We sought refuge at a farm on the east coast. It was a refuge in the sense that, firstly, the farmspeople took life and responsibilities seriously, and they had procedures in place for constant monitoring of their health. And secondly, because they were mostly ex-circus people, and although they'd made the difficult decision to bunker down in a fixed position, for their health, they understood us nomads and respected our wishes to travel, even if it brought us closer to danger. I think this was especially, in our circumstance, respected, after we had shared our knowledge about patterns of corruption, and how we were travelling in search of more such knowledge, rather than travelling for its own sake. Case was in my thoughts while we spoke of this.

Aside from having commonsensical routines of examination, such as asking a simple question of a person before you begin conversing with them, which is the least any human could ask of another (even though so many, as witnessed in our travels, didn't do this), the farmspeople had arranged their living quarters so they were separated by short corridors, all with locking doors, as an extra sensible precaution. These corridors were all very ad hoc in appearance; some were made of tin, others of perspex, others of wood; but they were firm and safe. If, at any stage between walking from the Green family's living quarters to the shared kitchen, I was afraid, I had three opportunities in three short corridors to lock myself in a safe place, to call for help.

Living in this air of responsibility greatly helped to put some of my younger travelling companions at ease, and many of them ceased experiencing nightmares.

When we arrived, it was a daunting sight to behold. It reminded me of Noah's Ark, except here, instead of collecting animal species, two by two, the adults had collected specimens of children. From the front gate, which was guarded and locked, we were examined then led up a path to the farm. On either side of this path, small groups of children were playing. Two children from the Orbsor family, with their fair skin and auburn hair, were playing four square with one child from the Sidney family, freckled and large-toothed, and one from the Wiltebrüke family, blonde and stocky in build. And it was like this, from gate to front door, with clusters of children, contrastingly different or remarkably alike. The older youths, or young adults, were seated on deck chairs, benches, armchairs, rocking chairs, at regular intervals along the grass, some of them talking in groups, some working on activities together, some reading alone, or napping in the cool sun. As we passed, many of these farmspeople glanced our way with curiosity, and my eyes briefly caught those of one young brown-haired woman, who was engaged in assisting younger friends with the papier-mâchéing of a colourful piñata, and I became nervous for one moment, although I didn't know why.

On our third day of our very pleasant and comfortable stay, I took a walk on the farm grounds, unfamiliar with animals like cows and pigs and goats, which were new and fascinating for a city-born girl. I waved at the children that I recognized along the way, and many were too busy in their games and activities to offer back more than a quick, warm smile. My own group was scattered and mingling, making new friends and learning new social skills. Generally speaking, it was probably the most normal existence they had led in a long while. I noticed the brown-haired girl who had caught my attention when we had arrived, and I shook off my unknown emotional reaction by deciding to go speak with the elder adults, to share our knowledge with them, and vice versa, which I had not yet been ready to do; I wanted to give my own assorted family a breather before even thinking about saying it was time to move on.

I entered a door to four corridors, to take me to the guest quarters, where I would gather my notebook, notes and diary, to take them to the elders. In the second part of the corridors, the brown-haired girl appeared behind me, thanking me as I held the door open for her. She stayed a step behind as I opened the third corridor's door, and after we had locked the door, I asked her name. A real question disguised as safety protocol. She said Jane. She stepped closer and my nervousness was magnified numerous times. I had an urge to kiss her. Romance had not been in my history for many, many years. She seemed calm and I didn't know why she was getting closer. "I knew that you wanted me," she said, and her face was so close and tempting. She confused me. I was shocked by her forwardness and her uninhibited language. I didn't know why she'd say that or what she was expecting, but I kissed her and she closed the gap between us, so that we were two jigsaw pieces that had been pressed together, and she seemed to like the kiss. I ventured to touch her lower back, and she laughed all of a sudden, as though I was doing something that I shouldn't and she was turning it into a joke. I pulled away. "You're supposed to leave my lips intact," she said, and I apologised, embarrassed and feeling like a brutish oaf. But she came jigsaw-close again, and approached me suggestively, hovering near my mouth, locking eyes, and licking into my mouth a few times before turning it into a kiss. I held her close, I couldn't feel my legs and my head was dizzy, and my hand, touching her hip, fell to her backside. She laughed at me, again, and I separated and kept my hands to myself.

"You are just trying to experiment, this is an experiment for you, a new experience," I said, offended and embarrassed. "I don't like being used." I left quickly, leaving her, without looking back. I was somewhat relieved, afterwards, that it had turned out that way. We would be leaving soon enough, and outside the farm, you couldn't especially care for any one person. Unless you were a masochist.