Thousand: Three Hundred Ninety-Two

crackling as the truck crushes the brittle shrubs. Bernie crawls sidewise, his arm in the dog’s mouth until he has been dragged under an awning of roots, a hollowing out of the wall. He pulls his legs in and curls up against the dog. The truck is idling again. This gully seemed so hidden, Bernie thought the driver might barrel right into it. He hears the cab door slam. So there is a driver. It’s not just a demon truck driving itself. “Bernard Went!” Bernie looks at the dog. The dog’s head is tucked under Bernie’s shoulder, not looking at