The Walls Have Eyes by Clare B. Dunkle

buildings and fence, the strong wind pushed and shoved at him, and he opened his arms to let it flow past. Ahead, a flock of birds swooped and turned like a single entity, and Mom put her hands over her mouth and started to cry.
    â€œNow, this looks better,” Martin told her. “See those? They’re blackbirds. And this crazy bot named Hertz told me that the bushes over there with the silver leaves are sagebush. No, sagebrush. Anyway, same thing.”
    He reached for the water bottles to load Chip up again, but the German shepherd barked happily at him and tore off at a dead run, then came swinging back around like a boomerang.Martin grabbed for him as he whirled past, and took off running in his wake. “Chip, you moron! Get back here!” he yelled. But it felt good to yell, and good to run, while his parents put their arms around each other and looked at the world in amazement.
    Dad cleared his throat and picked up his canvas satchel. “Where did those agents go?” he asked gruffly. “How far do we have to go to get away from them?”
    â€œWe can go wherever we want,” Martin decided, and the realization made him almost burst with excitement. “Anyplace we wanna go, that’s where we’re going. All this out here is ours.”
    Dad looked around. “Where’s the fishpond?”
    â€œOkay, fish,” Martin said. “We’ll go this way, to the mountains. There’s a lake there, and I’ve seen rivers. They’ve got fish in them.”
    They started off. Dad kept wiping his eyes.
    â€œI know, Walt,” Mom said. “I never imagined a place could be so beautiful.”
    â€œIt’s not that,” Dad said, looking embarrassed. “It’s just that it’s so
bright
.”
    â€œOh, hey,” Martin said. “We gotta get you guys covered up! And me, too, even though I’m used to it. Pull out your sheets. Dad, did you bring a sheet or just a blanket? No, not the blanket. Get your sheet.”
    They helped one another drape the sheets over their heads and shoulders. Martin couldn’t help laughing when they were done. Dad was enveloped in brown-and-green plaid, and Mom in pale lilac with blue flowers.
    â€œYou look like a ghost, Mom,” he said. “A ghost with no fashion sense.”
    â€œWell, you look like a laundry pile,” she countered. “And now I can’t see the view.”
    They shambled on their way again, hampered by their protective layer. After a while, Dad stopped wiping his eyes, but by then, he was puffing loudly enough to be heard over the wind hissing through the wildflowers.
    â€œNeed . . . to stop,” he panted. “Pack and tackle . . . too heavy. We can just . . . stay here.”
    Martin turned around. The dome still loomed behind them, a gigantic steel bubble gleaming fiercely in the midday sun, and he could still make out the line of track that the maroon packet car would travel once the agents’ interrogation of Fred was complete.
    â€œWe haven’t gone very far,” he pointed out. “We gotta keep going. We need to get out of sight.”
    Dad dropped his fishing gear and turned to look back at the dome. Then he mopped the sweat from his face with the corner of his sheet. “You’re right,” he panted. “Too close.”
    â€œWalt, I’m sorry,” Mom said, “but I’ve told you for years you need to get daily exercise. It’s very important to lose abdominal fat. All the morning shows say so.”
    Across their line of march grew a shabby thicket of scrub oak trees with thick, waxy, ugly leaves. They entered the thicket and could no longer walk straight ahead, but had to weave in and out among the rough trunks. Birds swooped across their path or sat on the spindly branches and sang.
    â€œThis is good,” Martin said. “It’ll be harder to find us in here. That should make you happy, Dad.”
    There was no