“I lied,” Agnes said, touching Fern’s cheek. “I promise I’ll never do it again.”

Each of the adults got some kind of provision, pelt, water, something to help them out on their own, but no one had everything they would need. They secured what they had to their bodies to make it easy to run.

Agnes looked at Jake, standing there with his hand on the shoulder of Egg. Agnes thought about how once she had believed children could live on their own in the Wilderness at this age with the right exposure. She thought about how Egg still cried every night. But then she looked at Fern, who had spent most of her life here. Could she? If she had to? It doesn’t matter, Agnes thought, because I would never leave her. That is what Jake had understood in that conversation, but she hadn’t. She smiled at Jake.

“I’ll find you,” said Agnes.

The other adults were sprinting away with the children.

Jake nodded, pulled her to him. They were life mates. They had chosen each other. Jake kissed the top of her head. They heard a snap from the direction they had come. Big. Maybe it was a bear. Maybe it was a cougar. If only. She felt them both startle as though they had been lost in a reverie there, holding each other. As though days might have passed. But once they heard the noise, they each grabbed their child’s hand and ran apart without saying another word.

? ? ?

When the leaves had turned yellow in the small craggy mountains of what they’d discovered was a coastal range, Agnes and Fern crossed paths with two women claiming to be Mavericks who gave them food and water and entertained them through a fireless, starless evening. They were gossips and had news about many of the Rangers Agnes had known long ago, about this new strange place near the Wilderness State border where buildings were one or two stories tall and were surrounded by green grass and flowers. They gossiped about new people in the Administration, people Agnes had never heard about. People who may not even have existed. But it didn’t matter what they said. Agnes hadn’t seen anyone besides Fern since the snows last ended. It was fun to hear new stories again.

“How on earth do you know all this?” Agnes asked.

“We talk to everyone,” the woman with green eyes said.

“But there’s no one here!” Agnes said, chuckling carefully. Fern’s head was in her lap, the sleeping girl’s breathing sounding like wind in the trees.

The women gaped at each other. “No one here? My dear, everyone who is anyone is here. But they will never tell you who they are.”

“We’ve run across two former presidents here!”

“And that famous actor. What’s his name? The one in the action films. But he was a mess. I can’t imagine he survived.” They clicked their tongues.

“Oh, and just the other day we met a remarkable woman. She had lived here for many, many years. She had raised her family here. She had been a great leader of one of the original communities,” she said. “She told us such stories about her exploits, and we realized we had heard her story before. The story was the Ballad of Beatrice. The woman was Beatrice herself.”

Agnes managed to choke, “No, it wasn’t.”

“It was her,” the woman cried. “She knew all the things Beatrice would know.” The women rattled off facts about her mother that anyone could have known, but Agnes still felt her heart galloping.

“Where did you see her?” Agnes snapped, and the women startled at the tone. They looked at each other and had a silent but lengthy conversation.

“It’s late, dear,” the green-eyed woman said.

“We are going to sleep now,” the other woman said, eyeing Agnes warily.

“No, please, where did you see her?” Agnes insisted.

“Well, it wasn’t that long ago,” she said through a fake yawn. “So perhaps she’s still very near.”

And even though Agnes knew it was impossible, she pictured her mother crouching in a tree above her, ready to pounce and carry her away. Agnes felt her cheeks become wet and knew she would go with her mother this time.

*

In the bottom of her bag she found the small notebook like the one her mother had always carried with her, the small pencil stuck in the wires. She wrote a note, half in pictographs and half in alphabet letters, because although her mother had taught her how to write, she never had had a reason to learn it well. She rolled the note and left it in the knot of the tree they camped near. She wanted her mother to be able to find her. Just in case she was looking. Agnes left notes in trees all through the mellow mountains she and Fern wandered. She sharpened her miniature pencil on rocks. She wrote notes to her mother until the paper in the small notebook ran out. And then she left things she thought her mother would know were put there by her. Leaves, acorns, pine needles tied in a bow.

She wanted her mother to find her.

But she was found by Ranger Bob instead.

One bright morning in the headlands, after a foggy wind-filled night, Agnes awoke under a shadow where no shadow should be.

“Rise and shine, Agnes.”

She squinted open an eye and saw Ranger Bob looming over her. His mustachioed frown was sympathetic.

She heard horse hooves prancing in the grass, announcing the presence of more Rangers. She felt next to her for Fern, but she was not there. Agnes sprang to her feet.

“Don’t run,” Ranger Bob warned. He wore a new uniform. This one was scarlet, with badges down the arms. A thick vest covering his chest shone under the sun in an unnatural way like plastic. He had two guns, one on each hip, and his hand was ready on one. It glinted in the sun, along with his wedding band. He had a different hat and different badges from the other Rangers, who held back, alert, waiting for his instructions. “I’m afraid playtime is over,” he said.

“Are you in charge now?”

“I’ve been in charge for some time,” he said. Ranger Bob straightened almost imperceptibly. But Agnes noticed his pride. “I’d like this to go smoothly,” he said. “I was always fond of you.”

Agnes heard a rustle in the bushes behind her.

Fern came bounding out from the bushes, yelling, “Agnes, Agnes, it’s the Place! I think it’s the Place!”

The Rangers drew their guns.

“No,” Agnes yelled, throwing her hands up.

Fern halted, her eyes large and wet like ponds. She had a rabbit by the ears, and it kicked its scrappy legs at the air. Ranger Bob whistled through his teeth and waved his arm down. The Rangers lowered their guns.

“Who’s this?” Ranger Bob asked, softening his voice so as not to startle her.

Agnes waved Fern toward her and put her arm around her.

“This is my daughter.”

Ranger Bob smiled. “Well, that’s nice.”

Agnes hugged Fern tighter.

Ranger Bob took his hand off his gun and brought out plastic circles that had hung on his belt. He put them around Agnes’s wrists and closed them. “I think you’re the last of the Community.”

“I doubt that,” said Agnes.

“No, I’m pretty sure we got everyone. They were easy once you split up.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. You probably should have stayed together.”

“Why?”

“Because without you leading them, they were easy pickings.” He took Agnes gently by the elbow. “I’m not going to cuff your daughter. I don’t want to scare her. But I trust you’ll make sure she behaves.” He smiled at her just like Ranger Bob had always smiled at her. Then he yanked them forward.

Ranger Bob walked a pace ahead, pulling them along like wild horses by a new hard bridle. Agnes’s grip on Fern’s hand was desperate and white-hot. Had she failed? Was there more that she could have done? What if she had told everyone to go with her mother? To the Private Lands? Would they be safe? Would they be together?

She stopped. “Where is my mother?”

“I don’t know where your mother is.”

“The last time I saw her, she said she was meeting you. She said you promised to take her to the Private Lands. Did you?”

Ranger Bob’s mustache twitched and his face darkened. “Sweetheart, there are no Private Lands.”

“But the deal you made. And she said you two had a plan. She said you said you’d take us,” Agnes said. “Didn’t you say you’d take us?”

He slowed and his shoulders tensed. “People say a lot of things. It doesn’t mean they will happen. Your mother and I . . .” He paused. “We said a lot of things to each other.” He looked as though he might say more, but he didn’t.

Agnes finally formed a clear idea of what they’d said to each other and why. Her mother had said what she had needed to say so that he would help her, help her daughter, help her family. And Ranger Bob had said anything he felt like saying because he could.

Her hackles rose.

Epilogue

Officially, the Roundup lasted three months, but a small group of the Wilderness refugees evaded capture and lived on in hiding for three more years. The Rangers did not publicize this. They kept searching and were not kind when all were found. But that’s another story.