"Are you sure we're supposed to be out in the open like this?" Cana said as she filled her disposable plastic cup with water.

  "Yeah, well," I said. "Thirst is going to kill us before the cultists do."

  We were in a local eatery called Aleng Rita's Carinderia. After the long run under the afternoon sun, we needed water badly. And since it's already lunchtime, of course, the place is filled with customers. These are usually students, office workers, pedicab drivers, and anyone who wants home-cooked meals on the cheap. And everyone knows the soup and water are free. And since we don't have any money on us, this place is a godsend.

  I actually spotted this place on our run. The place is as modest a carinderia can be. Simple, square green table with white plastic chairs set out on the side of the street. And the solitary blue, 5-gallon water jug with a faucet. Most of the time, these water jugs are filled with ice and have disposable plastic cups on their side. That's what we're here for.

  "Ahhh," Cana said after drinking her cup of water empty. She wiped her lips with her arm. "That's not true," she said. She bent down again to refill her plastic cup. "Mrs. Lacsamana said that a human can survive up to one week with water only." She stood and faced me, water in hand. "Someone's not listening to lectures," she said, her lips pulled into a smug smile.

  "Oh yeah?" I said. I couldn't stop smiling as I swiped the cup from her hand.

  "Hey!"

  I downed my cup in four gulps. The ice-cold water was so satisfying after that long run under this afternoon's heat. "Survive on that."

  "Jerk," Cana said, smiling. She pulled out another disposable cup for the stacks of cups and started filling it up.

  We had another 2 cups of water before we decided to say thank you for the water but the owner was busy at the counter so we thanked a passing waitress instead, who didn't even look at us. Most probably, she didn't hear us because of all the customers swarming her with requests for soups and condiments.

  Knowing that the street is dangerous, we took to the back alley behind the carinderia.

  "So the librarian at the second floor," Cana whispered.

  "Yes," I said. I turned the flyer the family gave me. The address and a cropped picture of Google Maps showing its location is printed on it. "Major Coleman said it was officially part of their operation."

  "But just that room, right?" Cana said. We step sideways to make way for a worker holding a ladder. We made sure we were a good distance away before continuing our conversation. "Right. Just the room," I said. "The rest of the Shade Museum is considered public but under the government."

  "But what if they've got rotating schedules?" Cana said. "The librarian, I mean."

  "Only one way to find out," I said. "Though I doubt whoever's on duty today won't recognize us."

  "You're right," Cana said. "They must have had old pictures of us. If not, our files."

  "All we have to do is walk parallel to the street we came from," I said. I folded the museum flyer and slid it into my jacket's pocket. "And we'll be at the Shade Museum with no problem."

  Our stomachs growled.

  "Okay, one problem," I admitted.

  Cana covered her stomach with both her hands. "How far did you say it was?" she asked.

  "I didn't," I said. "The flyer didn't say anything about the distance."

  Her stomach grumbled again. "Gosh, I hope they have food there."

  "Yeah," I said. "I wouldn't mind a big, fat, juicy burger right now."

  Cana slapped my shoulder with the back of her hand. "Quit it," she said. "Talk about something else. Something that won't make us hungry."

  "Well, that's gonna be a tall order," I said. Because as far as I can see, this entire alley is selling food. We passed by a burger stall, a kiosk that serves cold fruit drinks. There was also a bakery swarmed with people buying food or loading their phones. With each store we pass, each food we smell, our stomach let us now that it wants food. And it wants it now.

  But what can we do but try to ignore all the food stalls situated in this narrow alley till finally, I saw the last food cart in here.

  Cana stopped in front of a house. It's window is converted into a sari-sari store. On its grilles hang an assortment of things for sale. I saw bags of junk food like chips and cupcakes sold per individual bag. But what really got my attention was the vendor of a small kiosk in front of the store, deep-frying quail eggs coated in batter.

  Our stomachs grumbled in unison at the smell.

  It's 4 for 20 pesos. It's street food so it's supposed to be cheap. But we just don't have any money on us. Cana was checking her denim jacket's pockets.

  I leaned over and whispered to her ear. "That's been in there for decades," I said. "You think there would be money there?"

  "Why not?" she said. "They could have put some cash in case we've got separated."

  "I think the whole point of the protocol was to not get separated."

  I watched her hand stopped moving. Her face lit up. I got excited.

  "No-no way..." I said. "There really is money?"

  I also check my jacket for pockets but this one doesn't have any.

  She pulled out a piece of wrinkled paper. It was yellowed with age. I shared in her disappointment.

  "Maybe it's worth something?" she hoped.

  We gave the paper a closer look. The ink is faded but still readable. It was a sales receipt for the disguise jacket.

  "1992?" Cana said. "This thing's older than me!"

  "Than both of us," I said. "But unfortunately, I don't think that would make an attractive bartering item."

