“No answers mean no water,” I warn Tom Zaph before I reinsert the cotton into his ears to obstruct him from deciphering our location.

A branch from an oak tree falls on a pile of dried leaves when we arrive at a forest clearing. It wearies my soul to allow him to be by the secret river with the capabilities to hear. 

“Old man!” he calls out to Pops. “Water!” he shrieks. His voice sounds coarse. 

The branch that recently fell ...