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we could breathe。 Our hands kept clutching the air； looking for the water。
We definitely heard a sigh this time。
Something pressed to our cracked lips； and the water flowed again。 We guzzled； careful not to inhale it
this time。 Not that we cared if we choked； but we did not want the water taken away again。
We drank until our belly stretched and ached。 The water trickled to a stop； and we cried out hoarsely in
protest。 Another rim was pressed to our lips； and we gulped frantically until it was empty； too。
Our stomach would explode with another mouthful； yet we blinked and tried to focus； to see if we could
find more。 It was too dark； we could not see a single star。 And then we blinked again and realized that
the darkness was much closer than the sky。 A figure hovered over us； blacker than the night。
There was a low sound of fabric rubbing against itself and sand shifting under a heel。 The figure leaned
away； and we heard a sharp rip—the sound of a zipper； deafening in the absolute stillness of the night。
Like a blade； light cut into our eyes。 We moaned at the pain of it； and our hand flew up to cover our
closed eyes。 Even behind our lids； the light was too bright。 The light disappeared； and we felt the breath
of the next sigh hit our face。
We opened our eyes carefully； more blind than before。 Whoever faced us sat very still and said nothing。
We began to feel the tension of the moment； but it felt far away； outside ourself。 It was hard to care
about anything but the water in our belly and where we could find more。 We tried to concentrate； to see
what had rescued us。
The first thing we could make out； after minutes of blinking and squinting； was the thick whiteness that
fell from the dark face； a million splinters of pale in the night。 When we grasped that this was a
beard—like Santa Claus； we thought chaotically—the other pieces of the face were supplied by our
memory。 Everything fit into place： the big cleft…tipped nose； the wide cheekbones； the thick white brows；
the eyes set deep into the wrinkled fabric of skin。 Though we could see only hints of each feature； we
knew how light would expose them。
“Uncle Jeb；” we croaked in surprise。 “You found us。”
“Well； now；” he said； and his gruff voice brought back a hundred memories。 “Well； now； here’s a
pickle。”
CHAPTER 13
Sentenced
Are they here？” We choked out the words—they burst from us like the water in our lungs had； expelled。
After water； this question was all that mattered。 “Did they make it？”
Uncle Jeb’s face was impossible to read in the darkness。 “Who？” he asked。
“Jamie； Jared！” Our whisper burned like a shout。 “Jared was with Jamie。 Our brother！ Are they here？
Did they e？ Did you find them； too？”
There was barely a pause。
“No。” His answer was forceful； and there was no pity in it； no feeling at all。
“No；” we whispered。 We were not echoing him； we were protesting against getting our life back。 What
was the point？ We closed our eyes again and listened to the pain in our body。 We let that drown out the
pain in our mind。
“Look；” Uncle Jeb said after a moment。 “I； uh； have something to take care of。 You rest for a bit； and
I’ll be back for you。”
We didn’t hear the meaning in his words； just the sounds。 Our eyes stayed closed。 His footsteps
crunched quietly away from us。 We couldn’t tell which direction he went。 We didn’t care anyway。
They were gone。 There was no way to find them； no hope。 Jared and Jamie had disappeared； something
they knew well how to do； and we would never see them again。
The water and the cooler night air were making us lucid； something we did not want。 We rolled over； to
bury our face against the sand again。 We were so tired； past the point of exhaustion and into some
deeper； more painful state。 Surely we could sleep。 All we had to do was not think。 We could do that。
We did。
When we woke； it was still night； but dawn was threatening on the eastern horizon—the mountains were
lined with dull red。 Our mouth tasted of dust； and at first we were sure that we had dreamed Uncle Jeb’s
appearance。 Of course we had。
Our head was clearer this morning； and we noticed quickly the strange shape near our right
cheek—something that was not a rock or a cactus。 We touched it； and it was hard and smooth。 We
nudged it； and the delicious sound of sloshing water came from inside。
Uncle Jeb was real； and he’d left us a canteen。
Our fingers were stiff and clumsy as we twisted the cap from the top of the canteen。 It wasn’t all the way
full； but there was enough water to stretch the walls of our belly again—it must have shrunk。 We drank it
all； we were done with rationing。
We dropped the metal canteen to the sand； where it made a dull thud in the predawn silence。 We felt
wide awake now。 We sighed； preferring unconsciousness； and let our head fall into our hands。 What
now？
“Why did you give it water； Jeb？” an angry voice demanded； close behind our back。
We whirled； twisting onto our knees。 What we saw made our heart falter and our awareness splinter
apart。
There were eight humans half…circled around where I knelt under the tree。 There was no question they
were humans； all of them。 I’d never seen faces contorted into such expressions—not on my kind。 These
lips twisted with hatred； pulled back over clenched teeth like wild animals。 These brows pulled low over
eyes that burned with fury。
Six men and two women； some of them very big； most of them bigger than me。 I felt the blood drain
from my face as I realized why they held their hands so oddly—gripped tightly in front of them； each
balancing an object。 They held weapons。 Some held blades—a few short ones like those I had kept in
my kitchen； and some longer； one huge and menacing。 This knife had no purpose in a kitchen。 Melanie
supplied the name： amachete。
Others held long bars； some metal； some wooden。 Clubs。
I recognized Uncle Jeb in their midst。 Held loosely in his hands was an object I’d never seen in person；
only in Melanie’s memories； like the big knife。 It was a rifle。
I saw horror； but Melanie saw all this with wonder； her mind boggling at their numbers。 Eight human
survivors。 She’d thought Jeb was alone or； in the best case scenario； with only two others。 To see so
many of her kind alive filled her with joy。
You’re an idiot；I told her。Look at them。 See them。
I forced her to see it from my perspective： to see the threatening shapes inside the dirty jeans and light
cotton shirts； brown with dust。 They might have been human—as she thought of the word—once； but at
this moment they were something else。 They were barbarians； monsters。 They hung over us； slavering for
blood。
There was a death sentence in every pair of eyes。
Melanie saw all this and； though grudgingly； she had to admit that I was right。 At this moment； her
beloved humans were at their worst—like the newspaper stories we’d seen in the abandoned shack。 We
were looking at killers。
We should have been wiser； we should have died yesterday。
A shiver pa