The four of us gather our backpacks and climb the mountain. J.D. stays by my side to offer assistance, but I’m nearly well now. I breathe easily, and if my ankle gives me an occasional twinge, I ignore it.

When we get to the cleft in the rock, J.D. enters first, his flashlight shining onto dry walls.

“It’s a cave?” asks Tamara.

“A tunnel, actually,” I tell her, not quite sure myself. I take a good look around the area where we’re standing. There’s plenty of room for the four of us to stretch out our bedrolls during the day without crowding each other.

“Have you gone through it?” asks Tuck, peering into the darkness.

“Once.”

“This is the perfect place to conceal a cache of supplies,” he remarks. “Did you go all the way to the end? Did you find anything? Crates? Barrels? The bones of old travelers?”

“Flowers.”

They all look at me like I’m crazy. “What did you say?”

I shrug, embarrassed that I let that slip. “I think there may be gases trapped deep inside this place. I got a little dizzy last time. However, we’re probably fine as long as we stay near the entrance.”

Tamara touches my arm. “Kira, tell me about the flowers.”

I’m uncomfortable with her question. “There’s not much to tell. It was some sort of flashback, I think. You see, I had a flower when I was at the Garner Home for Girls. I watered it and took care of it. It’s how I found out I could….”

J.D. interrupts. “Kira, tell us what you found when you explored the cave.”

“Oh. Well. I was hungry, very hungry that day, and feeling more lightheaded than usual. I remember walking for a long time, and then there was moonlight coming into the tunnel, and I saw flowers. Not just one, like I had before, but masses of them. It was a hallucination. I’m sure of it.” I see the way they’re all looking at me. “I wasn’t well.”

Tuck looks at J.D. “It’s a good idea to see where this place leads us. What do you say we check it out?”

“I’m coming with you,” I tell them.

“Me, too,” adds Tamara.

“Grab your flashlights,” J.D. says. “And you might as well bring your packs, too. Just to be safe.”

The darkness seems to go on forever. I’d forgotten how deep this place was. Did I really walk through here alone? Even now, with the thin beams of our flashlights guiding our way, the darkness is oppressive. J.D.’s hand brushes against mine, and I’m comforted.

Finally, we glimpse a light ahead. I was right. It is a tunnel. J.D. snaps off his flashlight, and the rest of us do the same. Cautiously, we move forward.

And step into wonder.

There are clouds. Huge mountains of clouds skirt the horizon to the highest reaches of the sky. I wipe my hands across my eyes, but when I pull my hands away, the clouds are still there. It’s not a mirage. It’s not a hallucination brought on by stress and hunger and toxic fumes. I can’t believe J.D and I have been huddling under a rock for the past few days when we had this just through the mountain.

There are thin wispy clouds, the kind that look like white brushstrokes on blue canvas. There are thick clouds, clouds of substance. There are puffs and streams and swirls of purest white.

I turn to the others. They’re all silent, even Tuck, his eyes round in a face full of astonishment.

“Do you see this?” J.D. whispers.

I nod, but can’t speak. My throat’s choked, and tears slip silently down my cheeks. For here, there are flowers. Not imaginary bouquets. And not one lone bloom, struggling to survive, but a vibrant meadow full of them as far as the eye can see.

After a moment, the four of us take off running, whooping and hollering as we race out of the mountain and down the hill. My ankle protests, and even knowing it’s sure to be swollen later, I don’t care. I have to run. The air is clean here. I can feel it. It’s air meant for breathing, for tasting. Who knew air could be so delicious? We run until our lungs give out. And exhausted, but jubilant, we enter the small valley, finding green, finding life. Small insects dance in the air. Clusters of flowers dot the landscape, not just the perfect pink that reminds me of my flower, but all the colors of flowers and they are dusted with a green-gold light that belongs in a painting. It’s gloriously, decadently lush and I’m giddy with it—the smell of it, the texture, the ripeness.

I turn and grin at Tamara. It’s too beautiful to be real. But if it’s not real, then it’s a shared hallucination, because she’s as swept up as I am, exhilarated by this place. It’s unbelievable, hidden in the highest reaches of the mountains and cut off from the world.

Overcome by a desire to know what grass feels like, I drop to the ground. Nestling my belly into the prickly blades, I spread my arms wide, wrapping my fingers against the slender stems. I sniff, inhaling a fragrance that’s sharp and green and fresh. I roll onto my back and gaze in wonder around me.

