The library was abandoned. There were no Locos lingering there, no strays taking refuge so soon after it had been invaded. It was a mess, far worse than it had been when we'd arrived. Books were scattered, open, their pages torn, their spines broken. Furniture was broken, shelves left in splinters, even the beanbags were torn open and the mass of beige beads from inside them strewn everywhere. In the staffroom – our base, the hub of our temporary home – cupboards were pulled off the walls, the chairs slashed with knives and the stuffing pulled out, the door hanging by one hinge.

"Were the Locos always this destructive?" I asked.

Marty didn't answer. A sensitive topic, then. I resolved not to mention his past again.

Only the roof had been spared, our little fledgling garden, but we couldn't eat the tiny shoots or carry them with us. At least they were undiscovered and undamaged, and when they were grown we could return to harvest them.

"Well, there's nothing here for us," I said as we returned down the stairs to the ground floor. "I guess we just pick a direction and walk, then."

That was just what we did. The streets were still quiet, though by then it was late morning. A few strays were about. One followed us for a while, then vanished. Some watched us as we passed. One asked if we had food we could share. We shook our heads and kept moving. Eventually we were out of the city, past the suburbs and into the countryside.

We found a hedge with some late blackberries in it, and picked every single one we could reach, though the brambles kept our fingers from prying too deeply. They were sweet and juicy and soon our fingers and mouths were stained deep red-purple with the juice.

Afterwards we sat on grass, enjoying the sun's warmth.

"Well, we're out of the city. Now what?" Marty asked.

I shrugged. "I guess we try to do what we tried last time. Find somewhere safe, establish a food supply, and then bring Trudy and Sunshine to join us. And Bray and Dev if they want to."

In the afternoon we came across a farm. There were people there, but since we didn't know how they might react to us, we kept out of sight and watched them for a while. They were all boys, and they didn't look harmonious – while we watched there were arguments that ended with pushing and shoving, throwing handfuls of pig dung at one another, or outright fighting. We moved on, keeping to the trees.

Not long after that we reached a river, with clear water flowing over pebbles. We took the opportunity to drink and refill our water bottles, then followed it upstream. Somewhere with a good water supply would be good.

Further upstream, we heard voices ahead. Once again, we hid amongst the trees and low, scrubby bushes that were abundant along this stretch of river. On a flat open area in the bend of the river, there was a camp, populated with tents, tables, people, a few horses. There were young kids playing a ball game, older kids cooking or taking care of the horses. There was laughter, friendliness and fun. A good-natured group of people, enjoying the sunny weather.

"What do you reckon?" I asked Marty.

He shrugged. "They seem normal enough, but that doesn't mean they'd be happy to allow strangers into their camp."

"Let's move away a bit, and then approach in full view," I suggested. "If they're hostile, we should at least find out while we're far enough away we can run for it.

We moved from bush to bush away from the camp, then around to approach from a direction where the bushes were smaller and grass dominated. We were soon spotted. The youngsters were called in. They scooped up their ball and stood watching us from behind the older kids. We stopped a little distance from the camp, beyond the boundary created by the ring of tents.

"Hello strangers!" one of them called out, a tall guy with curly blond hair, who wore some kind of harness.

"You're welcome to rest here with us," said a girl wearing blue and green.

The two of them walked towards us until they were a few paces away.

"We're the Nomads," the blond guy said. "My name is Troy."

"And I'm Suzanna. You look tired. Would you like something to eat? We've got plenty."

"I don't like this," Marty whispered.

"Why not? They're friendly," I whispered back, then spoke to Troy and Suzanna. "Thank you, yes, we've walked from the city and we're very tired, we'd be glad of a night's shelter."

