It takes all night, and when the Christ bells ring in the dawn, Trin’s still bent over beneath the hood of Gerrick’s truck, doctoring the hose that runs into the water pump. For the past six hours he’s known nothing but wires and cables, filters, pistons, clamps. His hands are so sore that the slightest touch jars the raw nerves in his fingertips. Where the tape sticks to him, he swears the skin tears off when he pulls it away. Each wire feels electrified, the way it sizzles in his over-worked hands.
Six hours without rest, without food, without sleep—tack on the six hours before that, too, and did he stop to eat lunch this afternoon? Or yesterday afternoon, really, he can’t remember. The world keeps blurring and he has to blink it back into focus, but this time it isn’t tears softening t
