“Oh, I know. You don’t need to tell me.”

Her mother crumpled to the ground as though her legs were just dirt, crumbly anthills holding her up. Her knees splayed, and her hands came together ready to be shackled as though she’d just given up on any future. So did Agnes. In the exact same way. Like a shadow.

“I know I hurt you,” her mother said. “I never wanted to. Ever. In my whole life I never wanted to. But I did anyway. I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t have done it.”

“But I did it.”

“I want you to say you shouldn’t have done it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wouldn’t be true. It was important for me. It may not have been good for us, but it was, I think, good for you. It led us to this point. And now we have a chance.” She shook her head. “I never lied to you, Agnes, and I’m not going to start now.”

“I wish you would.”

Bea blinked. Surprised. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” Agnes said, her voice peaking hysterically, her fists clenched.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” her mother said quickly, trying to give Agnes what she wanted. “I shouldn’t have left you. It was a mistake. I ruined everything.”

Of course her mother had lied to her before—they both knew that—but still, she’d been right about this lie. This lie dropped like a dead animal at Agnes’s feet. It made her feel awful to think it had all been for nothing. Even though she could see in her mother’s face that some part of her wished she’d never left too, it didn’t matter. She had left. And everything, ultimately, had been fine. No one had died. This mother left. This mother came back. This mother loved her. And Agnes didn’t know how to forgive her. Even though the lie felt awful, the truth felt worse. There was nothing that could be done but let time pass.

“I do love you, Mama,” she whispered.

Her mother whimpered. Her face contorting as though all the feelings she’d ever felt were wrenching across it.

She leaned over and clung to Agnes, kissing her face and head, nuzzling her neck like she used to do when Agnes was a child. “Was I wrong? Should I not have brought you here?” Her mother wept now.

“No, Mama, I belong here.”

“That’s what I mean,” she sobbed. “When we leave, how will you live?”

“But I’m not leaving here,” Agnes said.

“You can’t stay.” A growl permeated her sobs.

“I’m not going.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” Her mother’s anger was bubbling.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Agnes’s voice rose, her fists clenched vehemently.

“It’s suicide.”

“Mom, I’m not going with you.”

Her mother’s eyes quivered furiously. “Yes, you are.”

Bea grabbed Agnes’s arm, her hand a claw. Her voice was a haunted scream.

But Agnes seized her mother by the throat and pushed her down. Her mother choked but wouldn’t release Agnes. Agnes drove her fist at her mother’s eye, and her mother’s whole face broke into anguished surprise. Her eye reddened and swelled instantly and she sputtered, but Agnes had to hit her again before her mother let go.

“Oh no,” Bea said, gasping, unable to breathe. Then she opened her mouth wide and shook with mad, breathless laughter.

Agnes released her throat.

Her mother caught her breath, all the while staring at Agnes with shocked and shining eyes. “Oh no,” she said again, and then unleashed a shrill bolt of laughter Agnes had only ever heard from her nana.

Agnes stood up.

“Oh no,” her mother said again, and from underneath the laughter a wail rose. Something low that seemed to rise out of her guts. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

Agnes turned away.

“My baby,” her mother sputtered, snot and tears bursting from her. “Oh, my baby. My baby girl.” She wrung her hands violently. “I hope you get to stay.”

Agnes started to walk deeper into the forest, away from the outcrop. Away from her mother.

“What a wonder you are,” she heard her mother say, not to her, but to the air, the lands below, the sky, the forest, to herself. “See? Look at her,” she said as though confiding in a friend. “Look at that wonder. I was a good mother.”

Was she making one last argument? No. There was something else in her voice. Maybe it was her way of saying goodbye. Or maybe, Agnes thought, it was just now dawning on her that it could be true.

Agnes looked back, furtively. Her mother was doubled over, crouched like an animal, her clawed hand digging at her own heart, watching her. Sobbing. And smiling. More than smiling. Beaming.

Agnes felt both relief and anger. She felt respected, free. And alone alone alone.

Through the trees behind her mother, Agnes could see the broken line of the horizon where the sun was setting. The light of the day was being blotted out as though somewhere shades were being drawn.

Part VII

The Roundup

Agnes spent the night asleep in a tree. From there she watched her mother sit, stunned, then ease herself up and limp downhill to find Bob, until she became lost to the trees. Agnes heard a whir of something. A helicopter or drone throughout the night. A searching light swept over the Caldera slopes. There was no deal for the remaining Community members, she was certain. They either had run too or were bound for the bus. What if they were all there hiding? But the forest was quiet except for the surveillance. The animals who lived there were listening. Trying to figure out what to do next.

In the morning Agnes climbed down to find the others. She made some of their calls, like a chattering squirrel followed by an irritated jay, a coyote yip after a hawk’s complaining eeyEE. Eventually she heard a call back. Over the course of days, weeks maybe, she found the Twins, Val and Baby Egret, Linda and Dolores and Joven, Debra and Pinecone, and Dr. Harold, who had run at the last minute. Then, thankfully, she found Jake.

As a group they drifted deeper into the cinder cone forest, trying to become lost. They knew how to listen. They knew how to hide. They spread out across the forest alone or in pairs rather than walking together, always within calling distance of another person or two. In this way, if they did come upon Rangers, they would not all be captured at once. They did not camp together in case Rangers ambushed them as they slept. But every few days when the tree shadows were their longest, they would congregate just to be together.

Sometimes, when they came back together, someone was missing. At first it was Dr. Harold. They hoped he had decided to venture out on his own, perhaps thinking he had a better chance. When Linda and Dolores disappeared and only Joven followed the calls to return, he was badly shaken and wouldn’t talk for days. But eventually he would tell them it was the Rangers. He had been trees away trying to corner a squirrel. He fit himself into a hollow in a stump and waited there for days before he dared come out of hiding. Over several seasons, their numbers dwindled as they put more and more distance between themselves and the Caldera.

What happened then was people would appear out of nowhere, tentative and afraid. They would come out of hiding. Someone who had been listening, discerning, learning the Community’s call and taking the risk of revealing themselves in exchange for some company, some security. Friend? Friend? Friend? They were Trespassers. They were looking for the Mavericks.

Some were alone, though they usually had not begun that way. Others were a part of a still-intact small group who had paid and bribed and walked their way from the City and sneaked in from the Mines. They had all found little markers in the woods, abandoned campsites, deer hooves and innards left behind after butchering, hatchets stuck in trees. Little clues to the presence of others. Some wore shoddy clothes of deerskin that had been poorly scraped and still held on to bits of flesh and smelled like rot. Others were in new boots, with the new trekking poles, new cookware, and new sleeping bags, the kind the Community had come with in the beginning. One couple they absorbed thought they had been in the Wilderness for over a year. Another group still had watches that worked. They were pretty sure they still knew the date. Men, women, and children. Grandparents, single mothers and fathers who had left behind an ill spouse. Or a spouse who had refused to leave. Or who had not been told about the plan to begin with. They’d all fled the City, they said, because they had no other choice. Now they were splintered and hungry. They said the Rangers pursued them relentlessly. They heard that the Mavericks could live undetected in the Wilderness for years, and had thrived and somehow evaded capture. They wanted the Mavericks to help them disappear too.

Upon finding the Community, these poor souls would ask in hopeful whispers, “Are you the Mavericks?”