We offered to add some of our food to their supplies, but they refused – they ate only fresh food, no tins, and said that when we moved onwards we'd surely need them. They were happy to share their food, hear our reports of the city, tell stories. They asked what brought us so far from the city; we skipped over the past, and simply told them we were heading out to look for somewhere safe to set up a home, so we could bring Trudy and Sunshine. They suggested we stay with them a day or two, while they were there, so we could rest before starting an arduous journey into the mountains. I wasn't sure that was necessary – a night's rest would be enough, we might not have had a great day the day before but we weren't sick or anything. Still, it was a nice offer, and the little pebbly beach was a stunning location, peaceful and quiet and safe.

They were all generosity and friendliness, and even cleared out a tent for us to sleep in for the night. Marty was fairly quiet the whole evening, but I supposed he wasn't used to all this, and it had been a tiring walk.

When we were alone in the tent, he wouldn't sit down. He paced around the tent in a tight circle, his head brushing against the canvas every few steps.

"There's something not right here," he said, keeping his voice low.

I sighed. "I've seen nothing to worry about."

He paused in his pacing to glance my way, then resumed, shaking his head.

"I recognise Troy from somewhere, but I just can't place him. Not from recently, either. From… before."

"You mean, when you were…?" I didn't want to say it. It didn't feel right to use his old name now.

"I don't think he recognised me. But why would he, after everything that's changed? If he saw me before, he would have seen the costume. We shouldn't stay. Tomorrow, we move off again."

"Fine, I didn't think we should infringe on their hospitality too long anyway."

"We go at first light," Marty said.

"We should at least have breakfast first."

Marty stopped pacing and sat down. "I thought you didn't want to infringe on their hospitality. I don't want to stay here any longer than necessary."

First light proved to be optimistic. By the time I woke up, there was plenty of noise around the camp – movement, voices, the baaing of the Nomads' goats and clucking of their chickens. I prodded Marty.

"Guh?"

"We missed first light," I said.

I peered through a gap in the tent openings, and what I saw confirmed the evidence of my ears. It was fully light outside, though overcast. The Nomads were going about their morning tasks – cooking, setting out the central seating area we'd sat at the previous evening, one of them was brushing a horse down, another feeding the chickens.

"We need to get out of here right now," Marty said. "I remembered why I recognised Troy. He's a slaver, this whole tribe are slavers. That's why they're so accommodating, they want us to stick around."

I stared at him. There was a dark look on his face, restrained anger, that was all too much like his old self.

"Everyone is already up and about," I said. I looked out the gap in the opening again. There was a lot of activity. "How are we going to get away without them noticing now?"

A jingling noise attracted my attention. A kid riding a white horse approached the camp. He was wearing what looked like a doll's sweater as a hat, and had a drum tied to his saddle.

"We get out the back, under the edge of the tent, and hope there's nobody out there," Marty was saying.

"A guy just arrived in camp. He's introducing himself to them. If these guys are slavers, he's in trouble too."

"He'll have to look after himself. Come on, pack up and let's move."

I stepped back from the opening. "We can't just leave him to his fate. Surely you know what he'd face if he was enslaved. Look, how about this, we stay here, play along with the Nomads, make like there's nothing wrong and we're happy to stay for a few days like they suggested, but try and get this guy alone at some point, tell him what's going on, and leave all of us together as soon as an opportunity presents itself."

"And what if they plan on moving off today, go to the city now, and no opportunity presents itself?" Marty asked. He had his pack ready and stood to face me.

"Didn't they say last night there's a tribal gathering in a few days on the beach? That's only a day away from here. If they're going to that, then they have no reason to hurry. And if there are signs of them moving off, we'll wait until they're distracted and make a run for it."

"We don't even know this guy. We don't owe him anything."

"That doesn't mean we should let the Nomads enslave him and sell him to the Locos. It's no riskier than sneaking out the back of the tent when we have no way of knowing if anyone is watching."

Marty sighed and set his bag down. "Fine. I suppose it's the least I can do, helping keep some poor sap out of Ebony's hands. So what, we pretend like everything is perfectly okay, find a way to get this guy alone and warn him, then get away as soon as can then?"

I nodded. "And take advantage of the Nomads' hospitality while we've got it. Come on, breakfast smells amazing. I think there's fresh bread."

