He grins. “Glad to hear it. Because if there are others out there, stragglers like us, maybe we can figure out a way to help them and see if we can all be . . . people . . . again.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, I know it’s what I want too. “I like that plan.”

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure who I am without family and football. It’s like I have to come up with a whole new reason for living, you know?”

“But trying to find others—that’s a reason,” I say.

He shrugs. “It’s something to do.”

I settle back into the love seat, and Trey plunks into the nearest folding chair. We talk for hours as the break room grows chilly and the light seeping around the door fades. In spite of what we said earlier, we end up talking about things that don’t matter anymore like music and favorite professional athletes (Me: Sue Bird; Trey: Cam Newton. I roll my eyes when he tells me he’s a Pats fan), best home-cooked meals ever (his momma made a righteous lasagna; I tell him about Mom’s baked mac and cheese), and worst teachers in school. We argue about which Star Wars movie was the best (me: Empire, him: The Last Jedi), and whether or not the Bengals would have had a shot at the playoffs this year with their new draft picks. Eventually, Trey moves from the chair to his sleeping bag. Our chatter grows soft and sporadic as we drift off to sleep.

Whoomp.

I sit straight up. My insides feel huge and hollow, echoing with the strange not-sound.

“Trey?” I whisper into the dark.

“I heard it.”

Something creaks—probably the building settling. Fabric rubs together as Trey shifts in his sleeping bag. Emmaline lets out a sigh as she stretches out against me.

Whoomp.

I startle, even though I was waiting for it. “What is that?”

“An explosion, maybe?” he whispers back. “Coming from a long way off.”

“I’ve heard it before. The same night I got bit.”

More fabric rustling. A shadow looms nearby. “I’m going to look outside,” he says.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Hell, no. I won’t go anywhere. I’ll just peek out the store windows.”

I toss the Snuggie aside and feel around on the floor for my Doc Martens. “I’m going with you.”

I expect him to protest, but he says, “We should stick together as much as possible.”

“Agreed.”

Moments later, we’re peering through the swinging doors, then slowly pushing them open and creeping down the snack food aisle. Emmaline stays at my heel, her tail wagging ferociously at the prospect of a grand adventure.