Daja goes to the Magistrate.
“You did it. You’ve brought us through the first step of the crusade,” she says. “Thank you.”
He puts an arm around her and gazes at the obelisk.
“Thank you for believing in me.”
He turns to the rest of us.
“Thank you all for believing. The next two days will be momentous for us all. It is time to tell the others.”
I still think the Magistrate is crazier than a clown car full of rats, but I keep that to myself. As the others head back to their vehicles, I hang back with Traven.
“You sure you can do this?”
“I’m positive.”
“Does it say anything about why we’re lugging a howitzer through the Mojave?”
“With luck, I’ll be able to tell you soon.”
“You’re going to need more than luck. If these lunatics don’t get some good news, they’re going to tear each other apart.”
He looks at me.
“Isn’t that what you want? For the havoc to destroy itself?”
“Not when we’re in the middle of it. A riot is like a tire fire. Only fun if you’re seeing it from a great distance.”
“Shake a leg, lovebirds,” shouts Wanuri.
On the way back to camp, I take out the butcher knife Doris gave me and slice off my bandages. Toss them in air and let the breeze carry them away.
Daja looks at my bullet wound.
“It didn’t heal up so bad.”
“One more for the collection.”
“You should learn to duck.”
“No one tells me these things until it’s too late.”
She gets up and dusts herself off.
“I’ve decided not to kill you,” Daja says.
“Why’s that?”
“You helped with Gisco and haven’t been entirely useless around camp.”
“When were you going to do it?”
“Tonight. Now that we know the father can do the translation.”
“That’s funny,” I say.
“Why?”