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lodged in my throat.  I shove forward, the ground beneath my feet pebbly, until I reach a gentle slope that leads to a narrow river.  The river snakes and winds until it ends finally at a lake.  And what I see in the lake makes every hair on my body rise.
    A girl about June’s age, flops and flounders about.  She is laughing, delighted.  Next to her is a boy.  He looks older than the girl.  He, too, is laughing happily. 
    I stand, hidden by more hostile bushes loaded with burrs.  My mouth is agape as my mind whirls in lopsided circle s, struggling to make sense of what my eyes are seeing.  Human beings, children, are swimming in a lake just hours from where June and I live in our cave.  Other humans are alive!  My entire body trembles. 
    The children continue to caper about and I find myself smiling naturally.  I hear a splash but do not see where it came from.  Are there more?  The idea is almost too much for my brain to handle. 
    The water beside the boy stirs before a large form becomes visible.  And then I see him.  He breaks from the surface of the water and surprises the smaller boy, grinning wide and greeting him with a growly “Argh!”  The boy flinches then squeals in delight, but I cannot even look in his direction.  My eyes are fixed on the one who emerged from the depths and is standing now, his waist covered by water, while droplets trickle between the swells of his chest to the hollows of his stomach. He appears to be my age.  His skin is tanner than mine, bronze almost, and his eyes are so light they stand out and seem to glow. 
    I know I should look away, scan the area and see if there are more, but I cannot.  My gaze is pinned and I realize I have not yet blinked.  Part of me is afraid that if I look away, he will be gone; that all of them will be gone, and I will wake from whatever dream or hallucination I am having. 
    I take a tentative step forward, toward a thin tree.  My heart drills against my ribs and my belly feels as if it is filled with butterflies fluttering and flapping at once.  I rest my shoulder against its trunk and inch closer still, wanting to lean all of my weight against it.  But a branch snaps beneath my foot unexpectedly.  My sprinting heart stumbles, and the boy in the water with the glowing eyes looks in my direction. 
    Though I am concealed by tall plants, bushes, and the puny tree, my breathing hitches and heat burns up my neck until it reaches my cheeks.  I know he does not see me, cannot possibly see me, but I see him, and not just his profile either.  I see his entire face.  A strange tremor vibrates through my belly that has nothing to do with hunger.  He rubs his hand through his thick, dark hair and I am riveted by the cords of rippling muscles that intertwine and gallop down his arms. 
    I am suddenly lightheaded and realize I have forgotten to breathe.  My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.  I am overwhelmed by thirst.  I reach a trembling hand to my canteen and remember it is empty. 
    A sweet female voice calls out, and the boy with the pale, radiant eyes looks toward the sound. 
    “Come on, guys.  Let’s eat,” the voice says. 
    The children groan , and I watch as the older boy shepherds them out of the water, and guides them to the shore of the lake.  I follow him with my gaze.  It is trained on him as if acting separate and apart from my will.  He steps out of the water and, seeing him stand beside the others, I see that he is taller than I thought, and stronger looking. 
    He shakes his head and water cascades from his hair and sprinkles the children.  They screech, their joy evident in their expressions, and I feel my own surge of glee rocket from a part of me I never knew existed. 
    I watch as a woman approaches and embraces the children.  For a moment, I think she will embrace the older boy as well.  In those seconds, a hot tendril sparks inside of me that is anger and fear fused.  The sensation is