Embrace diversity. Unite—

Or be divided, robbed,

ruled, killed

By those who see you as prey. Embrace diversity

Or be destroyed.

EARTHSEED: THE BOOKS OF THE LIVING TUESDAY, AUGUST 3, 2027

(from notes expanded AUGUST 8)

THERE’S A BIG FIRE in the hills to the east of us. We saw it begin as a thin, dark column of smoke, rising into an otherwise clear sky. Now it’s massive—a hillside or two? Several buildings? Many houses? Our neighborhood again?

We kept looking at it, then looking away. Other people dying, losing their families, their homes… Even when we had walked past it, we looked back.

Had the people with painted faces done this, too? Zahra was crying as she walked along, cursing in a voice so soft that I could hear only a few of the bitter words.

Earlier today we left the 118 freeway to look for and finally connect with the 23. Now we’re on the 23 with charred overgrown wilderness on one side and neighborhoods on the other. We can’t see the fire itself now. We’ve passed it, come a long way from it, put hills between it and us as we head southward toward the coast. But we can still see the smoke. We didn’t stop for the night until it was almost dark and we were all tired and hungry.

We’ve camped away from the freeway on the wilderness side of it, out of sight, but not out of hearing of the shuffling hoards of people on the move. I

think that’s a sound we’ll hear for the whole of our journey whether we stop in Northern California or go through to Canada. So many people hoping for so much up where it still rains every year, and an uneducated person might still get a job that pays in money instead of beans, water, potatoes, and maybe a floor to sleep on.

But it’s the fire that holds our attention. Maybe it was started by accident. Maybe not. But still, people are losing what they may not be able to replace. Even if they survive, insurance isn’t worth much these days.

People on the highway, shadowy in the darkness, had begun to reverse the flow, to drift northward to find a way to the fire. Best to be early for the scavenging.

“Should we go?” Zahra asked, her mouth full of dried meat. We built no fire tonight. Best for us to vanish into the darkness and avoid guests. We had put a tangle of trees and bushes at our backs and hoped for the best.

“You mean go back and rob those people?” Harry demanded. “Scavenge,” she said. “Take what people don’t need no more. If you’re

dead, you don’t need much.”

“We should stay here and rest,” I said. “We’re tired, and it will be a long time before things are cool enough over there to allow scavenging. It’s a long way off, anyway.”

Zahra sighed. “Yeah.”

“We don’t have to do things like that, anyway,” Harry said. Zahra shrugged. “Every little bit helps.”

“You were crying about that fire a while ago.”

“Uh-uh,” Zahra drew her knees up against her body. “I wasn’t crying about that fire. I was crying about our fire and my Bibi and thinking about how much I hate people who set fires like that. I wish they would burn. I wish I could burn them. I wish I could just take them and throw them in the fire… like they did my Bibi.” And she began to cry again, and he held her, apologizing and, I think, shedding a few tears himself.

Grief hit like that. Something would remind us of the past, of home, of a person, and then we would remember that it was all gone. The person was dead or probably dead. Everything we’d known and treasured was gone. Everything except the three of us. And how well were we doing?

“I think we should move,” Harry said sometime later. He was still sitting with Zahra, one arm around her, and she seemed to welcome the contact.

“Why?” she asked.

“I want to be higher, closer to the level of the freeway or above it. I want to be able to see the fire if it jumps the freeway and spreads toward us. I want to see it before it gets too close. Fire moves fast.”

I groaned. “You’re right,” I said, “but moving now that it’s dark is risky.

We could lose this place and find nothing better.”

“Wait here,” he said, and got up and walked away into the darkness. I had the gun, so I hoped he kept his knife handy—and I hoped he wouldn’t need it. He was still raw about what had happened the night before. He had killed a man. That bothered him. I had killed a man in a much more cold-blooded way, according to him, and it didn’t bother me. But my “cold-bloodedness” bothered him. He wasn’t a sharer. He didn’t understand that to me pain was the evil. Death was an end to pain. No Bible verses were going to change that as far as I was concerned. He didn’t understand sharing. Why should he? Most people knew little or nothing about it.

On the other hand, my Earthseed verses had surprised him, and, I think, pleased him a little. I wasn’t sure whether he liked the writing or the reasoning, but he liked having something to read and talk about.

“Poetry?” he said this morning as he looked through the pages I showed him—pages of my Earthseed notebook, as it happened. “I never knew you cared about poetry.”

