The third truck had a canvas back and two benches. James sat between Finn and a soldier he did not know. Eamon was across from them, with five more soldiers along both sides.
The truck lurched out of the compound and turned north.
Nobody said much at first. Then the soldier beside James, a man in his forties with a heavy moustache, said to nobody in particular, "My sister's in Jonesborough. With her kids."
"They'll have got them out," said the man across from him. "They've been moving everyone out of there since last night. Buses."
"She wasn't answering her phone."
"Nobody's phone's working up there. Masts are down. Doesn't mean anything."
The man with the moustache nodded and did not say anything else.
Further down the bench, a soldier who looked about nineteen leaned forward toward Eamon.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Go on."
"Can you lot survive that? Ordinary stuff. Bullets. Mortars. If you're high enough."
Eamon thought about it seriously.
