5
The Greek sun had dried their ragged clothes, but night brought the cold once again. They'd followed the other survivors into a camp on the edge of Agios Andreas. It was a mess of thin, pale blue tents—each one overcrowded and pegged into a mud floor.
White marquees set up around the perimeter were empty, abandoned. Amira and the young girl had wandered them all in search of aid. Only dusty tables and litter remained.
At least water was available through a running tap. They waited in line for their turn, filling up a couple of large plastic bottles found on the floor of a marquee. They warmed themselves in front of a deserted fire in a steel bin stuffed with card, paper, rags and twigs.
The young girl's name was Rima. She cried for her grandmother, her mother, her father—but soon fel