“A lot of it isn’t very poetical,” I said. “But it’s what I believe, and I’ve written it as well as I could.” I showed him four verses in all—gentle, brief verses that might take hold of him without his realizing it and live in his memory without his intending that they should. Bits of the Bible had done that to me, staying with me even after I stopped believing.

I gave to Harry, and through him to Zahra, thoughts I wanted them to keep. But I couldn’t prevent Harry from keeping other things as well: His new distrust of me, for instance, almost his new dislike. I was not quite Lauren Olamina to him any longer. I had seen that in his expression off and on all day. Odd. Joanne hadn’t liked her glimpse of the real me either. On the other hand, Zahra didn’t seem to mind. But then, she hadn’t known me very well at home. What she learned now, she could accept without feeling lied to. Harry did feel lied to, and perhaps he wondered what lies I was still telling or living. Only time could heal that—if he let it.

We moved when he came back. He had found us a new campsite, near the freeway and yet private. One of the huge freeway signs had fallen or been knocked down, and now lay on the ground, propped up by a pair of dead sycamore trees. With the trees, it formed a massive lean-to. The rock and ash leavings of a campfire showed us that the place had been used before. Perhaps there had been people here tonight, but they had gone away to see what they could scavenge from the fire. Now we’re here, happy to get a little privacy, a view of the hills back where the fire is, and the security, for what it was worth, of at least one wall.

“Good deal!” Zahra said, unrolling her sleepsack and settling down on top of it. “I’ll take the first watch tonight, okay?”

It was okay with me. I gave her the gun and lay down, eager for sleep. Again I was amazed to find so much comfort in sleeping on the ground in my clothes. There’s no narcotic like exhaustion.

Sometime in the night I woke up to soft, small sounds of voices and breathing. Zahra and Harry were making love. I turned my head and saw them at it, though they were too much involved with each other to notice me.

And, of course, no one was on watch.

I got caught up in their lovemaking, and had all I could do to lie still and keep quiet. I couldn’t escape their sensation. I couldn’t keep an efficient watch. I could either writhe with them or hold myself rigid. I held rigid until they finished—until Harry kissed Zahra, then got up to put his pants on and began his watch.

And I lay awake afterward, angry and worried. How in hell could I talk to either of them about this? It would be none of my business except for the time they chose for doing it. But look when that was! We could all have been killed.

Still sitting up, Harry began to snore.

I listened for a couple of minutes, then sat up, reached over Zahra, and shook him.

He jumped awake, stared around, then turned toward me. I couldn’t see more than a moving silhouette.

“Give me the gun and go back to sleep,” I said. He just sat there.

“Harry, you’ll get us killed. Give me the gun and the watch and lie down.

I’ll wake you later.”

He looked at the watch.

“Sorry,” he said. “Guess I was more tired than I thought.” His voice grew less sleep-fogged. “I’m all right. I’m awake. Go back to sleep.”

His pride had kicked in. It would be almost impossible to get the gun and the watch from him now.

I lay down. “Remember last night,” I said. “If you care about her at all, if you want her to live, remember last night.”

He didn’t answer. I hoped I had surprised him. I supposed I had also embarrassed him. And maybe I had made him feel angry and defensive. Whatever I’d done, I didn’t hear him doing any more snoring.

Wednesday, August 4, 2027

Today we stopped at a commercial water station and filled ourselves and all our containers with clean, safe water. Commercial stations are best for that. Anything you buy from a water peddler on the freeway ought to be boiled, and still might not be safe. Boiling kills disease organisms, but may do nothing to get rid of chemical residue—fuel, pesticide, herbicide, whatever else has been in the bottles that peddlers use. The fact that most peddlers can’t read makes the situation worse. They sometimes poison themselves.

Commercial stations let you draw whatever you pay for—and not a drop more—right out of one of their taps. You drink whatever the local householders are drinking. It might taste, smell, or look bad, but you can depend on it not to kill you.

There aren’t enough water stations. That’s why water peddlers exist. Also, water stations are dangerous places. People going in have money. People coming out have water, which is as good as money. Beggars and thieves hang around such places—keeping the whores and drug dealers company. Dad warned us all about water stations, trying to prepare us in case we ever went out and got caught far enough from home to be tempted to stop for water. His advice: “Don’t do it. Suffer. Get your rear end home.”

Yeah.

Three is the smallest comfortable number at a water station. Two to watch and one to fill up. And it’s good to have three ready for trouble on the way to and from the station. Three would not stop determined thugs, but it would stop opportunists—and most predators are opportunists. They prey on old people, lone women or women with young kids, handicapped people… They don’t want to get hurt. My father used to call them coyotes. When he was being polite, he called them coyotes.

