Niko kept his light on the ground. A few feet in front of us. Steady and measured.

It’s hard to walk in the dark, but it was sort of okay, because it was like we had blinders on. We couldn’t see to the left or the right, just where the flashlight was.

We didn’t walk on the road. Niko felt we might be attacked.

Instead we walked on the side about 20 feet off, parallel to the road.

On the road were lots of cars and lots of bodies. Things were molding over, the white fuzz growing in drifts over cars and bodies.

It made me think of Mr. Culleton, in Earth Studies, and our block on composting. He said that in a compost pile, things returned to their most dense, nutritive form.

If the sun ever comes back, maybe this will be the best farmland ever.

I know that’s a stretch, but that’s the only nice thing I can think of to say about all the slime and mold.

Anyway, we walked.

And Batiste got blisters, which he told me, and he got thirsty, which he told me, and he got hungry, which he told me.

And I said, “I’m sorry about that, Batiste,” every time and it actually seemed to help him. Then I’d give his hand a squeeze and that also seemed to help him.

It was a hard, hard walk.

Finally, Niko led us back up to the road. He started flashing the light into cars.

I nudged Batiste. “I bet we’re going to stop for a water break!”

He smiled at me, and squeezed my hand.

Niko flashed the light in a few cars, but there were bodies in them. He made us stand back from him and wouldn’t let us look in.

I didn’t mind standing back. I didn’t need to see any more bodies and none of the little kids did either.

On some cars, Niko tried the doors but couldn’t get them open.

Then, suddenly, he ducked down and motioned for us all to duck down. He cut the light.

A motorcycle was coming.

It darted and veered between the cars. The light seemed really bright and it made me realize that my eyes had become somewhat adjusted to the darkness.

It came closer and closer.

It was a biker guy wearing goggles—he had a long beard and a leather jacket and everything. And riding on the back was a little old man. He had a snow hat on and a jacket that seemed way too big for him.

They went right by and didn’t see us at all.

“Maybe it’s his father,” said Batiste.

“Most likely,” I agreed. “Or just someone the biker found and wanted to save.”

He must have had the bike stored away somewhere airtight, like our bus.

I wondered how long the tires on our bus had lasted. I hoped that they had rotted to shreds.

Niko found a car. It was a silver Nissan Murano.

He waved us over and we hurried and got into the car. Max and Ulysses flopped down in the way back. I sat in the backseat with Sahalia. Batiste and Niko and Josie were up front. Like a family car trip. Except not at all.

Sahalia and I got out the cigarettes and started puffing away.

Do you know how awful cigarettes are? The smoke gets in your chest and makes you cough. You do get a nice feeling in your brain. A kind of openness. But that’s it.

I was blowing smoke toward the back and Sahalia toward the front.

“Is smoking a sin?” Batiste asked Niko.

“No,” Niko answered. “It’s unhealthy, but it’s not a sin.”

“Then I guess I’ll smoke, too.”

“Okay,” Niko shrugged.

“No fair!” Max and Ulysses protested.

Sahalia lit a cigarette for Batiste and passed it to him.

“Don’t inhale too much,” she warned. “Or you’ll puke.”

I held my cigarette between my pointer finger and my thumb, but Batiste had his between his first two fingers—like a V. He looked like a little Frenchman.

Sahalia watched him for a second and then snorted with laughter.

Batiste pricked up one eyebrow and said, “What?”

Somehow, that was just too funny.

Him all grimy, wearing God knows how many layers, but with a clean, round face and his hat perched on his head and the cigarette.

We all started laughing.

The laughing was that boiling-over kind. The kind that brings you to tears and makes you gasp for air.

When we stopped laughing I saw that Max had taken his mask off.

He seemed fine. He was laughing his head off.

Niko took off his mask and then Josie.

“It does seem to work,” Niko said, “The smoke.”

“We’ll all get lung cancer,” Josie said grimly.

This, too, seemed really funny and we all started laughing again.

Josie rolled her eyes and gulped down some water.

Niko handed out the protein bars.

“Thank you, God, for this food, amen,” Batiste said quickly before digging in to his bar.

“Niko, is it true what that cadet guy said?” Max asked.

“About what?”

“About them killing people at the airport,” he murmured.

“No chance,” Niko said. “He was either lying or paranoid.”

