Sanda packed supper into a big metal flask that was loaded into the barrow, Jim changing the horse. Town was a fair way from the property, but it could be seen tonight, as a big fire had been lit on its limits.
“Are you ready to talk?” Sanda spoke at the moons.
“You know Krell?” Jim croaked. Everyone fixed their faces at the news. “The surgeon – my hernia – you know Krell.”
“Yes, yes, Krell.”
“Krell had a daughter.”
The insects in the scrub sang the barrow’s way into town, no-one saying anything.
Town is an old shoe factory, opened up by the guns. People shop or trade there, or whatever it is that its called now. We secured the barrow and the horses, and joined the swathe of people shuffling into the town hall opposite - an enormous old ruined building with big marble columns that had once been a law firm's offices. The title Lelly and Associates was still gilt into the building's footing.
The gas lanterns up high and on the marble floor cast square shadows on the people's faces. The open building became filled with the survivors and my comrades and the cooling dusk wind. Some people moved their way to the space left at the end of the room, where they placed some fruit crates. A man named Wight was lifted onto the platform, and he rubbed his face and took off his glasses. His face stretched long in the gas light, and he had aged, watery eyes.
"Does - does anyone," Wight looked at the people. "Know anything more?"