“Of course it is!” Wyatt says. “Just because you can’t eat cake—”

“Okay, but why? So we can have a sports rivalry?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Is that really what you’re fighting for? Tanq would probably prefer that humanity die off entirely; it hasn’t exactly been good to her, and I’m not sure I blame her. Paige, what do you think?”

Emmaline bounds back to us and circles around, trying to coax us to move forward at a faster clip. Herding dogs are going to herd, I suppose.

“Some things are instinct,” I say. “Like my need to survive. I can’t even explain why. My survival instinct is so strong that even though everyone I love died and everything I was working so hard toward disappeared like smoke, I want to live. I have to try. I don’t have a choice. And I’m glad I didn’t give up right away, because I have Emmaline now, and you and Tanq, and it kind of feels like we’ve been together for years, and if something happened to any of you, I would . . . I just want to live. I want all of us to live.”

Our steps echo for a moment as the boys consider what I said. It’s too dark to see well, but I feel Trey’s gaze on my face.

“Sorry if you were looking for something deep and philosophical,” I add.

“I agree with Paige,” Wyatt says. “I want to live too. And maybe later, we can start rebuilding some of the social-collateral constructs Trey was talking about—”

“Sociocultural,” Trey corrects.

“That’s what I said. Let’s rebuild those. Maybe we don’t ever have a rivalry again. Or Christmas. Maybe we’ll start something new.”

“I like that idea,” Trey says tentatively. “Trying to recreate everything we’ve lost would just hurt, you know? So let’s rebuild, but with something new. Maybe even something better.”

“Yeah, something better,” Wyatt says.

“Michigan still sucks,” Trey says.

The tunnel dumps us into a green area surrounded by trees, which provide plenty of cover. Emmaline goes potty without me giving her the command; poor girl held it all night and all morning. We let her run around sniffing stuff for a few minutes, using the time to breathe the fresh air. Trey and Wyatt watch the sky. It’s warmer today, though drizzly, with not a trace of sunshine. To our right is a marina filled with yachts already in their spring berths. Directly ahead is a view of Lake Erie beyond the peninsula, stretching all the way to the horizon, just like an ocean. But it’s not an ocean to anyone paying attention. It smells different, for one, and the color—a steady slate blue in winter that turns to pea-soup green during the summer algae bloom—is like no ocean I’ve ever seen.