Seems we'll always be lookin' over our shoulders. Could be Callen and his boys on our tail again, could be other lawfolk -- that's what the others think at least. I ain't so naive as to reckon we're home free, but if we're being followed, it ain't Callen who's on the chase. Ro's been educated in the ways of the desert. He believes in its spirit the way children believe ghost towns really got ghosts in 'em. So it don't take him long to figure I know what I'm talkin' about when I say the desert has done in our former captors once and fer all. He just looks at me and nods whenever Tegan questions him on it. "If May says they're dead, then they're dead, Tegan. Callen won't be bothering us again."

Maybe Callen won't be, but we all figure that lawfolk in every corner of the continent aim to bother us if they cain. We got ourselves out of a mighty jam, but that don't mean another one ain't waitin' fer us around the next bend. And purdy soon, we won't have the desert to help us git rid of our law-abiddin' burdens.

'Fore you know it, we're through the semi-arid zone with its familiar misery and on to the mountain pass. It's an alien land of grey and white—sich a different sort of severity then the kind I was raised with on the edge of the desert. The tips of my fingers ache as I scoop up snow from what Gina says is the remnants of last winter's ice pack. I hold it gently, like it's a hen's very first egg, until it's all but melted to a tiny pebble. I place that bit on my tongue, but it ain't got no taste to it.

And then it's gone.

It cain't help but make me think of home, of how my farm and the land beyond it has been savorin' its own remnants from a time when rain came with a seasonal regularity. The drought's been with us fer years, but we're still dwellin' on that past. When that remnant dries up, it will slide into memory, and people will have drunk up their last drop without realizin' that's what they was doin'. Don't matter how long they've had to git used to the idea, it'll still be too late.

I gotta turn my mind away from the farm, from everything that's behind us now. I'm lookin' to the west. Cuz it's August, the mountain pass ain't as formidable as I thought it might be. It'd be easy fer that twisty trail to take a life come winter, but right now, it's just another obstacle and it don't seem nearly as difficult to overcome after what we've been through already. We push past them towers of stone on into a new world so green my eyes water just thinkin' 'bout it. To be in a land full of life—you ain't got no idea the wonder of sich a thing unless you was raised without it. All sorts of plants grow on the west side of the mountains, in the Southwest Region. They don't need no coaxin', no pleadin'. There's whole fields of wild berries, streams runnin' with fish, trees laden with fruit and nuts. Ain't caused no one much effort at all to make it that way.

I could stay in them valleys ferever, 'cept of course, it ain't safe fer us here. The traders move Ro and me through at a steady pace. The closer we git to the coast, the more nervous we all become. We gotta be on the lookout fer lawfolk—lawfolk with just as much cause as Callen to wanna send Ro and me swing from the gallows.

We travel at night, hide ourselves durin' the day. One time, as we're shelterin' in the loft of an old barn, we're very nearly found out. In fact, we are found. Tegan raises her gun at the sound of someone climbin' a ladder up to our hidin' spot. But it's just a little girl, maybe five or six, her eyes grown wide at the sight of us.

"We're spirits." A sing-song voice in my proper Regions accent fills the loft. "We've chosen to appear before you, and that makes you very special. Your life will be filled with blessings, and you shall always eat as much honey as you wish."

The girl giggles and I place my hand on her head like I'm givin' her my blessin', all personal-like. "Only you mustn't tell anyone you've seen us, my dear. The magic will be destroyed completely if we are not kept a secret. Do you understand?"

She nods, promisin' me through a gap-toothed smile that she won't tell no one, and I dismiss her, hopin' that if she does blab, all her talk of spirits will be thought of as nothin' more than childish imaginings. We ain't dependin' on that though.

As soon as her downy head disappears below the rafters, we gather our things and you best believe we remove ourselves from them premises about as fast and gracefully as us tired-out spirits cain manage. I run alongside the others, my heart beatin' hard out of fear as well as our quickened pace, expectin' all the while to hear the barkin' of dogs or the hollers of angry men as they close in on us. It's broad daylight and we're frightfully exposed, so if they're lookin' fer us, they'll find us. But the girl, it seems she took me at my word, sorry excuse fer a spirit though I may be. We are a magical secret she'll cherish keeping, at least as long as no one denies her that sticky goodness from her family's hives.

The nearer we git to the coast, the more often we find ourselves within shoutin' distance to lawfolk patrollin' our area, searchin' fer criminals sich as ourselves. Our most white knuckled brush with the law occurs early one morning, less than one hundred miles from our goal. While he's off scoutin' ahead of our group, Vern nearly runs into a couple of soldiers.

"Them lawfolk came out of nowhere, I swear," he tells us later on. They come around a bend and Vern has no choice but to throw himself into a conveniently placed but unfortunately thorn-filled ditch in order to go unnoticed.

If it weren't fer the fact that Vern's about as wily as they come, them soldiers would have met us dead on a mile or so from that point. But Vern, he takes off through the woods, blood red and berry purple from head to toe thanks to the brambles he'd recently become acquainted with. And damned if he don't beat the law back to where we're camped out awaitin' his word.

After several frantic minutes of gatherin' ourselves together and coverin' our tracks, we watch from a distance as the officers march right on past. One of them pauses fer a moment, holds his hand out to motion the other to stop. He sniffs the air, and his friend does the same, but with an annoyed look, like he don't wanna be bothered with the fact that his partner's actually trying to do his job. They both inhale, and I do too, but I don't know what it is they think they'll git a whiff of. Fer gods' sake, we ain't dumb enough to light fires this close to the patrols, so it ain't smoke they're sniffin' at. Unless you're a hound dog, ain't nothin' to smell.

It's just a coincidence, I tell myself. That officer is of the opinion that he scents something peculiar, but it ain't got nothin' to do with us. Move along boys.

Ro holds his breath beside me. My shoulder may never fully recover from the squeezin' he's givin' it. Several of us, we got our guns aimed, just in case, but firin' upon them men is a last resort if ever there was one. Who knows how many folks would hear the sound of one of our bullets bein' launched towards its target. Announcin' our location to all those in the general vicinity—that we surely do not need to be doin.'

The lawfolk walk around in circles. They ain't exactly at the spot we'd been camped out on, but they're close, whether they know it or not. Finally, the impatient one lets out a sigh so loud ain't none of us miss it. His partner starts to protest, but then again, it's not like they turned up anything worth investigatin'. So they move on. When finally they're out of sight, I pry Ro's fingers from my shoulder, give him a reassurin' pat and, with a renewed cautiousness, we continue on our way. Vern becomes the day's official hero.

During our entire time travelin' through the Southwest Region, two lawfolk nearly disrupting our camp is as dangerous as it gits, believe it or not. Nobody aside from that little girl in her pa's hayloft actually finds us when we don't wanna be found. Callen don't rise up from the grave to seek his vengeance. No one comes fer us. No one of consequence, thanks to Vern, catches us completely unawares.

The desert's luck carries us all the way to the sea.

A/N: It looks like they've escaped Callen and his men once and for all. But don't forget: they still have to get themselves onto that boat! If any of them are caught before they reach the boat, or if Ro is recognized at the port, well... we can forget all about the new pioneers' island paradise!

Vote donations today go to the Southwest Region Honeybee Federation. Let's keep that farming family's hives churning out the honey. The last thing May and Ro need is a sugar-deprived six year-old blabbing about the weird gun-toting spirits she saw in her hayloft!

This chapter's dedication is for @AutumnJewel, whose paranormal mystery, DRAWN TO TROUBLED WATERS has been promoted by me... I don't know how many times. That's because it is that good and that deserving. Check it out! I think you'll find yourself hooked from chapter one.