Sorrel felt light without her pack and she ran faster than she thought possible, her water bottle bouncing against her hip. The trail became even flatter and made of gravel. Plants crowded the path and scratched at her arms and face. With every step, the day came closer, every breath she took was hotter. The glare made her squint and she realised her dark glasses were in her pack.

The trail curved sharply to the left and before she could stop her flight, she was tumbling; then rolling, down and down a treeless slope covered with sharp grass that came out of the ground in clumps. Then she fell through space. She hit water and sank. The water was warm and still. Her lungs were bursting, her eyes open, but she could see nothing except the killing light above. She kicked out with her legs and hit something hard and sharp. She felt it slice through her pants. She kicked again and this time she rose towards the sun. Her head broke the surface and she sucked air into her lungs, coughing and spluttering. Her boots were dragging her down. Now she would die in a pool of water somewhere in the mountains, and her mother would perish in the culvert, waiting for her.

Her foot touched the submerged object again and she pushed herself upward once more. Then something clamped her wrist and pulled her towards the surface.

She lay full length on burning pebbles; saw human feet wrapped in what seemed to be animal skins in front of her. “Get up, unless you want to die right here and now.” It was a female voice. “I’m counting to ten: one – two – three…”

Sorrel got up. A girl stood in front of her, hands on her hips. She was drenched as well, and her arms and legs were wrapped in some type of gauzy material. She had a tangle of curly hair – hair! – half hidden by a woven hat. She wore no dark glasses and had fierce black eyes. A Tribal, Sorrel thought. They’re real. The girl turned and strode away. Sorrel quickly came to her feet and followed her.

The girl moved swiftly through the bush, despite the heat. There was no obvious trail, yet her steps were sure and long. A machete was slung across her back. She wore a brightly coloured scarf around her neck which she’d pulled up over her nose, and gloves with the fingers cut off. Sorrel wondered where she had managed to find them.

Sorrel became breathless. The girl lengthened her lead.

“Wait!” Sorrel called after her, but she didn’t look back or slow her pace. Sorrel followed her into a bamboo thicket, the trunks large and scratchy. Then she disappeared.