18
WITH A WHINE of metal on metal, the train whizzed on its track, away from the artificial gamra island. I stared out the window, where wan light reflected off the bits of water between clumps of reeds and the occasional tree.
Fortunately, it had stopped raining, but low clouds scooted over the roofs of the main island of Barresh, hiding the rock cliffs of the escarpment that lay beyond. Monsoon had started. Water churned darkly under the train line. Another few days, and it would turn into a flood, flushing out paddies and destroying dams, dragging anything loose in its inexorable quest towards the ocean.
Including dead bodies. Was I about to follow Seymour Kershaw?
I shivered, even though Thayu’s heat radiated next to me.
You’re fine?
I nodded, clenching my hands to fight an urge
