“Some competition,” he concedes. “Not as much as you’d think. This job is a really big commitment. I got it because I have training in statistical analysis, and because I had no family to leave behind. No divided loyalties. I could be 100 percent devoted to this bunker and the people who would eventually live here.”

Trey’s eyes narrow. “Exactly how long have you been here? Underground, I mean?”

“I moved to Sandusky five years ago to oversee completion. Moved into this bunker full-time about a year ago.”

Wyatt is scanning the contents of the refrigerator. “Did everyone in Sandusky know about this place?” he asks, pulling out a yogurt.

“It was an open secret among nearby businesses,” Manny says. “We told them it was a disaster preparedness bunker, where the state would run scenarios and experiment with living in isolation—kind of like the Biosphere projects—which was close enough to the truth to be unsuspicious.”

“You said you didn’t have family,” I say around my cereal. My mom would give me her signature glare right now for talking with my mouth full. “Did something happen to them?”

“They were all killed in a hurricane many years ago,” he says, his voice distant with memory. “Just . . . disappeared. The house I grew up in on Puerto Rico was literally wiped off the face of the earth.”

“Oh, wow,” Trey says. “Sorry to hear.”

“It was a rough time. I threw myself into my studies—poli sci with an emphasis in statistics and probability. There’s a compartmentalization that happens sometimes, when a person goes through something awful. Grad school saved my life.”

“So you know what it’s like,” Wyatt says softly, staring down at his yogurt. “To lose everyone all at once.”

“Yeah,” Manny says.

Tanq barrels into the kitchen and heads straight for the refrigerator. Her black hair is disheveled, refusing to stay swept over to one side, and her eyes are bleary. Without saying a word to anyone, she pours herself a giant glass of milk and mixes in a truckload of Strawberry Nesquik, turning the milk bright pink.

“Trey,” Wyatt says, with an eye on Tanq. “That semiautomatic rifle of yours. Do you know how to use it?”

“Nope.”

“Wanna learn?”

“Not really. But maybe I should.”

“I’d like to teach you. All of you,” Wyatt says. “But I don’t know how to do it without making a ton of noise.”

“Wyatt, you’re saying you know how to use a semiautomatic rifle?” I ask.

He nods. “My family never owned one, but, yeah, I’ve shot them before.”

“We’ve been careful with the guns,” I tell him. “We figured out how the safeties work. We keep the magazines separate from the guns themselves, make sure there’s never a round chambered. But that’s as far as we’ve gotten.”

“That’s good, Paige.”

“You know what?” Trey says, suddenly rising from the table. “I’ll be right back.”