We headed out to join everyone else for breakfast and introduced ourselves, cheerfully, to the kid with the horse. He was called Sasha and he could juggle, play instruments and tell stories. Suzanna asked how we slept.

"Best sleep I've had in ages," I said, with a smile. "In fact I feel so well rested, and this place is so relaxing, that if your offer is still open we'd love to stay a little longer."

Suzanna looked relieved. Troy was all grace, inviting us to stay as long as we liked, enthusing about how nice it was to have guests.

After breakfast was over, I sat back licking my lips appreciatively.

"That was fantastic. Thank you. And to show our gratitude, we'll clean up, won't we boys? You just stay here, sit comfortably, and we'll be back in no time with clean dishes."

"Sure," Sasha said, and started collecting bowls and stacking them. Marty jumped to it as well and in a moment we were off down to the water's edge to wash up.

"Marty, why don't you wash up? Keep an eye out?"

So while Sasha and I had our backs to the camp, Marty was our lookout, the drying up his excuse not to kneel over the water.

"So Sasha," I said, "Have you met these guys before? Or did you just stumble across them like we did?"

"I stumbled," Sasha said cheerily. "I could smell the cooking and followed my nose. It's nice to be so welcome, not everyone I've met has been this generous."

"We're not sure they are generous," I said.

"They're slavers," Marty said. "I recognised Troy. I've seen him selling slaves to some of the city tribes. We can't trust these guys at all."

"We need to get out of here," Sasha said, alarmed.

"Yeah," I said. "Keep washing up. If they realise we know they're slavers, they're probably going to lock us up. The kindness stuff must be to draw us in, make things easier for them. So the plan is to play along, like we're taken in by their act, until we spot a chance to make a break for it."

I put down the last bowl on the stones of the beach, and grabbed a tea towel to dry it up.

"How long do we have?" Sasha asked. The worry was clear in his voice.

I shrugged. "A day or two at most. They're heading to a tribal gathering on the beach near the city soon. I don't know when they're planning on leaving, but it might be tomorrow or the day after."

"The sooner we're out of here, the better," Marty said. "We need a plan. I suggest a distraction. Make one of their tents collapse, or something to do with the goats maybe. Then while they're busy dealing with it, we grab our things and run for it."

"Hmm," Sasha said. "We'd have to make sure we're not where the distraction is when it happens, so we can get away without being noticed."

I nodded, thinking. "And whatever we do, we can't be seen setting it up, or they'll get suspicious."

"I'll need to get Heidi ready to go, I'm not leaving without her," Sasha said. "My horse," he added, seeing the expressions on our faces.

"If we tell the Nomads you're teaching us to ride, that'll give us a reason to be outside camp, with Heidi saddled," Marty suggested.

"That's a great idea!" Sasha enthused, then his face fell. "They might get suspicious if I have all my instruments, though."

"So you can pretend to teach us that too, first, then get Heidi for the riding lessons," Marty said. "Then we trigger the distraction, and leave."

"So what's the distraction," I asked, "And how do we trigger it?"

All the dishes were washed and dried up; we'd run out of time to talk in private. I stacked them up while Marty folded the tea towels.

"We need more time to plan," I said.

"Juggling," Sasha said.

"What?"

"Juggling. I can teach you to juggle. We can do that far enough away from the camp that we can talk quietly without being heard, and they'll think we're content to stick around for a while if we're having fun."

Marty nodded. "It'll give us the chance to take a closer look around the backs of some of the tents and work out how to make one collapse, if we have to retrieve dropped balls."

So after we'd returned the dishes, stored them away where directed, and helped with a few other tasks around the camp – feeding the goats, tidying the central space and so on – we gave our excuse and started learning to juggle. At first Sasha really did teach us. We needed to look like we were learning, after all. But once we'd got the hang of it we were able to "practice" while really working out our plans and investigating the camp. We spent the morning going back and forth to our belongings, bring a little at a time, apparently to show each other things, or to sit on our packs.

