The girls still inside the kitchen are gathered around Beck, who stands at the sink with her spatula held like a sword in front of her. “Where are you going?” she wants to know as Trin and Aissa skirt the island in the center of the room. Through the screen door, the air is red, the sky like lava, casting the junked vehicles and stacks of tires with a bronze glow. When she realizes they’re heading for the door, her voice takes on a desperate plea. “You can’t go out there. The bells—”
“Blain said,” Aissa replies. Beck clamps her mouth shut, cutting off any further argument.
Trin pushes through the screen door and almost gags on the heat. Dust and exhaust hang thick in the air. Out here the bells are louder, strident. The rapid fire of guns reverberates through the outpost, sounding for al
