See the fires. Indistinct from the mirage of heat on the sandworn hills where the naked sky holds the clean fury of the sun. 'Can't say I see a way around that.' Caldwell wipes his brow, folded and oiled. 'Well we ain't going through either.' 'Very astute, Errol.' Barnham waddles up, saddlesore and wincing. 'Maybe we could do with a little siesta, boss.' Caldwell gives the crate on the back of the wagon a knock. There's a hissing sound like a rattler's tail accompanied by a dozen tiny shrieks. 'You don't want to sleep by these little critters, Mister Barnham. They say they give men great pleasures in their dreams, such that they don't wish to ever wake again. And most don't.' Barnham watches the box as if it might suddenly burst open. Errol grins. 'Don't sound too bad to me, boss.' Caldwell spits. 'You should see what they take as payment, Errol. Makes a man never want to sleep again.'
Paddy Dobson
8th June 2021