35
Smoke rode on top of a wood mound as the flatbed drove back into town. Again, the men, women and children were there, watching the new prisoners as if a television show had come to town.
Smoke rode in silence, staring up at the brown sky, which was starting to streak with black. The temperature was dropping, and it was getting cold. Fast.
The flatbed rumbled into a job site that stretched for several acres. The land was flattened and ready for development, with square plots staked out in the sand, with stakes and ropes to mark locations.
Smoke glanced back at the small city. The gray, austere buildings were made from the same materials that the prisoners had loaded onto the flatbeds.
The strangers were using the prisoners to add on to their city.
Smoke could think of worse ways to
