Agnes scrunched down under the skins, and her hand clasped around Bea’s ankle like it did every night. Bea fought the urge to pull it away. Bea tried to fit herself into Glen’s arms, but her blood was revving and she felt tied by them instead of embraced.

Agnes fell immediately into an unworried sleep, her breaths sounding like heavy drapes shuffling against the floor. Of course she had heard, Bea thought. Agnes was always listening. And she was right. She did seem to know everything. And she did seem older, more mature, than she was. Bea had fully lost sight of the baby Agnes had been. Found it hard to believe she’d ever been anything but this complicated person at her feet. She was short but she was solid, as though already fully formed. Much more solid than the other children. Glen always gave her more meat than he gave himself. As if on cue, Glen joined Agnes with his own sleep sounds. Bea stared wide-eyed into the dark night.

*

In the morning, a truck raced toward them, spewing dust. Far behind it the sun glinted against the roof of Middle Post. As the truck pulled to a stop, they saw it was Ranger Gabe. He was the son of someone very high up in the Administration, he had told them once, as though it were a threat. He was not well liked.

Some Rangers enjoyed being outdoors and conversing with the Community. But not Ranger Gabe. He seemed skeptical of them and of the dirt he walked upon. His uniform was always crisp and spotless, and he moved carefully, as though he hated to get it dirty.

He shut off his truck, sat a moment, then leaned long on the horn. The birds previously hidden in bushes dispersed in a cloud. The horn’s bleat echoed back to them from a faraway butte.

The Community, packed and ready to leave, gathered around his truck.

“You’ve got new Manual pages at Lower Post.”

“But we’ve almost reached Middle Post,” Bea explained. “That’s where we were told there were pages.”

“And mail,” Debra said. She’d been very vocal about not having received a letter from her aged mother for a long while. She was unsure what it meant that she’d heard nothing.

“Well,” he drawled, his heel pumping the sideboard, “I don’t know what to tell you. All I know is there’s nothing for you at Middle. Nothing. You’ve got to go to Lower.” He squinted at the horizon like an explorer.

“But Middle Post is right there,” Bea said, pointing to the roof roasting under the sun.

“There’s nothing there for you.”

“But—”

“You’ve got to head to Lower. And you know where I mean, right? Even though it’s Lower, it’s not just lower.”

They looked at him blankly.

He scowled and pulled out a roughly drawn map of all the Post locations. Pointed to where he meant, an X at the very bottom of the map.

Carl growled, “Lower Middle? Why all the way down there?”

“Not Lower Middle. Lower.”

“But it’s right in the middle here”—Carl pointed—“and it’s lower.”

“Look, this one’s called Lower Post. And you’ve got to go there. That’s all that matters.”

“But why?”

“Why?” Ranger Gabe mockingly scratched his head. “Why? Because you left your last camp a total shithole, that’s why.”

“No, we didn’t,” said Bea. They did their micro trash sweeps. They’d found as much micro trash as they found after any time they spent anywhere.

“It looked like you’d been there forever. The vegetation was destroyed. It’ll take years, maybe even a lifetime for it to bounce back. If it bounces back at all.” Spittle had collected in Ranger Gabe’s beard.

Bea saw Carl getting vexed. She smiled ingratiatingly. “I’m so surprised to hear this. I feel like we barely unpacked we were there such a short time.” This was a lie. They’d been there much longer than they should have. Everyone knew it. Ranger Gabe knew it. This was a common dance between the Rangers and the Community. Bea figured they’d been there about half a season—an obscene amount of time to stay in one place—and the only reason they’d begun moving was because she’d wanted some distraction from thinking of Madeline. And people wanted their mail. They were supposed to stop only when they needed to hunt, gather, and then process what they had. They were limited to seven days in one place as stated in the Manual. But they almost never followed this. It was hard to start moving once they’d stopped. To pack everything up in such a way that would be relatively easy to carry for the foreseeable future. That smoker was delicate and tricky, and right after a hunt they were weighed down with meat. A good thing overall, but a lot more weight to drag around.

“Oh, please,” Ranger Gabe said. “Even around here is a mess. How long have you been here?”

