“I had a gun too, remember? And it didn’t even occur to me to pull it out of my pocket. I mean, I would have had to shove the magazine back in and find the safety and . . . Can you tell I know nothing about guns?”

Trey allows himself a weak grin. “We’re not exactly Commander Shepard, are we?”

“Who?”

“Another video game thing.” He runs a finger along the fireplace mantel. It’s a giant slab of polished oak, carved with vines and flowers. Displayed on it are a handful of shiny trophies. Behind the trophies, hanging from the wide brick chimney, is a huge framed Ohio State flag.

“Whose house is this?” I ask.

“Coach Buckell’s,” he says. “Head coach of the Ohio State basketball team. I came here last summer with a bunch of other football recruits for a mixer.” He snickers. “The athletic department had to pay a ten-thousand-dollar fine to the NCAA for holding that mixer. Violated some rule. Anyway, the plague hit a few days after Coach Buckell and the team had their big tournament send-off, so I knew the place would be empty.”

“Good call,” I say, though without enthusiasm. Nothing like staying in the abandoned house of a famous basketball coach to remind me of the total annihilation of my future.

“Also, you said you wanted a regulation-height basketball hoop. There’s one out by the garage.”

I sit straight up. “Is it safe to be outside, do you think?”

“Probably not.”

I sink back into the couch.

“But he’s got a workout room with a treadmill and some free weights so you can do some conditioning. Come into the kitchen with me,” Trey says. “I’ll make us some gourmet peanut-butter-and-honey sandwiches, then I’ll give you the tour.”

I wouldn’t mind a break from peanut butter, but my stomach growls as I follow him into a sunny dining area. Both the cherrywood table and the granite counters are piled high with our grocery loot. “Thanks for unloading the car,” I say.

He finds bread, peanut butter, and honey and makes a space on the counter to work. I slide onto a barstool to watch. He slaps on peanut butter like it’s going out of style, and I get the feeling his mind is far away.

“It talked to us,” he says finally.

I nod. “‘How do you aliving,’ it said. As in, ‘Why are you alive?’ Or ‘How did you survive?’”

He shrugs.

“It’s like it almost knew how to talk. Like it was figuring it out.”

“Maybe it was surprised to see us.”

“To see us ‘aliving,’ anyway. There are plenty of dead people.”

He pauses, butter knife poised in the air. “It floated. And it was huge. Did you notice that? Its head almost brushed the ceiling, and that ceiling was at least ten feet high.”

My stomach flutters. “I noticed.”