We were coming away with our water when we saw a pair of two-legged coyotes grab a bottle of water from a woman who was carrying a sizable pack and a baby. The man with her grabbed the coyote who had taken the water, the coyote passed the water to his partner, and his partner ran straight into us.

I tripped him. I think it was the baby who attracted my attention, my sympathy. The tough plastic bubble that held the water didn’t break. The coyote didn’t break either. I set my teeth, sharing the jolt as he fell and the pain of his scraped forearms. Back home, the younger kids hit me with that kind of thing every day.

I stepped back from the coyote and put my hand on the gun. Harry stepped up beside me. I was glad to have him there. We looked more intimidating together.

The husband of the woman had thrown off his attacker, and the two coyotes, finding themselves outnumbered, scampered away. Skinny, scared

little bastards out to do their daily stealing.

I picked up the plastic bubble of water and handed it to the man. He took it and said, “Thanks man. Thanks a lot.”

I nodded and we went on our way. It still felt strange to be called “man.” I didn’t like it, but that didn’t matter.

“All of a sudden you’re a Good Samaritan,” Harry said. But he didn’t mind. There was no disapproval in his voice.

“It was the baby, wasn’t it?” Zahra asked.

“Yes,” I admitted. “The family, really. All of them together.” All of them together. They had been a black man, a Hispanic-looking woman, and a baby who managed to look a little like both of them. In a few more years, a lot of the families back in the neighborhood would have looked like that. Hell, Harry and Zahra were working on starting a family like that. And as Zahra had once observed, mixed couples catch hell out here.

Yet there were Harry and Zahra, walking so close together that they couldn’t help now and then brushing against each other. But they kept alert, looked around. We were on U.S. 101 now, and there were even more walkers. Even clumsy thieves would have no trouble losing themselves in this crowd.

But Zahra and I had had a talk this morning during her reading lesson. We were supposed to be working on the sounds of letters and the spelling of simple words. But when Harry went off to the bushes of our designated toilet area, I stopped the lesson.

“Remember what you said to me a couple of days ago?” I asked her. “My mind was wandering and you warned me. ‘People get killed on freeways all the time,’ you said.”

To my surprise, she saw where I was headed at once. “Damn you,” she said, looking up from the paper I had given her. “You don’t sleep sound enough, that’s all.” She smiled as she said it.

“You want privacy, I’ll give it to you,” I said. “Just let me know, and I’ll guard the camp from someplace a short distance away. You two can do what you want. But no more of this shit when you’re on watch!”

She looked surprised. “Didn’t think you said words like that.” “And I didn’t think you did things like last night. Dumb!”

“I know. Fun, though. He’s a big strong boy.” She paused. “You jealous?” “Zahra!”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Things took me by surprise last night. I… I needed something, someone. It won’t be like that no more.”

“Okay.”

“You jealous?” she repeated.

I made myself smile. “I’m as human as you are,” I said. “But I don’t think

I would have yielded to temptation out here with no prospects, no idea what’s going to happen. The thought of getting pregnant would have stopped me cold.”

“People have babies out here all the time.” She grinned at me. “What about you and that boyfriend of yours.”

“We were careful. We used condoms.”

Zahra shrugged. “Well Harry and me didn’t. If it happens, it happens.”

It had apparently happened to the couple whose water we had saved. Now they had a baby to lug north.

They stayed near us today, that couple. I saw them every now and then. Tall, stocky, velvet-skinned, deep-black man carrying a huge pack; short, pretty, stocky, light-brown woman with baby and pack; medium brown baby a few months old—huge-eyed baby with curly black hair.

They rested when we rested. They’re camped now not far behind us. They look more like potential allies than potential dangers, but I’ll keep an eye on them.

Thursday, August 5, 2027

Late today we came within sight of the ocean. None of us have ever seen it before, and we had to go closer, look at it, camp within sight and sound and smell of it. Once we had decided to do that, we walked shoeless in the waves, pants legs rolled up. Sometimes we just stood and stared at it: the Pacific Ocean—the largest, deepest body of water on earth, almost half-a-world of water. Yet, as it was, we couldn’t drink any of it.

