The country opened up as we came out of the canyon. It was so windy in the open; we always had dust in our mouths. We kept walking, past an old tepee my dad had set up, past round oil tanks that were waiting to be buried. People would live inside them, once the world all around us was no longer here.
Excerpted from The Shelter Cycle by Peter Rock. Copyright © 2013 by Peter Rock. Excerpted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Blood at the Root
"A gripping, timely, and important examination of American racism."
- PW Starred Review
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