"Do you think the others are having trouble?" she asked after a long silence.
"It'll be easier for them. Those trucks, cars, or whatever you call them, are made for skimming. The flyer isn't." He didn't add that there were also enough men to drive in shifts.
She nodded gravely and prepared her bed.
He wondered if she slept and knew she must sometime despite the growing hollows beneath her eyes and the darkness of the hollows.
That afternoon he unloaded some of the food and replaced it with boulders. Marilyn helped, rearranging the remaining food, straining to help lift the heavy stones into the flyer. "Might do some good," Keith grunted wiping his face with the back of his hand.
"Do you think we'll make it to Lanning in time?" she asked quietly.
"Not if we have many nights like last night. Afraid?" He could feel the sweat trickling down his back where his tunic didn't touch and he hunched his shoulders letting the material soak it up.
"There's a stream about a quarter of a mile down there," Marilyn said pointing. She was perspiring and moist and her hair had begun to curl about her face where little stray ends worked loose from the roll high on her head.
"Are you afraid?" he repeated.