Yo, Con! he shouted. We need another.
Cant, Conner said. Wish I could.
Guilla shrugged, and the boys returned to their storm of sand-clouds and scrapes.
Past the wall, there was a line at the cistern. Conner fished in his pockets for three coins and waited his turn. He watched a mother scold her son in the middle of a path, saw Jenkinss dad emerge from their small walled garden holding a headless snake in one hand and a hoe in the other, then march inside their house probably to cook it. He became hyperalert at any gathering like this, saw all the tiny details of normal life humming right along. This was when the bombs came and ripped through crowds. At funerals and weddings and religious celebrations. At cisterns and cafes and protests. It was strange how tense one could become while surrounded by the banal. It was the waiting, waiting. It made Conner want to flee his flesh, sitting still in that creeping line. It was why he had to go.
Finally, it was his turn. He paid his coins and watched the canteens fill. To the brim, he said. The pumpman looked at him with disdain but didnt skimp. Conner put the three straps over his head, the canteens heavy and full on his hip. He headed off to buy some jerky. It would wipe him out, this trip. He reached into his pocket and felt the last of his coins there. Crossing the empty patch of dunes between the cistern and the market, mentally packing for his journey, the ground suddenly shifted beneath his feet
Conner stumbled. He nearly fell forward, had to throw his arms out for balance, his mind seizing on the idea that it was the damn boots, the band shorting out in his pocket from canteen water, fucking Rob. But he heard the hiss of flowing sand, and then the laughter of boys, and Conner couldnt move. He looked down to see his legs buried up to his knees, the sand packed so hard around his shins that his feet throbbed. He couldnt fall over if he tried.
Whadja step in, Whoreson?
Twisting at the waist and craning his neck, Conner could see Ryder and two others behind him. They had sand in their hair and on their shoulders, visors pressed up on their foreheads, had probably been diving in the training dunes near school or had seen him checking the dorms. Conner tried to pull his boots free but couldnt.
Let me go, Ryder. He stopped struggling and fought the urge to say This isnt funny , because that would only draw laughter. He fought the urge to remind the boys that sandtrapping someone like this was a buryable offense, because that would only bring more threats. Reaching into his pocket, he felt the band there that his brother had made. If only the power werent in the boots
Hey, Whoreson, Ive got a question. Ryder stepped around in front of him, grinning. The other two boys flanked Conner to either side. When you were a baby, how much did your mommy charge you to suck her tits? Cause she charges my dad five coin each!
The laughter echoed over the dunes. The sun was barely up, but to Conner it suddenly felt like midday. Ryder stepped close. Conner could smell stale beer and onions on the boys breath.
I dont want to see you near her, he said.
Conner knew who Ryder meant. He tried to hold his tongue, but couldnt. He shouldve told Ryder the truth right then and said he would never see her again anyway. That none of this bullshit mattered. That they were kids and the fucking sand didnt care. Instead, he sneered at Ryder, unable to resist. Thats for her to decide.
Ryder smiled. Thats where youre wrong, boy. Ask your mom who decides. He gripped the back of Conners neck and squeezed. Conner wanted to punch the bigger boy, but he knew how badly that would go. There were three of them, and his boots were pinched. There are men in these dunes and then there are little boys like you. Im a sand diver, and we take what we find. And I found her first.
Youre a trainee, Conner
said. Youre not even a sand
There was a flash of rage on Ryders facea horrible spasm of bared teeth and wrinkled browjust before the sands opened and Conner was sucked down.
Conners mouth filled with grit. The earth had opened for him, dropping him down beneath sand as loose as water. His feet hit something solid below. Swimming with his arms, his head bumped into a wall of sand above. There were walls on all sides. Ryder had made a solid box filled with flowing sand, a death coffin.
Conner sealed his lips, half a dune in his mouth, the loud crunch of grit between his teeth, and fought the urge to swallow or spit. Only had the barest of lungfuls. Had been talking. But his sister had done this to him before, had taught him to be calm, to last a minute or more. If he counted to ten, Ryder would bring him up. He was just trying to scare him. Conner thought this, but part of his brain screamed: Were gonna fucking drown. Do something, asshole.
With sand burning his eyes, Conner fumbled blindly at his fathers boots. His head flipped upside down. He had to remember which way was up. Had to remember. Goddamn, he couldnt breathe. Couldnt swallow. He hit the power switch under the tongue of the left boot with one hand and pulled the band out of his pocket with the other. Cmon, Rob, he thought. Cmon, brother.