He was unused to complete silence. It fell like a shroud across bushes and oaks, broken by the sigh of grass whenever the breeze rose. Behind and above their car hills veered heavenwards, and a dark mass of trees grew upright despite the ninety-degree angle of the upwards-sloping earth. The darkness, this far away from street lights and the illumination of houses, was complete. If he held his breath there was only the sound of his family, an offbeat tick of the engine. A creaking on occasion, possibly crickets. Most of the time there was nothing but the noises of each other. If Dapo could have silenced them, could bear to take that final step, he would. He actually would. The radio spoke of those who had done such things, preferring murder to the uncertain alternative. There were reports of people who had given up running to touch the plants, and that was it. Over. No one knew what happened next, just that they weren’t seen again. They were vanished out of existence. And yet their plant always remained. Family members who had escaped implored that something be done to find their loved ones. Sometimes, days later, even they disappeared. Much as Dapo appreciated the emotions that brought people to either position, nothing he’d heard allowed him to condone the actions of those who had given up, or to imagine himself able to perform that final, killing blow. That was too much. If he could not fight he would run, he’d decided; then settle, wait it out.

He twitched his nose. This is what he hated most. Incessant itches he couldn’t scratch, the unseen moon, blocked by an expanse of leaves above their heads, the cramp in his legs and harsh seat covers against his rear. The smell of their bodies, unwashed for over a week. Hunger. Sticky dryness in his throat. He cried in the darkness, releasing silent pain; he’d become adept at keeping it from them, letting it out at night and gathering himself for the hour when they rose, bleary and wondering. He heard the hoot of an owl, which made him smile, feel better. Leaves rustled, from its foraging Dapo assumed. He lowered his face against the blanket, scratching his eyelids as he rocked his head back and forth. At least he wasn’t alone.

His throat clenched. He almost coughed, swallowing. Another reflex he’d hated over those long nights. When it happened again, stronger this time, he screwed up his face, swallowing harder. An explosive, hacking cough burst from him, making his body jerk. He relaxed against the headrest, eyes closed. Remembered. He raised his head quickly, looking out of the window. Complete darkness. Yet he could smell it. The perfume. The perfume was everywhere.