“Besides,” Ma goes on, “Powder Town is a good fifty clicks north, and there’s no guarantee we’d even make it there alive.”

“The traders make it,” I point out.

“The traders are young. Healthy. One lone man, with nothing to defend but himself and his goods, and even then, think of how many times Clay has shown up here telling us that his most valuable wares had been robbed.”

“Because he’s a rusted idiot,” I mutter.

Indie shoots me a wounded glance, and I fall quiet.

“We are fourteen people, mostly women,” Ma continues. “Old Fang is nearing seventy. Brooke’s girl is just four, and Indie will have a newborn in a matter of weeks. That is no herd fit for moving. We’d be easy prey.”

“We’ll be easy prey here, too, once we’re dehydrated and starved. We’ve gotta go someplace better. Anywhere but Dead River. The crops are struggling. Potatoes and turnips smaller than we’ve seen in years. And the corn should be taller by now, right Indie?”

She opens her mouth to answer, but Ma cuts her off. “We’re not leaving, and that’s the end of it. The stars say a bounty is coming. The earth will be fertile again soon.”

“They’ve said soon for years and could say it for decades more.”

“Where is your faith?” Her eyes bore into me, sharp and vicious. “This is why the gods deserted us. This is why we’re stuck on this dying earth. We are being tested, Delta. If we prove we are worthy, they will return, as will the riches of water and crop.”

The wind howls outside, as if to agree. Rubble plinks above, joining what’s already gathered on the blankets.

“I’ll have no more talk of this.” Ma turns to the shelves. “Here. Eat.” She passes a strip of jerky to each of us.

“Delta only wants what’s best for us, Marin.” Ever since Indie got with child she’s been calling Ma by her given name, as if it proves she’s not a kid herself anymore. I don’t think we’ve been kids for a very long time. Certainly not since Alkali Lake.

Ma just humphs and lies down on her mat. I gnaw on my jerky and take another small sip from my jar. Smack dust from my limbs. Unbelt my boots by their leather straps and kick them off so they can dry.

When Ma falls asleep, Indie says, “I grabbed your goggles. Thought you’d want to work on them while we’re stuck down here.” She passes them over, along with the tools.

“Thanks,” I say, and immediately go to work, punching holes through the leather head strap with the awl. Indie watches me in silence.