I open my eyes in the morning and I've turned over to my other side during the night. Father faces me, snoring softly and past his shoulder I can see the lady and the boy, Susan and Paul, still sitting on the benches, still leaning against the wires. She wears a thin copper strand as a necklace. He has a necklace and bracelets too. They sit watching us and my eyes are barely open so they can't even tell.
"It's a man and a girl," Paul says.
"They came last night," Susan says. Her blond hair is so thick it's almost matted. It isn't sticking up and staticky like Father's or mine that I can feel around my face. Paul still wears the striped yellow and black stocking cap.
"They're our friends?" he says.
"Yes," she says. "We're going to have a fun day."
"They came last night," he says.
Without opening my eyes wider I stretch out my hand and touch Father's neck just below his whiskers. He opens his eyes and I watch his face as he remembers where we are and smiles to see me.
"Caroline," he says. He sits up and stretches his long arms over his head and groans. "Good morning," he says to Susan and Paul. "Looks like the weather cleared some."
Outside the window it is bright white everywhere but the snow isn't falling. The sky is pale blue, hardly darker than the snow.
"We really owe you," Father says. "It was so late last night. We were in quite a predicament."
"You had to sleep somewhere," Susan says.
"Are there any outlets here?" Father says, "or just all the wires? I don't imagine you have a way to heat up water?"
"No," she says.
"Did you tap into the transformer out on the pole yourselves," he says, "or did someone else string that wire? Ingenious."
"We have water," she says.
"We have water, too," he says. "I'm just thinking about getting some breakfast together."
I sit up too. I feel a sharpness in my throat from breathing the humming dry air all night. The bread we bought at Ray's IGA isn't too crushed since it was in the top of Father's pack. With a fork we can hold slices close to the walls and toast them that way. We eat toast and apricot jam. We eat an apple and an orange. Paul and Susan just watch us.
"There's plenty," Father says. "We're happy to share."
Susan is mixing orange powder into plastic jugs of water. Paul holds one up to his mouth. It looks heavy. Bubbles rise up and he makes noises in his throat that make me thirsty.
"That's fine," she says. "We'll just drink for now. It's Tang. You and your girl should have some."
"No, thank you," Father says.
"Is it like orange juice?" I say and feel that my tongue is a little sore and swollen from where I bit it last night. "I like orange juice," I say.
"It's too sugary," Father says. "Have a little more water, Caroline."
"It's good energy," Susan says. I see her take more of the orange powder in a scoop and pop it straight into her mouth, dry like that.
When I am changing my socks the toe of the left one is black and stiff with blood. I turn away from Father but Paul sees how the top of my foot is worn down with the skin shedding off and my toes raw too.
"We've been walking and walking," I tell him. "These days we've walked all over."
"It is just so difficult not to draw attention," I hear Father say. "Once they've found you and they're interested."
"Yes," Susan says. "That's the trick. From San Francisco to here, that was a race. Staying ahead is the trick."
"It's tiring, that's for sure," Father says.
"That's a horse with numbers on it," Paul says, leaning over and looking down into my pack. "I've never seen one before," he says, "but that's what it is."
"A horse is a mammal," I say.
"What?" he says.
"You're also a mammal," I say.
"Oh."
"Mammals are warm-blooded," I tell him. "Back-boned." I pull out the book and hold it open. "Look," I say. "A rabbit is not a rodent." I show him the fox or dog family picture with the wolf and coyote and poodle at the top and the dog-like mammal that looks more like a cat and lived forty million years ago.
"Did you ever own a dog as a pet?" I say.
"A dog?" he says.
Father is sitting on the bench now with his shoulder almost touching Susan's and she has her fingers around his wrists even though they won't reach all the way around.
"Pretty good bracelets," she says. "They must really help you."
"Maybe," he says. "Could be the placebo effect."
"They're good ones," she says again. "Pure copper. I can tell. What's this? Are they tarnished?"