Harry stripped down to his underwear and waded out until the cool water reached his chest. He can’t swim, of course. None of us can swim. We’ve never before seen water enough to swim in. Zahra and I watched Harry with a lot of concern. Neither of us felt free to follow him. I’m supposed to be a man and Zahra attracts enough of the wrong kind of attention with all her clothes on. We decided to wait until after sundown and go in fully clothed, just to wash away some of the grime and stink. Then we could change clothes. We both had soap and we were eager to make use of it.

There were other people on the beach. In fact, the narrow strip of sand was crowded with people, though they managed to stay out of each other’s way. They had spread themselves out and seemed far more tolerant of one another than they had during our night in the hills. I didn’t hear any shooting or fighting. There were no dogs, no obvious thefts, no rape. Perhaps the sea and the cool breeze lulled them. Harry wasn’t the only one to strip down and go into the water. Quite a few women had gone out, wearing almost nothing.

Maybe this was a safer place than any we’d seen so far.

Some people had tents, and several had built fires. We settled in against the remnants of a small building. We were always, it seemed, looking for walls to shield us. Was it better to have them and perhaps get trapped against them or to camp in the open and be vulnerable on every side? We didn’t know. It just felt better to have at least one wall.

I salvaged a flat piece of wood from the building, went a few yards closer to the ocean, and began to dig into the sand. I dug until I found dampness. Then I waited.

“What’s supposed to happen?” Zahra asked. Until now she had watched me without saying anything.

“Drinkable water,” I told her. “According to a couple of books I read, water is supposed to seep up through the sand with most of the salt filtered out of it.”

She looked into the damp hole. “When?” she asked.

I dug a little more. “Give it time,” I said. “If the trick works, we ought to know about it. It might save our lives someday.”

“Or poison us or give us a disease,” she said. She looked up to see Harry coming toward us, dripping wet. Even his hair was wet.

“He don’t look bad naked,” she said.

He was still wearing his underwear, of course, but I could see what she meant. He had a nice, strong-looking body, and I don’t think he minded our looking at it. And he looked clean and he didn’t stink.

I couldn’t wait to get into the water.

“Go ahead,” he said. “It’s sundown. I’ll watch our stuff. Go.”

We got our soap out, gave him the gun, took off shoes and socks, and went. It was wonderful. The water was cold and it was hard to stand up in the waves and the sand kept being drawn away from our feet, even drawn from under our feet. But we threw water on each other and washed everything— clothing, bodies, and hair—let the waves knock us around, and laughed like crazy people. Best time I’ve had since we left home.

Quite a lot of water had seeped into the hole I dug by the time we got back to Harry. I tasted it—took a little up in my hand while Harry criticized me.

“Look at all the people in this damned place!” he said. “Do you see any bathrooms? What do you think they do out here. You ought to at least have the sense to use a water purification tablet!”

That thought was enough to make me spit out the mouthful of water that I had taken. He was right, of course. But that one mouthful had told me what I wanted to know. The water had been a little brackish, but not bad—drinkable. It should be boiled or a water purification tablet should be added to it, as

Harry had said, and before that, according to my book, it could be strained through sand to get rid of more of the salt. That meant if we stayed near the coast, we could survive even if we ran short of water. That was good to know. We still had our shadows. The couple with the baby had camped near us, and the woman was now sitting on the sand nursing her baby while the man

knelt beside his pack, rummaging through it.

“Do you think they want to wash?” I asked Harry and Zahra. “What are you going to do?” Zahra responded. “Offer to babysit?”

I shook my head. “No, I think that would be too much. Do either of you mind if I invite them over?”

“Aren’t you afraid they’ll rob us?” Harry demanded. “You’re afraid of everyone else.”

“They have better gear than we do,” I said. “And they have no natural allies around here except us. Mixed couples or groups are rare out here. No doubt that’s why they’ve kept close to us.”

“And you helped them,” Zahra said. “People don’t help strangers too much out here. And you gave them back their water. That means you have enough so you don’t have to rob them.”

“So do you mind?” I asked again. They looked at each other.

“I don’t mind,” Zahra said. “Long as we keep an eye on them.” “Why do you want them?” Harry asked, watching me.

“They need us more than we need them,” I said. “That’s not a reason.”

“They’re potential allies.” “We don’t need allies.”

“Not now. But we’d be damned fools to wait and try to get them when we do need them. By then, they might not be around.”

He shrugged and sighed. “All right. Like Zahra says, as long as we watch them.”

I got up and went over to the couple. I could see them straighten and go tense as I approached. I was careful not to go too close or move too fast.

“Hello,” I said. “If you two would like to take turns bathing, you can come over and join us. That might be safer for the baby.”

