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“What we need right now is a bunch of . . . what were they called?”
“M3-MAAWS,” Jack said. “Multi-role Anti-Armor Anti-Personnel Weapons System.” He was reading the instruction manual by the light of the fire.
Sam rolled his eyes. “M3s. Yeah, this would be, like, the last thing I would want to see getting into a kid’s hands.”
“Can we hide them?” Dekka suggested.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Jack said distractedly. “I don’t want kids coming here and stealing my ’puters, anyway.”
“We have a new member of our little band,” Sam said. “Toto the truth teller. I don’t think he’s great at keeping secrets.”
He got up to throw another wooden crate on the fire. The fire would most likely keep the coyotes away. He yawned and flopped into the wicker rocking chair and hefted his sore feet onto the little table.
“You know what?” Sam said. “I keep forgetting: I am not the guy in charge.” He laughed contentedly. “I’ll tell Albert. I’ll hand Toto off to Edilio. Then? Not my problem.”
“Yeah, that’s totally going to work, Sam,” Dekka said.
Sam noticed her feeling her stomach, pressing in on it, frowning.
“Anything the matter?” he asked.
Dekka shook her head. “I think I’ll get some sleep.”
Sam nodded off. At some time in the night he woke to see the fire had burned down to glowing coals. He saw Dekka some distance away, just outside the circle of firelight. She had her back to him, her shirt lifted up to expose her stomach, which she prodded and poked.
Sam went back to sleep and came fully awake what felt like mere seconds later, though the fire was almost entirely out and Dekka was on her own chair, snoring.
Something. Something out there in the dark.
Coyotes? He didn’t want a fight with coyotes—if he or one of the others was badly hurt, there was no easy way to get back to Lana.
He raised his hand and tossed a Sammy sun into the air. It hovered ten feet up, casting a sickly light over the camp. Jack and Toto asleep. Dekka, no longer.
“What is it?” Dekka hissed.
“Don’t know.” He pointed to the direction he thought the sound had come from. Then, in a voice pitched loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to wake his sleeping companions, he said, “If anyone’s out there, I am Bright Hands. I will burn you if you bother us.”
No answer.
A faint but definite rustling sound. Maybe a clicking. Maybe not. Then silence.
“So much for sleep,” Sam said.
“I’ll sit watch,” Dekka said.
“Dekka: you have anything you need to tell me?”
He heard her sigh. “Just being paranoid, Sam. Just, you know, making sure. My stomach was just rumbling and I thought maybe . . . You know.”
“Dekka, the last time you had anything even a little bit sweet was months ago. It’s not a surprise your stomach would be a little off.”
“Yeah. I know. Is yours?”
“Sure. A little,” Sam lied.
Jack woke with a loud snort and a crash as he smashed his arm down, crushing a table.
“What?” he yelled. He sat up. Rubbed his face. Found his glasses. “Why are we awake? It’s still night.”
