This is my chance. I consider the life preserver for the briefest moment. I can’t toss it like a basketball, so I treat it like a Frisbee. Making sure there’s plenty of slack in the rope, I curl it behind my shoulder to wind it up, then fling it outward with all my might.

The rope creates drag, and the preserver wobbles as it sails through the air and plunks into the lake—far short of Wyatt’s position.

But he aims for it anyway, doing his best against wind and wave. “C’mon, Wyatt, almost there.”

I grab the rope, preparing to pull him in. In the distance, Tanq disappears around the far side of the tower. Emmaline runs back and forth along the side of the boat, occasionally leaping up on her hind legs. Her eyes are fixed on Wyatt, as if she’s cheering him along.

Wyatt grabs the preserver and waves at me to indicate he has a good grip. So I pull the rope in with all the strength in me. Behind him, something in the water flashes silver. Or do I imagine it? I yank harder.

At last Wyatt is able to clutch the edge of the towboat. I hook his armpits and pull as hard as I can. Waves soak us both. Emmaline dances around me, as though this is all the greatest game.

One more heave, and together we collapse onto the deck. Wyatt chokes, spitting out water, then he gasps for air, and that horrible, sickly wheeze whistles from somewhere deep in his lungs.

“Inhaler?” I ask. He nods, so I dig into my pocket for one of the spares we got at the pharmacy. I shake it and hand it to him. He chest inflates as he takes a puff.

Wyatt squeezes his eyes shut as he holds the breath in place, and tears leak out of his eyes. His diaphragm contracts, jerking his whole body. I realize he’s trying desperately not to cough.

At last he lets the breath out, and mine goes with it. Wyatt’s head clunks backward against the siding, like he can hardly hold his own head on his neck. A chunk of wetsuit is torn away at his knee, revealing a jagged wound bleeding freely. He’s weak, injured, and exhausted, but I dare to hope he’ll be okay.

For now. Wyatt had the vaccine. With him aboard, the Farmers will come after us for sure. We’ve lost any advantage we may have had by having me drive this barge alone.

Emmaline whines, and my heart leaps into my throat. It was that soft, eerie sound she makes when a Farmer is near.

I launch to my feet, even as my eyes rove Wyatt for his rifle, but I don’t see it anywhere.

“Gun?” I ask.

He shakes his head weakly. “Lost,” he murmurs, then he takes another puff on his inhaler.