At first light, I cross the ferns and rocks to the trailer and open the door. Once inside, it’s the first time I notice the forest is full of noise—leaves, bugs, wind, birds—because it’s suddenly gone. It’s all muffle and hush in here. When the door closes behind me I let all the air out of my body and feel light.

Scene eight is really a bunch of scenes. I took it all in—the dirty shelves; a stack of plastic cups stuck one inside the other; the floor, crunchy with old leaves; a mattress covered in messy sheets and a blanket with a yellow cartoon bird on it—all so filthy they practically crack in half when I move them.

I sleep on a lawn chair pushed into the corner.

I eat a box of stale raisins from my bag.

I piss out the window.

I sleep again.

It doesn’t occur to me that I am alone. Until I realize I’m not alone.

I push the mattress up and against the wall, planning on cleaning up a bit, settling in for a few nights. But underneath the mattress is a hatch cut into the floor. An old storage space. I lift it. And there’s a body.

I don’t scream. I don’t think I ever have, even when I should have. I back away, stumble, even, but I make no sounds. Then, eventually, I creep back over. It’s a woman, an old woman. Her hair, where it peeks out from around the folds of a flowered kerchief, is grey and matted, her face lined with dirt. I can only see her from the chest up. She’s wearing like three different sweaters with a brown turtleneck underneath. I should be scared, or maybe grossed out, but I’m just sad. So sad, I reach out and touch her cheek. It’s warm.

Her eyes open, all big and at once. And I fall back on my ass. And then, if you can believe this, she laughs. Laughs so hard she starts coughing. Laughs so much I have time to get back up on my feet.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

She takes a minute to shimmy and groan and sit up so that she’s halfway up into the trailer. “Hiding.”

Then she holds out a hand so I can help her up.

That’s how I met Minerva. She was already pretty old when we found each other, but not as old as when the Recruiters did her in. She could still follow a conversation. She could still remember where she was most of the time. She didn’t slip between Anishinaabemowin and En glish without warning so much. We stayed in the trailer for a week, then left together. She said we needed to keep moving because sitting ducks never make it out of hunting season.

We traveled together after that, collecting more of us along the way. Miig was the first one we found together, then the rest kind of fell into place while we were on the move. I guess this story can end on scene nine. This is my favorite one, anyway, scene nine.