Dany slips into a tunnel that leads under the highway.
The dank hollow smells of piss and tainted meat. So it’s not unoccupied, though she sees no sign of whoever lives in here. Still, in this tunnel, she can make the first part of her journey on foot, unseen.
On the other side, she makes her way to the hill where, only two days before, she and her sister picnicked. Finally, she stands at the base of the maple tree, the one whose branches crest over the razor wire.
Slowly, gripping the rough trunk, she climbs up. The scars on her arms, still sore from earlier this day, scream with pain as she grips the trunk. The bark is as rough as sandpaper, but she monkeys her way up, making her way out onto the overhanging branch. The maple has leaves as big as dishcloths. Dozens break off under
