"Turn it up a little."
In the corridor of Darukh Second School, a man held up his phone. His arm was already aching, and the people behind him were still pushing forward.
Lylla could not get past with her basin of water, so she had to have them stand against the wall first.
The news repeated the name of the road.
Someone at the back of the crowd shouted.
"That's the one we're taking!"
Several people at the front turned around at once. The man hurriedly raised his phone higher. Before he had finished speaking, someone beside him had already patted his shoulder twice.
"We can go now?"
"They're negotiating. They say they're going to open the road."
"When?"
No one could answer that question yet.
But someone was already laughing.
A woman withdrew from the crowd, returned to a straw mat, and pulled out the coat her child had been sleeping on. She shook it out and folded it.
The child rolled over, and she spread the coat over the child again, leaving only the sleeves neatly folded to one side.
When it was time to leave, she could just pick it up and put it on.
Someone in the playground was heading toward a truck, too.
The things in the truck bed had barely been touched, but he climbed up anyway and felt the bags beneath the tarpaulin.
They were all there.
Standing on the truck, he waved to the people in the corridor, asking them to play the news again, only to be laughingly told off: it was a live broadcast, and they could not replay it.
Lylla set down the basin, caught the latter half of the report, and reached out to stop a man who was about to move a mattress.
"They're still negotiating. Leave