The smelter

The drive to the smelter took half a day, marked only by a dry lightning storm that flashed silently above the cracked earth. The smelter foreman was desperate—their furnaces sat cold for lack of scrap, so his people had turned to hunting and planting. They had jerky, root vegetables, dried tubers. And they badly wanted our copper.

We traded metal for a month’s worth of food, plus extra for the next village. “We did well,” I told them back in the truck. “Better than well. Got us a bottle of rice vodka too. We’ll drink it tonight.”

We ate travel rations as we rolled out.

Mira’s smile was quiet but real. “A celebration,” she said. “We haven’t had one of those.”

Lena practically vibrated on her bedding roll. “A party! Do you have music? Can we tell stories?”

Rina didn’t smile, but something in her posture loosened. “Rest will be good,” she said.

Later, a windstorm blew dust so thick we had to pull over until it passed. When it cleared, we drove on through the grit-heavy air until the village fences appeared on the horizon.