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thing: my grandfather has sent men
after me.
    * * *
    I am tired of escaping through a forest
of heavy vegetation, pesky mosquitoes, and slapping branches. The
trail we’ve been on for the last hour isn’t much more than a deer
path and we have to stay in a single file, Barrett leading. My
backpack has grown heavy. I’m thirsty, but I won’t be the first to
ask to stop.
    Thankfully Barrett stops. I wonder if
he still hears our pursuers or if his head-tilting indicates some
new and more dangerous threat. I glance back at Lydia who is
brushing her fingers through her hair. The forgotten flower she had
tucked behind her ear dislodges and floats to the forest floor. She
snaps a twig off a branch and stabs it through the twist of hair
she has made and skewers the bun in place. She sees me gawking and
grins.
    My heart stops. She looks away and I
reach for the tiny flower, tuck it in my sack before she turns back
to me.
    “ Tired?” she
asks.
    “ Thirsty,” I say.
    “ Shh!” Barrett scowls back
at us.
    We wait. I try not to slap at the
mosquitoes, but apparently my blowing at them is just as noisy to
Barrett. He signals me to stop. We wait. Finally he seems
satisfied.
    “ It’s okay,” he breathes the
words in a fine whisper. “I know them.”
    “ Them? Who?” I search
around, overhead, in every direction looking for them.
    “ It smells like Vinn Will
and Carter Tosh, some of Ronel’s people who help, uh, special
travelers. I’ll bet they’re looking for us. Probably saw the
solar-bikes and figured there was a fugitive.”
    I cringe at that word. I can’t wrap my
brain around any of this.
    Lydia puts her hand on my shoulder,
reaches past me with her other hand and taps Barrett. She whispers,
“Are you sure it’s safe? Should we hide? Or climb,
maybe?”
    Barrett lowers his gold filled bag to
the ground and sits on it. He sniffs the breeze again. “I’m sure,”
he says in a normal voice. “That’s Vinn. We wait and let them find
us. That’s the safest way.”
    Lydia’s hand slips beneath my shoulder
strap. She helps me get free of the pack and hangs it on a
branch.
    “ I wasn’t going to sit on
it,” I say.
    “ I know.” She opens a side
flap and pulls out a small device. “Old Mrs. Delia, my neighbor,
says this was a popular item when she was little and went camping
with her family. Of course, now camping is more or less our
lifestyle. And these things aren’t made anymore … of
course.”
    Of course. Not much manufacturing going
on beyond the absolute necessities. I watch her take the strange
contraption and attach one end to the broken branch she had touched
before. I hear a sucking sound and see the rolled up bottom begin
to expand, filling, I suspect, with liquid from the tree. She shows
me how it works, where to pinch the top, how to attach and release
the clips, and how to detach the now full reservoir of pure
water.
    “ Drink up,” she says. “You
were thirsty.”
    “ After you.”
    She smiles that smile I can’t get
enough of and takes a delicate sip. She pretends to gag and we both
laugh. I take the device from her hand and our fingers touch. I
guzzle the rest and show her what a quick learner I am by attaching
the thing to a different branch, one I break first. I offer the
filled container to her and she drinks half and hands the rest to
Barrett. We repeat the process a few more times until we feel
satisfied. Lydia tells me my life may depend on this little gadget
so I better not lose it. I promise not to.
    “ What’s it called again?” I
ask as I stuff it into my belt sack.
    “ It has some technical name
with an acronym, but it’s easier to call it a camp
well.”
    “ Oh.” I am out of words and
ideas. My mouth, so recently wet, dries up. She is standing very
close.
    “ Hey Vinn!” Barrett shouts.
“Carter! We’re over here. Don’t shoot us.”
    Barrett is on his feet and swinging up
the money bag. My heart seizes up as I realize this might be the
end of the road for