When I was a little girl, my friends and I used to run through the Cambio on a dare, dodging the shifting landscape and trying not to get killed. We only ever lost one of us--Ernesto Chiapas, who disappeared down a sudden sinkhole in the middle of a run.
Maybe I was going to see ol’ Ernesto again after all those years. The terrain of the Cambio was just as unpredictable and dangerous as before.
As Guapo, Frogface, Manny, and I walked onward, following a faint human blood trail with Guapo’s sniffer glove, the land was in constant upheaval around us. Geysers and steam vents erupted without warning, spraying us with water and heat. Landslides rumbled down hillsides, and tremors shook the ground. Spines and humps and shelves of rock thrust up suddenly alongside or in front of us...and i
