I open the back of the car, lift the cargo mat, and hit pay dirt. Not a crowbar, but a tire iron will do just fine. I gauge its weight, shift my grip, and swing it experimentally. It feels good in my hand. I can break windows or faces with this.

Emmaline barks.

I sink down between Paul’s car and the Humvee before I realize how silly I’m being. She’s probably barking at a bird. Even if it’s the owner of that footprint, they’ve probably already seen me.

Gradually, carefully, I lift my head and peer through the car windows in the same general direction that has my dog’s attention.

A flash of something in the sky between the bank and the pharmacy. Unease curls in my belly as I slink around the front fender to get a better look, but whatever it was is already gone. It was so quick. And bright. Like sunshine on silver. No, it was iridescent, like dragonfly wings.

Like a ghost.

Or maybe I’m imagining things. I did recently wake from a six-day coma, exhausted, dehydrated, and starving.

“Am I losing it, Em?” I whisper.

Emmaline’s ears are still cocked toward the alley between stores.

My brother Ryan would tell me to run, if he were here. But I hate running from things, and I hate not knowing. “All right, let’s a take a look.” Tire iron in hand, I creep forward.

Two huge black rats skitter away as I enter the alley. Emmaline tears off after them.

“Emmaline!”

She has already disappeared around the corner. I resist the urge to chase recklessly after, even though I couldn’t stand it if something happened to her. I force myself to move forward slowly.

Behind the store, near a huge dumpster, I find the driver of the Humvee. Her body sits spread-eagled, back against the wall, chin to chest. She wears gray and white camo to match the Humvee, a hard, round helmet, and a gas mask. A gun strap drapes over one shoulder, but the gun is missing.

She’s misshapen, like she’s caved in on herself, and bits of mottled flesh still cling to the bones of her remaining two fingers, which seem a bit gnawed upon. My stomach turns, and I have to put my hand over my mouth as I remember those rats. I’m glad the gas mask covers her face.

Emmaline comes trotting back, tail wagging, and I’m so relieved it’s hard to breathe for a moment. Maybe I should get her a leash.

“Heel,” I say, and she surprises me by moving immediately to my side and pacing me as I skirt the dumpster.