Two men with scraggly moustaches and longer hair lifted their fists in the air as I passed, eyes solemn and connected to mine. The Watchman in front flicked his wrist, and the small tube he held snapped into a long rod. He wound up and cracked the guy closest to us in the side of the leg so that he went down on one knee. Still the man maintained eye contact with me, arm bent now, his fist still raised.

“Stay strong, brother!” someone yelled from the crowd, and a few others sent up a short who-oo in response. As we left the bright and noise of the room, I turned my head back to take in every last face I could see.

“Morons,” the man pushing me sneered.

“Fucking idiots,” agreed the other, collapsing his rod back into the handle.

We traveled the rest of the way in silence. I noticed it was silent because now I knew what the opposite of silence was. Just like I knew how light my room was when we entered because it had been dark for so long.

“All right kid, no funny business.” They unbuckled my restraints. “Get out.”

“Can’t I go with everyone else?” I climbed out of the chair.

“No way, not after that shit you pulled, running off. The main room is for better-behaved animals.” They pulled the chair out into the hall and slammed the door.

“Good night,” one called through the door.

“Good night? But the sun’s out,” I answered.

“Oh, there’s no sun for you.” And then the light snapped off.

The room had never been more quiet or more dark. So I closed my useless eyes and dreamed of home.

CHAPTER 12

THE DEATH TREE

Rose

THE FOREST OUT HERE WAS UNENDING, GREEN DRAPED over green woven with brown. There were few things as certain as the forest these days. Death. Movement. Hope. All three of them could be found hidden in the wet give of the woods.

Animals were less shy here than near the camp. Out here, there was less to be afraid of—not so many predators or change for them. Squirrels chased each other in the treetops like light-footed toddlers. Bugs big enough to have to crunch with your molars climbed over rotting logs. Derrick used this time to hunt on the go. Sometimes that meant running ahead of Rose, finding a blind, and waiting for prey.

“You’d better not mistake me for a moose,” she called after him as he set off.

“No chance,” he shot back. “A big gopher, maybe a skunk, but definitely not a moose.”

She laughed. It was easier to forget the potential danger, immersed as they were in the woods, a bit easier to put down the anxiety that had made her rush out here in the first place. The world around them was lush to the point of opulence, and they were once again kids left to roam the garden.