J.D. has followed my lead, dropping beside me on the ground. Butterflies flit around his head. Finally, he looks at me, his cheek resting on his hands.

“It’s real, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Laughter bubbles up. “I think it is.”

Tamara comes over and plops down on the grass. “Where do you think we are?”

“We’re not dead, are we?” Tuck asks.

J.D. reaches over and pinches me.

“Ow!”

“Nope. Don’t think so.”

I rub my arm and frown, puzzled. If we’re not dead, then where are we? “The place where the earth remembers?” I whisper, remembering the traveler’s stories.

J.D. frowns. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching you make water, Kira, it’s that this entire planet has memories of what it’s been. I think we’re the ones who are starting to forget. We’re the ones with dry souls and feeble imaginations. We have to remember that the earth was like this once.”

“Maybe it can be again,” Tamara adds softly.

“I betcha this used to be federally-protected land,” says Tuck. “There wouldn’t have been inhabitants here. No industry. And with the mountains rising on every side, it created a micro-climate, a protected pocket of the planet.”

“I guess it’s possible.”

Suddenly, I’m startled by a small, fluttering motion. It’s the biggest insect I’ve ever seen, hovering in midair before my face. Everyone freezes. In less than a second, a darting tongue probes my nostril. Then the fluttering thing is gone as quickly as it came, in a flash of iridescent feathers. A tremor passes through me. “What was that?”

“That,” says J.D., eyes wide with amazement, “was a hummingbird.”

“No way!” I’ve read about them, but I’ve certainly never seen one. Like every other living thing, birds are rare and must compete with humans for insects and nourishment.

“It probably thought Kira was a flower,” says Tamara, reaching over to give me a tickle.

I laugh out loud. “That was the coolest thing ever.”

J.D. rubs my arm where he pinched it earlier. “There’ll be water here,” he says. “Should we look for it?”

Rising and dusting ourselves off, we explore this strange paradise. Crossing the valley, I can’t get over how wonderful the air is, fragrant and easy on the lungs. The trees have leaves, green leaves, and seeing the lacy pattern the shadows make on the ground, I feel like bursting into song. Only, I don’t know any songs.

Thankfully, Tamara does, and she starts singing softly. The rest of us hum along, enjoying this moment of lightness, this unbelievable gift. Then we discover another gift. Water. J.D. was right. It’s here, right out of the ground, in a cool, bubbling spring that doesn’t have to be called forth, but spews of its own accord. We drink our fill, and it is delicious.

“What if the earth could be like this again, Kira, green and fresh? With water and trees and all of it.”

I turn to J.D., and his face is unguarded and completely relaxed. For the first time in our journey together, I realize how tightly he keeps himself closed off from others, maybe even from himself.

“Kira?” Tamara reaches out and takes my hand.

“What?”

“You could do this.”

I shake my head, gesturing to our lush surroundings. “Not this.”

“You don’t know that. At the very least, you could help get it started.”

J.D. nods in agreement. “Since I met you, Kira, I’ve wondered if there are others who have gifts the earth needs. Maybe these individuals don’t know what it is they can do. You might never have known yourself, if you hadn’t found that flower. But if they’re out there—and Thorne seemed to think they might be—then I think we should find them.”

J.D.’s words echo my own desires. Is it even possible? “How?”

“We travel,” says Tuck, wiping droplets from his chin and winking at me. “If this oasis can exist here, in the middle of the biggest drought the planet’s ever known, then who knows what’s possible?”

“But there’s a momentum toward death and destruction.” I say out loud what I’ve been thinking quietly to myself for days. “Every living thing on this planet is moving closer to extinction. We’re all dying, slowly, but surely. Don’t you feel it? Why, look at us.” We glance at each other, at how pale and hollowed out we’ve become. And we’re still the young ones. “How do you change the course of something like that? What you’re talking about—I don’t know. There’s so much that would need to be done.”

“But people will want to do it,” Tamara insists. “I believe that. They’ll want to help if they can. To plant things. To clean the air and the soil. To work together if there’s a chance, even the smallest chance, to have flowers and hummingbirds again.”

“You’re not asking for much, are you?”

“We’ll have to be careful about how we get the word out,” J.D. says, ever pragmatic. “Stealth is required if we’re going to keep Kira safe. We have to conceal our plans from the Territory at all costs. And we’d need to find an underground way to help the others find us, the ones who have the spirit or the skill to make a difference.”

“Then we can get down to the business of healing the planet…”

“…and each other.”