  "Guess not..." Cana said.

  We kept on walking and left that delicious-smelling food stall behind us. But Cana did something that made me laugh. She crumpled the paper in her fist and put it back in her pocket.

  Cana looked at me, bemused. "What?"

  "Why are you keeping it?" I said.

  "Oh," she smiled. "It's something my dad and I do."

  "Collecting garbage?"

  "No!" Cana said. "It's like a game. We find old things and the one who has the oldest thing at the end of the month wins. Anything goes. Could be a book. A TV. He currently holds the record. He found a 1995 phone book. You know what a phone book is?"

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I shook my head.

  "Its a book that lists down all the people's numbers living in a certain area," she said, her eyes beaming. She always gets this excited whenever we talk about his dad.

  "All of them?" I said. "So like in a city, all the phone number of an entire city is listed down in that book? That would have been huge!"

  Cana made a tall gesture about the size of the thing. "About this big. And this wide," she made another wide gesture.

  "Huh, " I said. "I didn't know you liked old stuff. Isn't collecting old stuff for old people?"

  "I don't," Cana said.

  "What?"

  "Yeah," Cana said. "But it looks like my Dad thought I do."

  "How did that happen?"

  "I asked him the same thing," Cana said, a shy smile appearing on her face. "He told me that one time, when I was little, and he just came home from work. He found an old playstation that was still working. I watched him play Crash Bandicoot and apparently, I loved it."

  "I've heard that retro things, especially working ones are hard to find," I said. "And expensive."

  "Oh yeah," Cana said. "Mom didn't like it one bit. Since then, he kept bringing back old things. Mostly, things from his past, his childhood. Then apparently, I started doing the same. I went around our neighborhood. Asking for old items. They gave me old magazines, toys that are no longer in production."

  She looked at me. "You know what a cassette tape is?"

  I shook my head.

  "It's like a blu-ray discs but square," Cana explained. "And it has a tape instead. The tape plays audio."

  "Audio? You mean like music?"

  "Yeah," then the brightest smile spread over her face. "But you need what they call a walkman to play it. Mrs. Reyes, our elderly neighbor across the street gave me one. She said it was portable but the thing was pretty big. You need like a belt and a special strap for it. And you can only play one cassette tape so one music at a time. But that's how they listen to music in public."

  "Sounds inconvenient," I commented.

  "Sure sounds like it," Cana said. "During that month, dad could only find a Batman Jolibee Kiddie Meal toy from 2000 so I won," she laughed.

  I couldn't help but laughed too. "What do you win?"

  "A surprise trip to the mall," she said. "Most of the time, its spending money."

  "He's pretty cool," I said "Your dad."

  "He is," Cana said, smiling. Proud. "But with this 1992 Jacket, I win this month!"

  But the smile slowly melted away from her face.

  "Thinking about it now," she said. "It's silly." Her hand went to the pocket and pulled out the paper. "Thinking about our little game when we're fugitive now."

  She crumpled the paper in her hand and that hand backward, ready to throw the paper away but I held her wrist back.

  "You know what's better than a 1992 jacket?" I said. I let go of her wrist and started taking off my leather jacket. I looked at the tag. It's the same year. "2 1992 jackets!" I held up the jacket towards her so she could see the date.

  "I am so going to win this month," Cana said.

  She gave me a smile that made me feel like a regular teenager again. I allowed myself to dream. But reality is not fo forgiving.

  Because as we walked, something caught my attention. In front of us was a house with its door open. We can see the 50 or 60-inch flat-screen tv mounted on the wall. The news was on.

  "This just in," The news anchor said while holding a finger to the earpiece in his ear. "I've been told we've received sketches of the teens who've set fire to the department store of Bastillio Mall this morning."

  I faced Cana just in time to see her smile replaced by fear. We stepped closer near the house to get a closer look.

  "If you remember, the CCTV footage of these two kids only got the back of their head."

  They then proceeded to play the footage and paused it when we came running into view. Immediately, our heads disappeared.

  "The network is not doing any alterations on the video," the news anchor said. "This happens anytime we paused the video. And only affects this two. So as you can see, identifying these kids was a challenge. But now, I am receiving word that we are now ready to show the sketches sent to us by the police," he said and looked off-screen for confirmation. He nodded at someone.

  "Let's put it up now," he said and turned around.

  The first image was of a girl. Cana.

  "Let's see," the news anchor said. "So police are asking the public to be on the lookout for this morena girl."

  He then proceeded to list the description of Cana but then a guy came out of the house and a lady closed the door before we got to hear it.

  The guy was walking towards us. Instead of running, my first reaction was to pull my cap down. I started sweating. Cana's head was whipping to her right and left as if trying to figure out which way to run.

