble into the hidin place. Lost for thinks we say nuthin, only Beccas sobbin.
Lets go, say Nathin.
No, say Becca.
Winshams got Lan now. They learn our hideyway then come for us.
But Lan! You say we get back. All on us.
Malk say nuthin his head droppin but Aban see him look his way. Too late, Aban say. They got her now but she wont come to harm leastways not killin.
Forced hitchin, say Efia. Forced hitchin an sprogs till she die of one in her upways.
Or grindin, say Becca, till some bloke pox her.
Shes lost, say Malk. Like us if we dont shift. You on yer backs an Aban me kickin on a gibber.
Blokes voices on the plain. Lamps swingin, old church bells dangin an all Winsham up searchin for us. No time to say, Lan oh Lan, but