Searching for a grainer to hide beneath, because the wide V-spaced compartments have enough space for multiple bodies to wait while the foot traffic passes, watching the hustle of angry men, their feet clomping up and down the row of cars, and then crossing over to the next track. Cinnamon, Anne, and Trot slowly uncrouch and look up and down the line, ready to dodge the yard workers. Staying hidden. Listening to steel toes kicking up rock, the beer-bellied men winded and panting. The ring of cell phones, the static of radios.

One whiskered man in a camouflage ball cap and faded bib overalls looks to another man with thick muttonchop side-whiskers and faded bibs and mutters, “Where the hell’d they go?”

Hunched forward with palms resting on his knees, chest heaving, Muttonchops lifts an arm and points. “Seen ’em over that way.”

“How many, you think?” asks Camo Cap.

In a tone of uncertainty, Muttonchops says, “Four, maybe five—not real certain.”

Kneeling and waiting, watching the two men from a distance, then pulling back, Cinnamon holds up a fist to halt, then an index and middle finger letting everyone know there are two men. Then she points in the direction they need to flee. Watching the two men turn away, half limping, half walking in the opposite direction, Anne feels frightened enough that she might vomit. Maneuvering through the rail yard illegally. The thought of being caught, taken to jail. Sent back home to face what she left behind. All these thoughts are roiling in her gut. Cinnamon waves at her and Trot to follow her. Crossing to the next track. Maneuvering under another grainer car. Smells of diesel and creosote. Staying hidden. Waiting. They listen, hearing only their own gasps as they try to catch their breath, slow the adrenaline.

Cinnamon peeks out. Looks left then right, sees nothing. Not a single shape. “Move,” she tells Anne and Trot. Crouch-walking to another track, sliding beneath another car, their packs snagging and bumping, getting caught on the undercarriage of the cars each time they bend down to maneuver.

Waiting again, this time Cinnamon tells Anne, “Take a peek, real slow. You need to learn the ropes of evading the yard bulls.”