"My help?" My dad asked. "How?"

"I just need you to tell me something." I was sure no one else was around, but I lowered my voice. "You remember when I was a kid and we took that cross-country horseback trip? Way out in the mountains? And we found those ruins? That village carved in the rock? And you told me not to ever tell anyone about it?"

My dad looked around the feed shed. He craned his head to look out the window.

"I don't remember anything like that," he said. "What are you talking about? That's ridiculous, this far north. The Anasazi never set foot past southern Colorado."

"Dad." I couldn't help but laugh a little. He was this serious about keeping a secret. "No one can hear us. We're alone. We can talk about it. It's okay. But I need you to tell me where those cliff dwellings are. It's important. People's lives are at stake. I can't tell you why, but they are. You told me once that the Anasazi built those dwellings way out there to hide from a brutal enemy. Now I need to hide, just like they did. Do you understand? And I have no idea how to get there."

My dad sighed. He glanced out the feed-shed window one last time.

"Does Ian know about this?" he asked.

"No," I whispered. "Not yet. But he needs a place to hide as bad as I do."

My dad nodded. "And if you went out there, he'd go with you?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Good," he said.

He turned to leave the feed shed. It was almost dark.

"Stay here," he said.

In fifteen minutes he came back with a Ziploc bag. Inside was a black garbage bag folded neatly into sections.

He removed it from the Ziploc bag and unwrapped it.

Inside was a topographical map.

My dad unfolded the map's sections, then pointed to a tiny, penciled-in X. He tapped it with his finger. Then he wrapped the map back up in the bags and handed it to me.

"Thanks, Dad." I gave him a hug. "Thank you so much."

Suddenly, a scream came from the house.

My dad looked at me for a moment, confused, then we both ran toward the lighted back porch.

I did my best to stuff the map into the back of my pants as we ran. I didn't have anywhere else to put it. When we neared the porch, there was another scream.

"Get her off!"

It was my nephew's voice, I realized now.

Through the dim screen window that lead to the washroom, I could see a commotion, but I couldn't make out anything but shadows.

"Get her off!" Tyler shouted again in a terrified panic. . .

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