“One night.”

He shook his head. “Incredible,” he said. “Well, maybe it’s just not possible to avoid impact when you’re a group this large. I’ve always felt that way. I’ve always said there is no reason for this. For a group to be here. I said they shouldn’t let you in. Have I ever mentioned that?”

“You have,” said Bea.

“Well, I’m not the only one who feels that way.” He spoke through a crooked, satisfied smile.

“If it’s any consolation, we’re about half the size we used to be,” Bea said feigning graciousness, thinking of the dead.

He glared.

She mostly liked the Rangers, even the mean ones. They were fun to banter with which is why she had volunteered to be the Community’s liaison. She found that a small smile easily disarmed them. They were young and always seemed new no matter how long they’d been there. To her they would always be soft-eared cubs. Except Ranger Bob at Middle Post, who was older, gray filling in the temples and his mustache. He was a peer. She would go so far as to call him a friend. A good one, even. But these boys were fun for her.

“Let me also add that you’ve been at that camp too many times,” Ranger Gabe said flatly. He could not let it go. Carl was pacing, panting. He would break soon.

“I thought the rules only covered duration of time,” Bea said coyly.

“No. It’s a whole presence thing. You’re impeding wildlife opportunities by repeatedly returning and overstaying. No animal wants to call this home while you’re stomping around.”

“It’s not about presence,” Carl exploded, and rummaged furiously for the Manual to prove his point.

The Ranger smiled and Bea sighed. She felt she’d been winning their unspecified game, but now Carl had ruined it.

Ranger Gabe laid a heavy hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Don’t bother, sir. I saw all I needed to see. What matters is impact. And yours is severe. I’ve already catalogued it extensively in my report and I will send it up the chain, stamped URGENT. Infractions like this can get you kicked out.” His eyes were as stern as his unwavering voice. There was no generosity here. “What you need to do is start walking in the direction of Lower Post.” He pointed somewhere in the distance, in a direction they’d never been. “As ordered.”

They’d been rerouted before, twice to be exact. Once due to a controlled burn (if it had been a natural fire, the Ranger made sure to point out, they would not have been rerouted, as per the Manual). Another time it was due to a septic tank overflow at Upper Post. They were moved to the next most convenient Post to tend to business. But this felt unnecessary, a task meant to endanger them. They looked at the map. Lower Post was farther away than anywhere they’d ever been. It was meant as punishment. An invitation to a forced march.

Glen eased Carl back, away from Ranger Gabe’s hand and out of reach in case Carl decided to throw a punch.

“You know,” Glen said, “we thought we’d done a good job with micro trash and re-wilding, but we will be certain to give it more attention next time.”

“If there’s a next time,” the Ranger snapped. Then he slumped slightly. He knew the encounter was wrapping up and seemed regretful. Perhaps Bea had misjudged. Having the Community here might give the Rangers something to do.

“Well, duly noted,” Glen said. “Now, it’s Lower Post, you say?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. We’ll repack today—you have to pack right for a trek like that—but then we’ll head there first thing.”

The Community sighed.

Glen smiled. “Gang, I personally cannot wait. Who knows what wonders we’ll see?”

Only Agnes cheered.

“That’s my girl,” Glen said, beaming at her gratefully.

Agnes beamed back.

Ranger Gabe got back into his truck and drove, squinting at them in his rearview. Glen smiled and smiled until the truck crested a mellow hill and disappeared. Then Glen’s face slackened. He massaged his cheeks.

“Well,” said Debra, hoisting her pack, “I’m not turning around. Not when we’re this close to Middle Post.” She took a few steps toward the glinting roof.

Glen put his hand up. “Wait.”

“Don’t tell me we have to discuss this,” said Juan.

“Of course we have to discuss it. We need consensus,” said Glen.

Everyone groaned.

“We’re barely a mile away,” said Debra, her feet dancing toward Post.

“Well, some of us don’t like to go to Post and would prefer to avoid it whenever possible,” said Val. She was only saying that to please Carl, who hated having to go to Post.

“But our mail,” cried Debra.