The sandbags fall to the ground with the stretcher. “Good riddance,” says Argentina. “If I never have to lift one of those again, I will be eternally grateful.” She massages her neck. “Amen,” says Noga. She groans and sighs. “Look, a quarter moon. But no stars yet.” We glance up. The moon’s glow begins to illuminate the distant hills. The heat, which had toasted us during the day, has burnt off. In this light the desert looks mysterious with the odd rock formations that curve in curious shapes. “It’s getting cold,” says Amber. “What I wouldn’t do for a hot shower.” Sonya groans. “A bubble bath,” she says. “With lots of scented bubbles to soak my feet.” The chill reminds me of the stuff I brought from home, the shower that I won’t have but at least a clean T-shirt and a toothbrush. “My teeth feel glued with grime,” says Lily. Rinsing off her finger, she rubs it across her teeth. I follow her lead, glancing over at the commander, who is talking with her scribes.
