Page 24 of Flames and Blood

“What does it stop?”

“Everything. There’s a list of people and vehicles that are allowed through. If you’re not on the list, you don’t get in.” He rolls his shoulders. It’s the first time he’s looked tired.

“You’ve been through it, though?”

“Twice, in eleven years of this work.”

I’ve lived inside ward-work for over a year. I know what it does when it’s built into a cuff or a set of bars. I’ve never heard of one that big.

He watches me for a moment. “You’ve asked me a great many questions today,” he says.

“You’ve answered about ten of them.”

“Not one of them was about what happens to you at the other end. You asked about my wife.”

“I was working you.”

“I know you were.” He goes back to his window. “You’re better at it than I expected.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant as one.” A moment. “It’s the reason I’ve been told to keep you talking to me and not to him.”

The younger one doesn’t move, except for his jaw.

The van stops again at a bigger lot. More engines. More doors. Headlights swing past the mesh, and there’s more than one set of them.

When we roll again, there’s a second vehicle behind us that wasn’t there before. It stays close enough that I can hear its engine under the sound of ours. Whatever they’ve loaded into it clinks, and it’s heavier than anything this crew has been carrying.

The older one watches the window for a long time.

“They weren’t with us this morning,” I say.

“No.”

“Are they yours?”

“They’re not mine.”

“Do you know them?”

“I know one of them.”

“You don’t sound pleased about it.”

“Six of us was the plan,” he mutters. “Six of us was a good plan.”

I’m pretty sure that wasn’t on the list. But right now he’s angry at whoever gave him the list. I’m not the only one in here who’s been told less than he wants to know.

He turns back to the window and doesn’t say more.

I work the cuff anyway. I roll my wrist slowly into the space I’ve made, in time with the van, so it looks like I’m shifting position. The only other thing I can do is stop, and stopping means giving up.

It’s full dark by the time the real climb starts. The engine drops through its gears. The noise of it bounces straight back at us off rock on both sides.

Narrow. Walls. One road.

Both vehicles start slowing at once, touching the brakes a little at a time. There’s a turn ahead tight enough to bring everything down to walking pace.