Trin works until it grows too dark to see and he has to squint as he rebuilds the engine that doesn’t belong in Gerrick’s truck. He keeps on, though, until the Christ bells ring out when the sun finally falls from the sky. The bells hang high in the loft of a building along the far side of the palisade, a place the older folks call a church but it’s no more holy than anything else in this world.
Trin’s only been inside of it once, when his parents were brought back to the outpost and laid to earth. He remembers staring at his father’s hands folded across his lifeless chest, large hands, grey with death. When Blain came up behind him and touched his shoulder, Trin bit back a startled cry—for a brief moment he thought it was his father’s hand on him, resurrected. He almost expected to hear
