Breakfast was the same as dinner—fruit and cold meat. It was nevertheless welcome, and although Carter was desperate for a tall glass of cold rainwater, he found there was sufficient liquid in the fruit to partially slake his thirst. And the meat was filling.
“I wonder what kind of meat it is?” he asked Paul.
He hoped the answer would contradict the opinion he’d formed.
“Looks like chicken to me,” Paul replied. “Probably best not to think about it too much.”
Carter examined the piece of meat between his fingers. He sniffed it and then put it in his mouth. He’d had to get used to a lot of things in the past twenty-four hours. What was one more thing? And besides, it didn’t taste too bad, perhaps only reminiscent of chicken.
The minutes seemed to drip by like water from a slow leaking t
