“Yeah, thanks,” Manny says. “We need to shut down the generator soon. So do you want answers to your questions? Or do you want hot showers and hot food now and answers in the morning?”

Trey answers, “Hot showers,” at the same time that Tanq blurts out, “Hot food.” Manny looks to see what my answer is. I nod toward my friends and say, “What they said.”

But as he leads us through one of the doors, I’m still wondering what he means by not expecting you at all. Like maybe I don’t belong here.

Late March?

I AM CLEAN.

The shower stall was narrow and low and made of cheap plastic, like in an RV. I had to duck down and contort myself to lather and rinse. But the hot water was the greatest thing that’s happened to me in days. My shoulders and neck feel looser, my eyes clearer, my feet less sore.

We followed showers with a dinner of scrambled eggs, bacon, and sautéed bell peppers. Then we conked out on surprisingly comfortable cots.

Now, it’s seven a.m., and all five of us and Emmaline are congregated at a metal fold-out dining table, eating hot cinnamon oatmeal with a side of buttered toast. The only indication it’s morning comes from the vid screens, which show a tentative gray daylight creeping across the city.

I take a bite of oatmeal and catch Trey staring at me. His glance darts away when he notices me noticing. My face warms.

Manny Gomez—Call me Manny! he told us—pushes back his chair and dabs his mustache with a napkin. “You have been very patient,” he said. “Thanks for agreeing to put this off last night—we’re doing everything we can to save fuel. I know you have a thousand questions. So don’t hold back. Everything I know is yours; you have but to ask.”

I have so many questions, and they all compete in my head with such ferocity that I can’t focus on a single one.

“Start with how you knew our names,” Tanq says, indicating her and Trey. “But not Paige’s.”

“Yeah, start with that,” I say. Emmaline puts her paws on my thighs, and I am the worst pushover, because I slip her a bite of toast.

“Very well,” says Manny. “To understand that, we have to go back. About seven years.”

Trey’s eyes widen. “Seven years?” he says.

“Buckle up,” Wyatt says. “This story is quite a ride.”

“Manny?” I prompt.

“About seven years ago, we began to receive some strange transmissions.”

“We? Who is ‘we’?” I demand.