“Join you?” the man said. “You’re asking us to join you?” “Inviting you.”

“Why?”

“Why not. We’re natural allies—the mixed couple and the mixed group.” “Allies?” the man said, and he laughed.

I looked at him, wondering why he laughed.

“What the hell do you really want?” he demanded.

I sighed. “Come join us if you want to. You’re welcome, and in a pinch, five is better than two.” I turned and left them. Let them talk it over and decide.

“They coming?” Zahra asked when I got back.

“I think so,” I said. “Although maybe not tonight.”

Friday, August 6, 2027

We built a fire and had a hot meal last night, but the mixed family did not join us. I didn’t blame them. People stay alive out here by being suspicious. But they didn’t go away either. And it was no accident that they had chosen to stay near us. It was a good thing for them that they were near us. The peaceful beach scene changed late last night. Dogs came onto the sand.

They came during my watch. I saw movement far down the beach and I focused on it. Then there was shouting, screams. I thought it was a fight or a robbery. I didn’t see the dogs until they broke away from a group of humans and ran inland. One of them was carrying something, but I couldn’t tell what it was. I watched them until they vanished inland. People chased them for a short distance, but the dogs were too fast. Someone’s property was lost— someone’s food, no doubt.

I was on edge after that. I got up, moved to the inland end of our wall, sat there where I could see more of the beach. I was there, sitting still with the gun in my lap when I spotted movement perhaps a long city block up the beach. Dark forms against pale sand. More dogs. Three of them. They nosed around the sand for a moment, then headed our way. I sat as still as I could, watching. So many people slept without posting watches. The three dogs wandered among the camps, investigating what they pleased, and no one tried to drive them away. On the other hand, peoples oranges, potatoes, and grain meal couldn’t be very tempting to a dog. Our small supply of dried meat might be another matter. But no dog would get it.

But the dogs stopped at the camp of the mixed couple. I remembered the

baby and jumped up. At the same moment, the baby began to cry. I shoved Zahra with my foot and she came awake all at once. She could do that.

“Dogs,” I said. “Wake Harry.” Then I headed for the mixed couple. The woman was screaming and beating at a dog with her hands. A second dog was dodging the man’s kicks and going for the baby. Only the third dog was clear of the family.

I stopped, slipped the safety, and as the third dog went in toward the baby, I shot it.

The dog dropped without a sound. I dropped, too, gasping, feeling kicked in the chest. It surprised me how hard the loose sand was to fall on.

At the crack of the shot, the other two dogs took off inland. From my prone position, I sighted on them as they ran. I might have been able to pick off one more of them, but I let them go. I hurt enough already. I couldn’t catch my breath, it seemed. As I gasped, though, it occurred to me that prone was a good shooting position for me. Sharing would be less able to incapacitate me at once if I shot two-handed and prone. I filed the knowledge away for future use. Also, it was interesting that the dogs had been frightened by my shot. Was it the sound that scared them or the fact that one of them had been hit? I wish I knew more about them. I’ve read books about them being intelligent, loyal pets, but that’s all in the past. Dogs now are wild animals who will eat a baby if they can.

I felt that the dog I had shot was dead. It wasn’t moving. But by now a lot

of people were awake and moving around. A living dog, even wounded, would be frantic to get away.

The pain in my chest began to ebb. When I could breathe without gasping, I stood up and walked back to our camp. There was so much confusion by then that no one noticed me except Harry and Zahra.

Harry came out to meet me. He took the gun from my hand, then took my arm and steered me back to my sleepsack.

“So you hit something,” he said as I sat gasping again from the small exertion.

I nodded. “Killed a dog. I’ll be okay soon.” “You need a keeper,” he said.

“Dogs were after the baby!”

“You’ve adopted those damned people.”

I smiled in spite of myself, liking him, thinking that I’d pretty much adopted him and Zahra, too. “What’s wrong with that?” I asked.

He sighed. “Get in your bag and go to sleep, will you. I’ll take the next watch.”

“Some people just came and carried off the dog you killed,” Zahra said. “We should have got it.”

“I’m not ready to eat a dog yet,” Harry told her. “Go to sleep.”

The names of the members of the mixed family are Travis Charles Douglas, Gloria Natividad Douglas, and six-month-old Dominic Douglas, also called Domingo. They gave in and joined us tonight after we made camp. We’ve detoured away from the highway to make camp on another beach, and they’ve followed. Once we were settled, they came over to us, uncertain and

suspicious, offering us small pieces of their treasure: milk chocolate full of almonds. Real milk chocolate, not carob candy. It was the best thing I’d tasted since long before leaving Robledo.

