“It’s okay, they can’t get in!”
“It’s all right!” he cried, almost laughing and putting an arm around her as he echoed her thought. “It’s okay, they can’t get in!”
“Yes, they can!” she shouted back. “The birds can, if we stay here! If we give them time! And the snakes . . . the scorpions . . .”
“What? What are you saying?”
“Could they make holes in the tires?” It was the RV she was seeing in her mind’s eye, all its tires flat . . . the RV, and the purplefaced man back there in the ranch-house, his face tattooed with holes in pairs, holes so small they looked almost like flecks of red pepper. “They could, couldn’t they? Enough of them, all stinging and biting at once, they could.”
