Larry drove the van cautiously through the newer, wide streets. The rest of the group sat up close, to watch the larger houses scroll by. It was quiet in the van; no music, no chatter. Everyone was focused.

Up ahead, the houses dropped off on the left hand side and turned into a thicket of tall trees. The road curved sharply to the right. A street sign proclaimed this to be West First Avenue. On their right, they could see proposed plots for later development. On the left was a dense grove of trees. Larry drove until the road drifted off to the right, where it would eventually intersect with Dobson Road. He slowed the van, getting as close to the guard rail as he could. Another deft movement turned on the hazard lights. Larry turned around to his friends.

"Let's go check it out," he said.

They climbed out of the van wearing the clothing they'd bought at the army surplus store; black T-shirts, black cargo pants, and work boots. Larry was carrying the clipboard with maps. D.J. wore binoculars around his neck. Burt was carrying a compass, and Turk had a handful of colored chalk.

"Okay," Larry said, "let's take a reading."

With compass and map, and a little dickering, they marked where they were, and plotted a line straight south.

"You guys ready?" Larry said. They nodded.

"Two by two, all right? Me and D.J. in front, you two to keep us on course and mark the trail." Larry slipped his legs over the guardrail that separated the road from the trees and crashed into the underbrush.

The land next to the railroad tracks was among the last to be developed by the city of Tempe, owing much to the fact that not many people would want to live right next to thundering trains. The residential neighborhood that Larry and the gang just drove through was one of the newer sites, and deemed even more valuable because it wasn't too close to the tracks. A nice patch of nature kept the train and its ugly symbolism out of sight and mind of the neighborhood, and that's the way they liked it. West First Avenue would grow and more housing would eventually go in on the right side of the road, away from the trees. Eventually, however, the trees would be gone. It wasn't out of some notion of conservation that the trees were spared; in truth, they were an unnecessary obstacle to the march of progress. It was just easier to build on land that had been already cleared out. The irony was, when the left side of the street was developed, the rest of the trees would have to be cut down. With no trees on either side of the street, West First Avenue technically wouldn't be an avenue anymore, but that was hardly any concern of the builders. For now, at least, there were four people who appreciated the trees.

The grove was thick and densely packed. Larry and D.J. picked out the best route as well as they could, but neither one was an experienced hiker, and so they frequently had to move around large, impassable clumps of vegetation. The stands of tall, smooth ash trees and mulberry trees, interspersed with crooked, twisting mesquite trees and the occasional fat, verdant olive tree wove a heavy, dark canopy that kept the sun out and gave the guys ten degrees of relief from the heat. Every fifty feet or so, Larry would stop and ask, "On track?"

Every time they paused, Turk would mark the nearest tree with large X's. Burt would check the compass and tell Larry yes, on course, or no, and they would correct their direction before continuing the hike. Traveling in this manner it took fifteen minutes to reach the tree line. Fifty yards away, they could see the raised railroad, white rocks piled on either side of the tracks. Larry grinned. "Binoculars," he said. D.J. handed them over.

He peered through the lenses, focused, and took a good, long look. When the binoculars came away from his face, he was smiling. He handed them to D.J. and pointed. D.J. smiled, then passed them on to Turk, and from Turk to Burt.

They were directly across from the Gamesmen warehouse. The vacant lot was now between them and the fence. There was no fence around the perimeter of the lot. And the trucks were still parked beside the warehouse, which blocked their view of the road...or, more appropriately, hid them from anyone who might be driving by.

"It's like a little pocket of sanctuary," breathed D.J.

"We'll do it tonight," said Larry.