I don’t know what time it is. I gave up trying to determine the sun’s position in the sky hours ago. And then nighttime settled, based on the sounds of the bugs and a subtle relief from the oppressive heat. Finan slept most of the day curled against my lap. Even when sweat dripped off my face bent over his, he didn’t stir. His shirt was completely stuck to his torso just before dusk, intensifying the sour odor from his traumatized body. I reassure myself that if his body can produce sweat, they’ve probably been giving him water. A human body cannot survive more than three days without water.
But then the shivers start. His cheek and forehead rest against my numb, crossed leg—he is absolutely burning up. At one point, I nudge him awake, to be sure he’s still with me, and to ask if I should