“It was you last night?” Natividad asked Harry. The first thing she had told us was to call her Natividad.

“It was Lauren,” Harry said, gesturing toward me. She looked at me. “Thank you.”

“Is your baby all right?” I asked.

“He had scratches and sand in his eyes and mouth from being dragged.” She stroked the sleeping baby’s black hair. “I put salve on the scratches and washed his eyes. He’s all right now. He’s so good. He only cried a little bit.”

“Hardly ever cries,” Travis said with quiet pride. Travis has an unusual deep-black complexion—skin so smooth that I can’t believe he has ever in his life had a pimple. Looking at him makes me want to touch him and see how all that perfect skin feels. He’s young, good looking, and intense—a stocky, muscular man, tall, but a little shorter and a little heavier than Harry. Natividad is stocky, too—a pale brown woman with a round, pretty face, long black hair bound up in a coil atop her head. She’s short, but it isn’t surprising somehow that she can carry a pack and a baby and keep up a steady pace all day. I like her, feel inclined to trust her. I’ll have to be careful about that. But I don’t believe she would steal from us. Travis has not accepted us yet, but she has. We’ve helped her baby. We’re her friends.

“We’re going to Seattle,” she told us. “Travis has an aunt there. She says

we can stay with her until we find work. We want to find work that pays money.”

“Don’t we all,” Zahra agreed. She sat on Harry’s sleepsack with him, his arm around her. Tonight could be tiresome for me.

Travis and Natividad sat on their three sacks, spread out to give their baby room to crawl when he woke up. Natividad had harnessed him to her wrist with a length of clothesline.

I felt alone between the two couples. I let them talk about their hopes and rumors of northern edens. I took out my notebook and began to write up the day’s events, still savoring the last of the chocolate.

The baby awoke hungry and crying. Natividad opened her loose shirt, gave him a breast, and moved over near me to see what I was doing.

“You can read and write,” she said with surprise. “I thought you might be drawing. What are you writing?”

“She’s always writing,” Harry said. “Ask to read her poetry. Some of it isn’t bad.”

I winced. My name is androgynous, in pronunciation at least—Lauren

sounds like the more masculine Loren. But pronouns are more specific, and still a problem for Harry.

“She?” Travis asked right on cue. “Her?”

“Damn it, Harry,” I said. “We forgot to buy that tape for your mouth.”

He shook his head, then gave me an embarrassed smile. “I’ve known you all my life. It isn’t easy to remember to switch all your pronouns. I think it’s all right this time, though.”

“I told you so!” Natividad said to her husband. Then she looked embarrassed. “I told him you didn’t look like a man,” she said to me. “You’re tall and strong, but… I don’t know. You don’t have a man’s face.”

I had, almost, a man’s chest and hips, so maybe I should be glad to hear that I didn’t have a man’s face—though it wasn’t going to help me on the road. “We believed two men and a woman would be more likely to survive than two women and a man,” I said. “Out here, the trick is to avoid confrontation by looking strong.”

“The three of us aren’t going to help you look strong,” Travis said. He sounded bitter. Did he resent the baby and Natividad?

“You are our natural allies,” I said. “You sneered at that last time I said it, but it’s true. The baby won’t weaken us much, I hope, and he’ll have a better chance of surviving with five adults around him.”

“I can take care of my wife and my son,” Travis said with more pride than sense. I decided not to hear him.

“I think you and Natividad will strengthen us,” I said. “Two more pairs of eyes, two more pairs of hands. Do you have knives?”

“Yes.” He patted his pants pocket. “I wish we had guns like you.”

I wished we had guns—plural—too. But I didn’t say so. “You and Natividad look strong and healthy,” I said. “Predators will look at a group like the five of us and move on to easier prey.”

Travis grunted, still noncommittal. Well, I had helped him twice, and now I was a woman. It might take him a while to forgive me for that, no matter how grateful he was.

“I want to hear some of your poetry,” Natividad said. “The man we worked for, his wife used to write poetry. She would read it to me sometimes when she was feeling lonely. I liked it. Read me something of yours before it gets too dark.”

Odd to think of a rich woman reading to her maid—which was who Natividad had been. Maybe I had the wrong idea of rich women. But then, everyone gets lonely. I put my journal down and picked up my book of Earthseed verses. I chose soft, non-preachy verses, good for road-weary minds and bodies.