Unsheltered by Clare Moleta (spiritual books to read TXT) 📕

That was why all the drivers were armed now and most convoys carried security. She hadn’t run into any Trade out here yet but she’d heard stories in makecamp about things that happened further north – trucks and tankers hijacked, disappeared up into the sacrifice zone.

Her head was thumping now and the ache was spreading slowly through her bones. Resetting the last snare in the dark, her hands were unsteady on the wire and there was a spinning lightness behind her eyes. She made it to a patch of stringybark with the idea of digging a windbreak, but she was sweating, off-balance, a tide surging in her ears. She managed to get her pack off and pull out the water bottle but not to open the lid.

Fever held her down in the hole. There was somewhere she needed to be but whenever she tried to climb out, Frank started talking again, explaining the rules. You know your problem, Li? Every time you throw, you’re betting on a five. See, Matti, she figures things can go any way – sooner or later she’s gunna roll a six. That’s why she wins. A fluorescent light buzzed on in the swirling black and there was a clock ticking and someone breathing behind her, but not Frank.

She woke clear but weak and in terrible thirst. She was shaking and too cold to function. It was light. The sand under her was wet and her clothes were soaked with sweat or dew. In a few minutes she steadied enough to get the lid off her water bottle.

Matti had been alone all night. She would think Li had been hurt or killed, that she wasn’t coming back. Would she do what Li had told her and wait at the Kids’ Tent, or would she come into the No Go looking for her? Li stood shakily and lifted her pack. She would just check the two snares that were directly on her way back. Go into makecamp with fresh trade if she was lucky.

Get up. Slowly.

She was so focused on the gun that it took a few seconds to register he wasn’t XB Force. No uniform. And it was just him. He’d found her by accident; he looked surprised, anyway. She stood up and stepped away from the cover of the mallee, from the snare she’d just reset and the fresh kill.

Where are you from?

Port Howell.

Liar.

A couple of metres between them. She kept her hands at her sides.

You’re makecamp, he said. Why are you across?

Looking for food.

His eyes moved past her to the shrubs, but the pistol stayed steady. In the No Go? That’s not how it works.

People like him brought the food. People like her paid for it. That was how it worked. She said, I don’t have enough trade.

He was dressed like her, shabby, colours of sand and scrub. But the pistol looked army issue – the kind you could get if you had backup. That meant he might have bullets too.

Catch anything?

Not yet.

Harder than it sounds, huh? he said. You shouldn’t be out here alone.

You’re out here alone.

He grinned at her. No I’m not.

She didn’t let herself look behind him, didn’t take her eyes off him.

You should get back inside before you get yourself shot. He looked down her body and up again. Think of something else to trade.

He took a step towards her. She brought her hands up and he stopped. Said, You’re bleeding.

No.

Let me see.

I’m not bleeding.

Two more steps and he jammed the gun into the soft place under her jaw, dragged her arm up, rigid, in front of her face. Then what’s this? Huh? What’s this? He slapped her with her own hand. Forced her hand into her face and rubbed it back and forward, smearing the gore. He pushed her away onto the ground. Raised the gun.

Show me what you’ve got.

She started to get up.

No, stay down. Crawl.

Her body shook, disobedient. She crawled and breathed, felt his eyes, the stones and brittle grasses under her hands. Towards the mallee, with him behind her. But Mum, if you die first, where will you wait for me? She crawled in an arc, a little to the left of the shrubs. A little more to the left.

You lying bitch. He moved past her eagerly towards the kill, but a little to the left. Where she had led him. Her disobedient body, the rock under her hand.

The snare took him clean by the ankle and flung him forward. He shouted before he hit the ground and the pistol went clear without discharging and she sprang onto his back and brought the rock down on his head, hard, twice. Left him face down and picked up the kill without turning her back on him. He didn’t move. She couldn’t afford to lose the snare but her hands were shaking too hard and her body would not approach him. There was no time anyway. If he hadn’t lied the others would have heard him shout, they’d be coming now. She picked up the gun. It wasn’t loaded but that didn’t make it useless.

Walking back, she kept telling herself to run but her body wouldn’t do it. She was so tired from the work of fever. Her bones were rubber, she was dried out inside and the steady thumping in her head was back. She needed to see Matti, know she was okay. Take the kill to the ready shop. Safia would keep it cool for a cut on her trade. Then drink and sleep. Not dream. She would never bring Matti back out here. The pistol was tucked into her waistband, against the small of her back, and she wondered what bullets were worth.

She heard it first, before she smelled the smoke. Started running.

Rich was on lookout, he brought Li in. Any news?

She shook her head. It had taken her too long to find the factory again – too many empty buildings with broken windows. There