The last trip back to the tent where we'd slept we made the preparations. It was our best chance – the only tent we had unquestioned access to, and could work in private. Using a mini saw from the toolbox Jack had given me months before, and which we'd salvaged from the library, we cut through the central tent pole, leaving a gap which we filled with sugar cubes from Sasha's supplies for Heidi.

When Sasha brought out his instruments, others started to join us. Suzanna wandered along to listen to Sasha playing the drum and reciting a poetic story, and a few others came too. Sasha was too entertaining; he gathered quite a crowd, but was able to disperse it by suggesting others give it a try. Marty and I pretended to have huge fun trying every single instrument, playing it as badly as we could – to scare off the Nomads – and then laughing at our attempts. Some of the Nomads tried the instruments too, but eventually our own deliberately bad playing got rid of them all.

Our little encampment, where all of Sasha's instruments, his juggling balls and batons, and our packs were now all gathered, was on a patch of grass a short distance from the camp proper, far enough to not be overheard when talking quietly – especially if Marty or I squeaked along on Sasha's recorder.

Finally we were left alone, and all our preparations had been made. Sasha went back to fetch Heidi for our "riding lessons", and "spilled" a bottle of water into the little channel we'd cut from the tent pole to the opening. It would take a few seconds for the water to reach the pole, then it would eat up through the sugar cubes, and eventually they'd weaken enough to give way, and the pole would come down.

Except that Sasha was still in the camp when the tent fell down. The timed mechanism worked too quickly. We were watching him, surreptitiously tidying the instruments, when the tent came down behind him. There was a shout of alarm, and the Nomads went rushing towards it.

"Time to move," I said, and slipped my pack onto my back.

Marty shouldered his pack and we grabbed as many of Sasha's instruments as we could, then ran for the trees, while Sasha mounted Heidi and rode after us. Another shout from the Nomad camp – and they were after us. Sasha's instruments were bulky and slowing us down. Marty ditched the ones he was carrying first, and I saw the sense in it and dropped what I was carrying too. Sasha brought Heidi to a halt where we'd dropped them and dismounted.

"Sasha, leave them, we've got to run!" I shouted.

He looked over his shoulder. The Nomads were already close. He mounted up again, leaving the instruments where they were, and rode after us. We ran through the trees, with Sasha closing the gap behind, then he overtook us, urging us onwards.

"I see something ahead," he called out. Half the trees were really shrubs, and he had a better view from Heidi's back, so we followed, even as the Nomads shouted at us to come back.

Wherever "ahead" was, it wasn't close. Sasha led well ahead, stopping to wait for us a few times, but always well ahead. The Nomads were about the same distance behind us, though once they stopped shouting and saved their breath for the chase it was harder to tell. We kept moving, Marty a few steps ahead of me. It wasn't long before my legs ached from the exercise and every breath was an effort. I just followed, having no energy left to spare a thought for where we were going, how we would lose the Nomads, what we would do if they caught us.

I just ran, following wherever Marty led. I lost sight of Sasha entirely. Looking that far ahead was too much effort, too much time not spent looking at the ground in front of my feet so I could avoid the roots and rocks and fallen branches that littered the landscape.

"In here, quick." Sasha's voice.

I obeyed without thinking. "Here" turned out to be a barn full of rusting farm machinery from before. Sasha closed the door behind me. I stopped and bent over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Sasha stood by the door, looking out through a gap in the boards. Marty pressed his back against the door, and I wasn't sure if he was leaning on it because he was too tired to stand, or to stop the Nomads barging right in. Once I'd caught my breath, I joined him there too.

"Hey!" a powerful female voice shouted from outside. "What do you think you're doing on my land?"

Marty and I looked at each other, and it seemed to me we saw the same expressions in each other.

"We were chasing thieves, they came this way." That was Troy.

"They can't have got past me here without me seeing," the girl shouted back. "Look over that way and get off my land."

"You're sure they're not here?" Troy asked.

"There aren't any thieves here," was the reply. "Off you go."

"They're leaving," whispered Sasha.