He wakes momentarily, bracing with surprise, but then he grabs my hand with his and pulls it up to his chest.

I feel the gentle weight of Emmaline, curling up behind my knees.

Finally, I drift off.

The day is cloudy again, but it doesn’t feel like rain coming, so the boys drive me to the barge in the Tardis and help me soak the coal in lighter fluid. We use up every single can, focusing on a line down the middle of each coal barge that will act as a fuse toward the propane tanks.

Emmaline has taken to boating like a champ, and after a brief hesitation over the Tardis’s rumbling engine, she was easily coaxed aboard. Now’s she’s locked in the bridge cabin of the barge, because I’m terrified she’ll jump after us and misgauge the ever-shifting distance between the towboat and the flatboats.

Tanq maneuvers the Jet Ski like a pro, circling as we work, keeping an eye on the water. She seems fearless, even cheerful, and she still wears that backpack full of paints. The water is sure to ruin everything, but she refused to leave it behind.

I keep remembering the way the walker launched out of the lake and attacked Wyatt, and I find I can’t bear to watch her zip around.

Too soon, we’re done soaking the coal, and it’s time to get underway.

Trey puts a hand on my shoulder and looks deep into my eyes, like he’s about to say good-bye. “I just want you to know,” he says, all solemnity, “that you are seriously hot in that wetsuit.”

“Don’t forget the deck shoes and the life vest,” I say. “I hear this outfit is all the rage in the apocalypse.”

He smiles slightly. “Luck, Paige. We’ve got your back. But remember, sometimes a point guard just has to drive to the basket, take the layup.”

“Yeah, sure,” I tell him, but I’m not sure what he’s saying. That they’re all going to die? That I might have to do this alone? I’m afraid to ask. “Good luck to you, too,” I choke out.

Then he and Wyatt are heading off in the Tardis, and I am indeed all alone once again on what feels like a massive ship.

Emmaline spins circles around me when I return to the bridge, reminding me that I’m not so alone after all. Her nose is wet, and I realize she’s been snarfling Captain Wade.

“Who’s the grossest girl? You are!” I say as I turn the ignition and hit the throttle.

We spread out into a wide formation as we plunge across Lake Erie—Tanq in her Jet Ski a hundred yards to the north, probably near the invisible Canadian border. Trey and Wyatt ride on the south side to my right, each carrying a gun.