The greyish night of the Lowlands had given way to a deeper blackness. Her mother was falling behind again. Sorrel stopped. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just tired. Maybe we should have stayed in Bana. Found a new place, like we always did.”

“We did the right thing,” she said, but her certainty was ebbing.

“We’ll never know that for sure,” Bibi said.

Sorrel shone the light around, looking for an easier way. There were a few rocks in step formation to her right and she wondered if they had been placed there, but when she stepped on one, it rolled away. She looked for handholds, but the bushes were too thin and whippy. “Should we rope ourselves together? Maybe I could go ahead and send down a rope for you?”

“No. We should stay together.”

“At least hold my belt then.”

“Just climb,” Bibi said.

One foot after another, thought Sorrel. They climbed. Then, as the slope became too steep, they crawled.

“I need to rest for ten minutes,” Bibi said.

Sorrel swept the PlAK’s light in a circle. The bush was thicker, taller, full of shadows, but there was no obvious shelter. “We can’t stay here.”

“I know that,” Bibi snapped. “I’m asking for ten minutes, not a week.”

Sorrel swallowed a retort. “I’ll have a look around.”

Her mother nodded. She sat with her head lowered, the curve at the back of her neck pronounced.

Sorrel struggled into much thicker bush. The PlAK revealed tangled shapes, and slopes of light and shadow. Outside the sweep of the searchlight, the blackness was total. If they found good shelter, she would research the various kinds of plants. Perhaps there were new high-protein shrubs – there had been many experiments in the early 70s. Maybe food was right here.

She tripped on something and fell hard, knocking the breath out of her. She cursed herself. Dreaming while awake could get her killed. She lay with her cheek on the ground for a moment, then stood. She shone the light in a circle, first at shoulder height, then above her head, and it fell on a cliff face with a square opening cut into it, about two metres off the ground. A culvert for water. And it looked dry. She wondered why it hadn’t been filled by the recent rain.

What had tripped her up? She shone the light at her feet, and it fell on an obelisk shape. She scraped away the dirt and saw a number carved into it – 21. Below that, Miles to Kingston – Bana’s old-time name before the Renaming. Then she spotted a trail leading away from the cable car columns, slightly downhill into the bush. She directed the searchlight at the plants closest to the trail – some branches were cut or bent back. Someone was keeping this trail open. People.