“Sure. But here’s the hard part. Other dens have chosen a more moderate road in terms of food and energy production but keep a lid on media and communications tech in order to control the flow of information from outside. Helps keep things manageable. Of course, when they blame technology for screwing the planet, they’re not wrong. But it’s done a lot of good, too. Given the current conditions for survival, some of us feel it’s better to use the tools available . . . while they’re still available.”

I considered Rousseau’s cell ban, and other tech voids at Unca Joe. “Do your phones work downtown?”

“Sketchy,” Julian allowed.

“There are . . . people . . . whose mission is to restore some coverage,” said Daniel.

“But sometimes they work there?” Contrary to all we were told. “And Rousseau knows?”

“I’m sure he does,” Daniel said.

And no doubt Spunk and Jake.

Daniel was over-explaining, hoping to soften the blow by larding on the detail. “It’s always true after a big one. Nothing works. But as a tower here or there gets back online . . . well, some prefer to ignore it.”

Huh. A conspiracy of silence at the top. Add my den elders to the list of heroes I felt betrayed by. Not that I’d ever thought of Jake or Spunk as saints. But Rousseau . . . maybe.

“Okay, we’re good to go.” Julian shut the window and began refilling the backpack, starting with the stacks of paper from the bucket, neat piles into side pockets.

“What’d she say?” asked Daniel.

“Nothing. Just the all-clear.”

“You go on. I’ll stay here.” If I could sit alone in a quiet place, maybe I could clear my head, resolve who I was going to be from here on.

“Not a chance.” Daniel found a second wind, capping the water bottle, scooping up food scraps. He slipped the door key from his pocket and handed it to me. “They’ll be back to tear the whole place apart, and this time, they’ll find the door. Honestly, Glim—have you even the slightest instinct for self-preservation?”

If only he knew . . .

But he went on neatening up. Covering our tracks.

On our way out, just before locking up, I said, “Hold on. I forgot my poncho.”

Not a lie, but in case Daniel was right and my hide was no longer secure, I ducked behind the half-closed door, retrieved the cached documents, and slid them into my belly wallet.

Outside again, poncho in hand, I said, “I have a kayak stashed a bit east of here.”

Julian’s look said I’d been trouble enough already.

“I said I’d get you home safe,” Daniel countered. “And that’s what we’ll do.”