Actually, we don’t even know if there is a them. But I keep silent on the matter. I’m going along with Trey’s theory because I don’t have a better one, and he did see that dragonfly thing. But I’m not sure I’ll truly believe it until I see them with my own eyes.

“Ready?” I say.

He’s holding the rifle in his hands. “Ready.”

I grab my tire iron, then unlock the deadbolt and open the door. Light pours in. Emmaline pours out. She dashes across the asphalt to the back fence, where she squats to potty.

Neither of us says a word as we creep around the dumpster, past the dead national guardswoman, and through the alley to the front of the store. All the snow has melted, but thick, greenish clouds have rolled in and wind chills the air. I put up my hoodie to protect my ears.

I unlock the doors to the SUV, and we slide into the seats. Emmaline catches up to us and jumps into Trey’s lap.

Trey puts an arm around her as he glances into the rear seat. “Nice purse. And nice . . . dish?”

“That dish is called the Monstrosity, and it’s coming with us. Nonnegotiable.”

He stares at my profile as I put the car in reverse and back out of the parking space. “Sure. No problem.”

We roll across the lot toward the supermarket. I turn us around and back up to the entrance to make for easy loading.

We hop out, and I hand him my tire iron. He hands me the gun. It’s heavy. At least ten pounds. Or maybe I’m just weak from being so sick.

“I don’t know much about using an AR-15,” he warns. “But I guess ‘point and shoot’ is a good starting place.”

I nod, swallowing hard, because I’ve never held a gun before in my life, and because it’s an immense gesture of trust for him to hand it over to someone he just met.

“Stand back and keep watch,” he says. “And you might want to hold your dog in case glass flies everywhere.” Trey pulls a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and slips them on to protect his eyes. He zips his duster coat all the way up and pulls the collar over his mouth and nose. His voice is muffled when he says, “Here we go!”

Trey steps up to the thick plexiglass window and swings.

The tire iron plunks against it; the sound is like a deep drumbeat. It bounces off the glass and flies out of his hands, winging end over end. I duck instinctively, even though it doesn’t come close.

He stares after it, eyes wide, as it clatters to the pavement. “I could have killed you!”