  But the guy just passed us by and ignored us. He got on the bike with a sidecar filled with 5-gallon purified water parked behind us and pedaled away.

  I breathe out a sigh of relief. "Cana, you oka—" she bumped into me, her head resting on my chest. I could swear I heard her whimper. She was looking down with her cap on so I couldn't tell if she was crying or not.

  "It's okay, It's okay," I said. "He didn't recognize us." I wrapped my arms around her. Make her feel safe the same way she did for me back at Biringan during the first night.

  She started squirming in my arms so I loosened up a bit.

  "Sorry," I said. "Too tight?"

  Finally, she looked up. There were no tears in her eyes. But it was clear that she was freaked out.

  "Let's get out of here," she said.

  "Okay," I whispered. I took her hand in mine and walked fast.

  Keeping the street we used as a guide to our left, we continued walking straight.

  We've emerged out of the alley and into another street. No cars were crossing at this moment so we didn't waste any second to jump down the curb and cross the street.

  With the renewed fear of getting recognized, we walked fast from alley to alley. It seemed like every alley we've entered offers something new. One alley was in the slums where the houses had exposed bricks and entangled, spaghetti wires over our heads. We skipped over exposed blue, plastic water tubes on the ground and took great care to not fall into the open canals flowing with black and pungent water on either side of the alley as we walked.

  Another alley had modest houses where its residents were either playing Mahjong outside or old, shirtless men having a drink in front of a sari-sari store. I'm pretty sure they are violating a couple of laws right now but then again, they are inside this narrow alley where cop cars wouldn't fit so I guess being busted is the least of their worries. This is good for us since this proves that the cultists, disguised as cops or real cops do not come here.

  The rest of the walk was uneventful. The only real time we felt fear for the cultists finding us or someone recognizing us was when the alley ended and we had to cross the street to get to the alley on the other side. And all that time, we've never had any reason to suspect that we are being followed.

  We kept on walking until we were surrounded by condominiums and other tall buildings whose first floor served as stores or restaurants. Which means we were close.

  I wished for nothing exciting to happen now that we are this close to the Shade Museum but as if on cue, I started hearing the blaring alarms of firetrucks racing down the street on our left.

  The tall buildings block our view so we don't know where the fire is. It doesn't concern us so I didn't give it any more thought.

  As we continued, we left the tall buildings behind and entered a residential area with smaller 2-story houses, allowing us to see the thick, black smoke polluting the blue sky. Finally, we've emerged out of the alley and find ourselves at an intersection where passenger vehicles and 10-wheelers converges. This time, we got our first view of the fire and where the smoke was coming from.

  "Bastillio Supermall," Cana said. The mall itself wasn't in flames. But the fire and smoke became the mall's inky backdrop. "Where was the Shade Museum again?"

  "Behind that..." I said. My heart started pounding. "Th-there's no way...right?"

  "It-it's okay," Cana said. Her voice had become brittle. "It doesn't mean that the Shade Museum is the one burning up."

  Just then, we saw another firetruck sped through, alarms blaring.

  Before I could say anything, Cana took off to the footbridge. Up the footbridge, we could see the smoke and fire better and clearer. And the more we see, the more our pace quickens.

  I don't know where the Shade Museum is exactly relative to the mall but the fire and smoke rise from somewhere further in the street behind it. The mall prevents us from seeing the wide, 2-story building that is the Shade Museum.

  We flew down the steps and Cana skipped at least 3 steps down the bridge. We raced through the sidewalk until the sidewalk became thick with crowds of onlookers, capturing the scene with their smartphones. I thought I knew what to expect, seeing it from above the bridge, but down here, it was chaos.

  The place was filled with the overlapping chatters of the bystanders and shouts from the firemen trying to get in.

  Finally, we stopped at Florante St., where the Shade Museum is supposed to be found according to the flyer.

  "No," Cana gasped. We were both breathing heavily. From the running. From the prospect of our worst fear being realized.

  "No, no," Cana said. I didn't even get a lungful of air before she started weaving through the crowd. I saw an elbow hit her in the head but it didn't stop her. I don't think she even heard the apology of the guy who hit her.

  "Cana, you okay?" I asked.

  Instead of replying, she forced herself deeper into the sea of onlookers.

  The heat was intensifying as we got further in into the street. Eventually, the chatter and shouts of bystanders were replaced by the cries and screams coming from the wave of civilians being escorted out by firefighters.

  One passed me by so I was able to get a good look at his left arm. He was holding it gingerly with his other arm. The skin of his left forearm was red and full of welts. I winced at his pain. I can't imagine what he was going through. I turned my sight on the back of Cana's head, determined not to lose her in this chaos.

  We've hit the barricade so at this point, we could not go any further. But we didn't need to go any further to confirm it. In front of us were several news networks, reporting on the scene of the burning Shade Museum.