“No guilt,” says Manny. A whisper is all he can manage.
His head is in my lap. His ears and nose are gone. So are bits of his cheeks and chin.
And still, he is smiling.
“Hold on,” I tell him. “Please, Manny.” My back is to the sun, to shield him from its blinding rays.
He can barely move. I’ve made him last almost two more weeks, but I think I’ve taken one bite too many.
And we’re still lost in the Cambio. It’s as if this place is a living thing, using its ever-changing terrain to turn us in circles and keep us always from finding our way out.
My stomach growls.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Dig in.”
I wish I could, because I’m starving...but he’s literally down to bare bones. I’ve left the bare minimum for survival--internal organs, veins and arteries, enough strips of muscle to