“What’s this?” Josie asked, concerned.

Niko explained what Payton had told us.

“If I could get my hands on that guy!” she growled.

She cracked her neck. Ulysses, watching her, started to whimper. His eyes looked dilated—not at all right.

“No. Nope,” she said. “I’m starting to feel it. The smoke isn’t working!”

Then she put her mask back on.

Max coughed and let out a cry.

The mitten he’d coughed into was bloody.

“Put your mask back on!” Niko shouted. Ulysses screamed, backing away from Max.

“You, too, Ulysses! Help him!” Niko commanded Sahalia and me.

Sahalia and I tried to reach back and help Ulysses get his mask on but Ulysses batted at Sahalia’s hands, crying out in Spanish.

Finally I grabbed him by the back of the collar and Sahalia got the mask on.

Max hugged his friend, pinning his arms down. “It’s okay, Ulysses. It’s just us. It’s just us.”

Ulysses calmed down after a few minutes.

So much for the smoky car idea.

But at least we’d gotten some water and a snack.

“Let’s move out,” Niko said.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DEAN

DAY 14

I dreamed of Astrid all night.

We hadn’t spoken much after Jake went to bed.

Every time I looked at her, my face got painfully hot, so I tried not to look her way too often. She seemed to be giving me some space, too.

But after the kids went to bed, I had a thought.

“Hey, I’m worried about the gun,” I said.

“What gun?” she asked.

“Jake has the other gun. The one we got from Robbie and Mr. Appleton. I’m scared he might get really depressed and … use it.”

“Oh God,” Astrid said, realizing my meaning. “You’re worried he has the gun and might kill himself?”

“I don’t know him as well as you do, obviously. But those drugs are powerful.”

“Well, he doesn’t have the gun,” she told me. She was studying her feet.

“How do you know?”

“He told me.”

“Well…” I exhaled, suddenly frustrated with him. “Where is it? What did he do with it?”

Astrid let out a short, hard laugh.

“He gave it to some girl.”

And she edged away from me. She still wouldn’t look me in the eye.

I started to feel bad, really bad, about what had happened between us.

I mean, dear God, had I forced her? She seemed as eager as I was, but in an O state, who knows. I had killed in that state—I was sure I could do a terrible thing to a girl.

Had I?

I felt sick.

And as tired as I was, sleep didn’t come easy.

I always thought losing my virginity would be a life-changing thing. At the very least, I thought I’d feel relieved.

But instead of relief, I felt guilt and worry.

And, on top of it all, was there a chance we’d hurt Astrid’s baby? I mean, ugh … I was in way over my head.

In my dreams I saw Astrid, saw her on top of me, naked and too golden and gorgeous for reality. Her belly glowing like starshine—growing moment by moment until it was huge and her cries of pleasure became cries of pain. Labor pains?

And in another dream I saw the guy with the pallet loader. I saw all the details I hadn’t taken in while enraged. The look of fear in his gray eyes. The way he’d called for mercy.

And the two scenes got muddied up and it was Astrid I was cutting open and it was the guy with the loader who was in Astrid’s belly.

And then Astrid was whispering on my neck.

“Wake up,” she said.

She was in my berth.

I shook my head awake.

I wasn’t dreaming it—she was really there.

“What is it?” I asked. My heart was hammering wildly. Was it the wall? Jesus, we should have been watching the wall!

“I just want to talk to you,” she told me.

She had a pen-size flashlight pointed at the floor.

I saw she was wearing pink pajamas and had bare feet. She was shivering and she looked so beautiful I thought my heart might stop.

We went out to the Kitchen to talk.

I grabbed a fleece for myself and a sweater I’d worn a few times for her.

We sat down at a two-top in the Pizza Shack.

I saw the brass fire pit Astrid had set up. It was shiny new and filled with a couple Duraflame logs. Somehow the sight of it made me sad. It looked so shiny and hopeful.

“Astrid, I feel so bad about what happened,” I blurted out. “It was wrong and if I had been stronger it never would have happened.”

“No,” she said with a wry set to her mouth. “I knew you’d be feeling all guilty. Look, we didn’t mean to do what we did but it’s not bad or wrong. It’s not even our fault. Jake and I had an open kind of thing—no commitment. We are free to do whatever we want.”