Chapter Seven
The road to Gandama was mostly straight and riddled with potholes from the supply trucks that came to the general store every couple of days. It ran through the piece of country cheerily named Dead Tree Plain, even if the trees that had prompted the name were now so dead that they had ceased to exist. It was flat, dusty and exposed to the baking sun and the occasional whirlwinds that locals called dust devils.
Tina made her way in the old truck, having retrieved the vehicle from the shed where, begrudgingly, the inhabitants of the hamlet shared their meagre resources.
Old Janusz needed the vehicle, he said, and she answered that she’d be back before mid-afternoon.
She could have taken one of the camels, which were less in demand, but they were slow, grumpy and wouldn’t al
