Chapter 46

His fingers were numb from the cold, but Joe swung the ax again and again, finally splicing the log in two. At a distance, he heard a tree crash, but couldn’t be bothered to look up to see where it would land. This morning, their work group had been welcomed by a crowd of angry Natives who were here to protest Murphy’s plant. The men were holding up large signs, and the words on them seemed to be written in blood.

They hate us, Joe thought. This place was cursed―the forest, soil, the inmates―they were all cursed.