Foreverland Is Dead

some sort of dude ranch for old, rich women, like one last thing for them to do. I think they move here; I think they’re sick. They end up dying out here.”
    “What about us?”
    “They sponsor us, but that’s all it really says. Like we’re a bunch of poor kids they bring out here to save, maybe bring us closer to nature. I don’t know.”
    “You’re not poor, Miranda. You never were.”
    “You don’t know that. Maybe they’re training us to be better, maybe that’s why I’m in here. Maybe I graduated and moved into the brick house and all the rest of you will, too.”
    She had never considered that until just then.
    Cyn nods, but not in agreement. “Why are you giving me the book?”
    “The lady that wrote all that,” Miranda says, looking around, “sponsored Roc, and she talks a little bit about her. Says she’s from the street, that she’s dangerous.”
    “I figured that out.”
    “She killed someone.”
    Cyn nods, again. N ow she looks behind her, like something might be crawling through the weeds. “That’s what it says in the book?”
    Miranda nods. “In so many words. I just thought you should know that she’s more than just a bully. I think she’s a murderer that someone wanted to rehabilitate. I think those things in our necks are to protect the old women from us.”
    “Why doesn’t yours work?”
    Miranda rubs her neck. “Like I said, maybe I passed a test and they turned it off. It doesn’t say.”
    “Anything else?”
    “Just don’t let her see the book.”
    “She can’t get to you, Miranda. You’re safe in there.”
    “I’m not worried about me. She starts reading that , and who knows what she’ll do. Maybe she’ll start stealing food right in front of you.”
    Miranda doesn’t look away this time. She wants to see a reaction. Cyn doesn’t blink.
    “I’ll keep it safe. Let me know if you find anything else.”
    “I will.”
    “You’ve searched the rest of the house, right?”
    Miranda sniffs, doesn’t answer.
    “Because we’re cold and hungry, Miranda. You’re warm and full and clean. The least you can do is open all the doors. I don’t want to be out here for months and find out a phone is behind a big, scary door.”
    Miranda turns without another word. She makes it to the porch, flapping the water off of the umbrella. Her hand is on the doorknob.
    “Thanks for the clothes,” Cyn says. “I’m exploring tomorrow, no matter what. The coats and stuff will make all the difference.”
    Miranda looks at Cyn’s rotten boots. There’s nothing she can do about that. She kicks off her boots and goes inside, where the air is warm and dry.
    Bach’s Toccata and Fugue plays ominously. She kneels down, taps the stereo to skip that song. The foreboding pipe organ cuts off, leading into the soothing sounds of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major. She basks in the uplifting tones, imagining lakes of glass and open fields with laughing children.

19

    Cyn hoists the backpack off the bed. Her back sags under the weight of clothing, tent, and sleeping bag. Her knife is stashed near the bottom, next to a leather-bound journal.
    “You sure about this?” Jen helps Cyn adjust the straps.
    “First thing in the morning.”
    “What if it’s raining?”
    “ Then it’s raining.”
    The backpack is surprisingly balanced. Cyn walks around the bunkhouse, her bare feet slapping the boards. She bends over to pick up a wet sock that’s fallen off a chair near the stove, just to see how it feels.
    She locks her thumbs beneath the straps.
    “Here.” Jen twists wires around the buckle, a slim strip of dangling aluminum. “I made it.”
    “What is it?”
    “Good luck.”
    “I’m heading straight south, uphill to find a vantage point. I figure I’ll be able to see into the valley in all directions after a half-day hike. I’ll be back before nightfall.”
    “You’re taking a lot of food for a day hike,” Roc mutters from bed.
    “Something goes wrong, I may have to camp.”
    “We should vote on it.”
    “You can come.” Cyn pulls her arms out, lets the backpack bounce on her bed. “I can pack enough for two.”
    “You do n’t know what’s out there.” Kat sits backward in a chair, leaning toward the stove. “You should be taking one of the horses.”
    “I don’t know how to ride.”
    “I can teach you.”
    “We don’t have time.”
    “It’s a bad idea, Cyn.”
    “Surviving isn’t enough.”
    Roc pops her head out of the covers. “I thought that was