Gail says. “This fire’s wonderful. I’m glad we’re here.”

“I’m real glad we came away from the first campsite. Now that we know. For which we thank you,” Daphne bows toward Reese as she finishes. Gail seconds the gesture.

Reese is an inaudible woman. Her body makes no noise. Her skin doesn’t whisk when it’s rubbed, her stomach never rumbles, her joints don’t crack, and she never involuntarily belches or farts. As a result of her condition, she is intensely aware of the sounds her clothing makes. Even those who are often near her start to notice the swish of her silk blouse or the rasp of her corduroy trousers.

Reese can make noises. She can talk and snap her fingers and engage in all the voluntary body functions. She’s 18 years old and has certainly learned how to make sounds. But if it’s dark, and if Reese leaves clothes behind, she is an extraordinary spy.

She returned an hour ago from a sort of sortie, and her report made them glad they moved from their original choice of campsite. When they first arrived at that clearing in the late afternoon, they declared it perfect. They eased out of their backpacks with relief, set the frames against the furniture-sized boulders that dotted the area, and loosened the laces on their hiking boots. They noted the fast-running creek nearby; it was probably clear enough to drink from without filtering. They appreciated the absence of mosquitoes; they had expected the pests would find them at dusk, but since they’d been attacked even at noon in most of the pasture-like areas through which they’d passed, they thought the place a keeper.

They had already set up their tents when the dog came through. He was a friendly retriever, but he was followed by four hunters. They looked young enough to be okay but they acted like assholes. They couldn’t have been more than 25 years old, and they weren’t bad-looking, but they called the young women girls, they offered booze in the most offensive (hey, honey) way, and they seemed to think their rifles were remote penises, they handled them with such boyish pride. Two of them had handguns in holsters, too. One had a bumper sticker plastered diagonally across his pack; “Gun control means hitting your target,” it asserted.

The men moved on, threat-promising to return for a party after they set up their camp. It didn’t take long for the young women to agree that they’d better shift their campsite. Of course they resented the move, but it seemed necessary. They collapsed the tents, repacked their heavy frames, and slogged another mile. Their second campsite was farther off the trail than the first had been, past two water crossings, and upwind of where the men were; even the dog would have trouble finding them.

They ate their dinner after establishing that second camp. By the time they had finished their pasta and dirt-scoured the pot, it was full dark. Reese announced her intention to scout the men’s camp.

“Oh, let’s leave well enough alone,” Gail protested gently. But Reese was older than Gail, and her personality was more stubborn. “Come on,” she argued. “I’ve been doing this all my life. It’s one of my pleasures and one of my skills. I want to know what those assholes are up to.”

Reese began disrobing as she spoke. She’d spent so many evening hours naked and successfully eavesdropping, she was accustomed to being unclothed. Her willowy body emerged from her T-shirt and shorts, pale like the moon in the morning. She’d wear her boots until she got within range of the hunters. She said “later,” to her friends and disappeared into the surrounding foliage.

Daphne built a campfire while Reese was away. Gail foraged for fallen wood. Neither worried about Reese until an hour had passed. Then Daphne got antsy. She thought she heard faint gunshots. She fretted aloud. Gail was serene as usual. “She’s not that far away,” Gail reassured.  “I’m sure I’d sense something if Reese were in trouble.”

“Do you really think so? I mean, their camp’s at least a mile off.” Daphne knew that her friend could read people’s feelings, but Gail wasn’t telepathic. She wasn’t even an empath, as she described herself. They’d examined and discussed Gail’s special skill for years, and they used “sympath” to name it. Gail was able to feel “with” another, to the degree that she could even act as emotional translator between individuals. She did her best with people she loved, but they’d never tested her range.

“If a friend is close by, I can get feelings without attempting anything,” Gail said. “But I’m reaching for Reese right now, and I’m sure I’d know if I needed to know.”

“Know what?” came the voice from the surrounding bush.