I follow the little boy

And he helps me up out of the ditch. I'm feeling fairly sick.

We're in the scrub beyond the ditch where the plastic wrapped lean-tos start. I stop for a minute, falling to my knees.

"I'm fucked, I'm completely fucked," I say.

The boy, who has been walking ahead, turns and says, "you follow me, you be ok, you help me and I help you. You were with my father," and he looks back at the ditch, where the one-eyed corpse is, "you have gun."

"Look" I say, "I'm sick of this," and pull Ginger's journal out and hold it out to him. He takes it as I say, "I think it's in here, I think that's what I want to know."

He flicks through the pages, concentration on his (nine? Ten? year old) face.

"This is Svalti, isn't it?" but he's not asking. "I can read this for you."