Chapter Seven

"Zorro," she pants as they run. He pulls her over jagged little hills and loose dirt. She stumbles, working hard to keep her balance. "Where are we going? Zorro!" He shushes her, pulling her further along. She looks behind her shoulder to see the farmer and his Bighorner have long faded in the distance.

"Where are we?" she asks again. He doesn't answer except to shush her. Anger wells up in her at the casual way he dismisses her. She forcefully pulls her hand away from his. "Don't you shush me, Zorro! Where are we? We have to get home, its almost time for dinner!" That's when he stops and looks at her. She glowers at him.

"You're hungry?" he asks as if the thought hadn't ever occurred to him.

"Yes!" she says. She is also afraid of how upset their parents would be when the two of them arrived home late but she didn't dare say that. He nods to himself and looks up into the branches of a large tree. He jumps up with a lithe limberness to his movements and begins climbing the tree.

"Zorro!" she says, alarmed. "Get back down here!"

"Just a minute," he grunts, his voice sounding higher up than Dolores thought it would. She stands and tries not to panic. What if one of the branches breaks and he falls? She shudders, trying to shake the image of Zorro falling and breaking his neck from her mind. What is he doing up in a tree, anyway?

"What are you doing?" she calls. He doesn't answer and she stamps her foot, ignoring the crack of a fallen twig. "We kind of have more important things to worry about besides climbing trees, you know-" Something lands on her head with a hard thud and pain blossoms on the top of her head.

"Hijo de puta," she hisses, speaking words that usually got her a ruler to the wrist and five Hail Marys. She rubs the top of her head and glowers up into the tree as she hears Zorro laugh, the brat. Something else falls to the ground from the tree and rolls to the stop at her feet. The redness of it contrasts sharply against the dull brown of the ground. She bends over to pick it up.

"An apple?" she says, brushing the dirt off of it. Leaves fall around her and she hears the rustling of branches. Zorro lands on his feet in front of her.

"To keep you from being hungry until we get home," he says. "I really don't want to listen to your whining." She huffs and it takes all of her willpower to take a bite out of the apple instead of throwing it at him.

"Oh yeah, smarty pants? Where is home? Do you know how to get back?" He doesn't answer her for a while and she chews on her apple furiously. "Yeah, I thought so."

"I can get us back," he says. "You just have to trust me."

"I did that and look at where that led," she says. "We're in the middle of nowhere." She ignores the slightly hurt look that flits across his face, instead turning toward the setting sun.

"It's going to get dark soon," she says, unable to keep the worry from her voice. She walks toward a small grove of trees clustered together. Her mother always said that they were far from what they had been before the Great Fire. However, the few healthy trees and the rest of the ones with meager leaves struggling to survive were more than what they deserved so they should always be thankful. She reaches up and tugs a honey mesquite pod from a low hanging and nearly broken branch.

Zorro stays silent as the two of them begin walking. Neither of them know where they are or where they're going. All Dolores can think about is getting home. She no longer cares that her parents will be furious with them for skipping Bible study to play with Bighorners and running off to get lost. She just wants to see them and her brothers and sisters.

Matty, she thinks. Her youngest brother, at five years old, absolutely adored her. And she loved him more than anything she could think of. She thinks with a tinge of guilt that she should work harder to be a better example for him. What would he do if she ended up dying out here?

A campfire glitters up ahead in the darkness and Dolores feels that she could fall to her knees in thanks to the Holy Ghost.

"Zorro," she says. "There's fire up there. Maybe they can help us get home." In the dimness, his blue eyes shine with something she's never seen in the entire time she's known him: fear.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," he says. A little annoyed, she answers,

"I don't see why not. They're probably from our tribe. This is the Judes' territory." Her tribe hadn't had to fight any other tribes in almost a decade. They had mastered the art of peaceful negotiation, her father said. That is probably the biggest reason he always looks so upset whenever she acts out of violence. Pushing those thoughts from her head, she walks over to the ledge of the small hill to call the people around the campfire.

A hand wraps around her mouth as she opens it and she is pulled roughly to the ground. She grunts in protest but Zorro voice hisses by her ear.

"Shut up!" She looks up at him and back to the group around the campfire. Men in strange armor mill about. Some of them have their heads together conversing and she can barely catch a few words here and there. Some of them are Latin, like in the prayers they said in church, but she doesn't recognize any of the speakers. They are all men and they are not from her tribe.

"Who are they?" she whispers against Zorro's hand.

"Romans," he says sagely, his voice trembling just the slightest bit.

"Romans? Like the ones that crucified us in the Before Times?" she asks. Images of Jesus strung up on the cross flash through her mind and she shudders. Zorro holds her closer to him, his hand moving from her mouth to hold her hand.

"Yeah," he says, swallowing. "The same ones. If they find us, they'll feed us to the lions."

"Lions don't exist anymore," she says, although she doesn't really know that for sure.

"If they can't find any lions, they'll pick something worse," he says, holding her tighter. "And they'll hurt you in a special way. We can't go down there."

"How do you know so much about the Romans?" she asks. He looks down at her and she feels her heart pound wildly in her chest. Something cold flashes across his blue eyes before he answers and it sends shivers down her spine. He opens his mouth to answer before snapping his head up. He pulls her underneath a jalapeƱo bush to hide her as one of the Romans walks close to the ledge they were looking over. The Romans are going to find us, she thinks. And nothing God or Jesus or the Virgin Mary could do to save them. The panic in her eyes must have been visibly even in the dark because Zorro gives her a small smile and cups her cheek.

"You'll be safe with me," he says and the sound of his voice works to soothe her in spite of the Roman's thundering footsteps. "I swear it."