Octavia’s backpack was filled with food they could eat cold if they needed to and a gallon jug of water. “It’s not enough water,” Ángel said. “There might be snow and if there isn’t, we won’t die of thirst, not even if we’re out there for more than three days.” “It’s only twenty miles to the border,” Octavia pointed out. “That’s if you’re using a map and a ruler, I imagine,” Remmy drawled. Even in Spanish, his accent seemed strong. He hadn’t had the accent before. Octavia realized he had been masking it. Now, he was letting it show. “Louisiana?” she asked curiously. “Georgia, ma’am.” He tipped an invisible hat at her. “Eighteen oh five. My folk were one of the first families to settle in Savannah.” “You lived there all your life?” “No, I’m sorry to say. I got itchy feet and followed the Oregon trail into the west, when I was thirty. I never really left the coast once I got there. I just followed my nose slowly south until I arrived here with you good folk.”
