“When everyone gets back,” Sorrel said. It had been many hours since the group exploring the cave tunnels had left. She wished Emrallie would return.

Pia’s face was strained. “Your foot hurts, huh?” Sorrel asked.

“Every hour of every day. But I can cope with the pain,” she added. It was Pia’s way of assuring them that she wasn’t going to be a burden on the group. Maybe the strain on the older girl’s face wasn’t pain but fear of abandonment. She remembered Emrallie telling her that Caroni was a good Zorah and would make the right decision. She had let Pia travel with them. Sorrel wanted to comfort her but wasn’t sure what to say. If Pia really couldn’t walk, she would be left behind. She got up to stretch her legs and heard low voices. Emrallie’s group, she thought, relieved.

Then four young males walked into the cave from one of the tunnels at the rear. They halted, shock on the face of the boy in front. Sorrel reached over her shoulder for her machete and realised she had taken it off. The only weapon she carried was the knife.

“Who the guata are you?” she snapped.

“A foul-mouthed female,” said the male in front. “And is that a PlAK?” He looked about seventeen.

They were all teenagers. Some were dressed in camouflage gear and all wore good boots. One held a long gun.

“Are you the band in the valley with the waterfall?” she asked, her brain racing.

“Spied on us, did you?” the same boy said, pulling his shoulders back like an army recruit. He was tall and gangly. His arms were bare, and his muscles looked like rope. His dark glasses were pushed up on his forehead. He had unusual light eyes, neither blue nor grey. Behind her, Pia had scrambled to her feet.

“Well, are you?” Sorrel demanded.

“We’re in a valley, yes. And you?”

“We’re stragglers,” she said, trying to buy some time. She gestured at Pia’s injury. “We couldn’t keep up.”

“Stragglers from where? Keep up with who?”

“We lived in the ravine below. The river used to fill it up, but then it started falling and…”

“We? Where’re the others?”

“They left us.”

The light-eyed male looked sceptical. “I can understand why they’d leave you, but I don’t believe anyone would’ve left the PlAK. Try a different story.”

“They didn’t know how to use it.”

“Everybody can use a PlAK,” he scoffed. “We’ll be taking it anyway.”

Sorrel had never been face-to-face with a group of young males before. The one holding the gun stood back, cradling it with the butt under his arm, the muzzle pointing down. Had he been in the Squad? He scanned the group from right to left and back again. Coiled to strike, she thought.