Bluish moonlight filters through the storefront, softening the cluttered chaos of the floor. The air is icy, and it’s an odd, odd thing to watch our breath frost indoors. It makes the world seem thin. Dreamlike. For a wild instant, I think that none of this is real.

Trey is a huge dark shadow before me, somehow menacing and comforting at the same time. Glass crunches beneath his boot, snapping the dream-sense, and we both freeze. He chuckles softly, which I understand. We’re probably being ridiculous. But better safe than sorry, right? We press forward.

A sale bin looms before us, mounded with small items I can’t make out. We crouch behind it. The position gives us a perfect view of the parking lot. Paul’s SUV is off to the right; it’s an unremarkable lump compared to the abandoned Humvee. A few birds clump together on the sidewalk in front of the cars, their heads tucked beneath their wings.

How much has the world changed for them to sleep in the open like that? Are there no predators? No hungry ones, maybe. In the absence of humanity, everything else is well fed.

“Do you see anything?” he whispers.

“No, but I don’t have a good view of—”

Whoomp.

The door rattles. A soft glow bubbles up over the horizon, silhouetting the treetops at the far end of the lot. It fades as quickly as it came.

“Did you see that?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

We wait in silence, hoping or dreading that it will happen again, but all is still.

“I think it came from far away,” I tell him.

“North of the city,” he agrees. “Maybe way north.”

“To light up like that, to make that big of a . . . sound? It must be—”

“Enormous.”

Emmaline’s wet nose prods my palm, and I jump a little. I bury my hand in her ruff, and she responds by leaning against my thigh. My legs are starting to tremble from crouching, or maybe it’s just the cold.

“I don’t like this,” Trey says, gazing out over the moonlit pavement. “This store, I mean. It has supplies, but no cover. We’ll be totally exposed as we try to get into the supermarket.”

“We’ll work fast. Fill our cars with everything we can. Then find a different place to hole up for a bit.”

“My family didn’t have a car.” His voice is suddenly a little bit dangerous.

I’d noticed there are no other cars in the lot, but I assumed his was nearby. On the street, maybe. “How did you get to work and school?”

“Bus, usually. After everyone died, I rode my bicycle. I keep it in the stockroom.”

“I can fit everything we need in that SUV,” I say. “And there are plenty of cars lying around that no one needs.”