He grabs a plastic container in the shape of a bear and squeezes honey out of it. “So this is what I think. I think it couldn’t see us. But it heard us. And it tried to sniff us out but couldn’t because of the decomp.” He hands me a sandwich.

“We should put the theory to the test.” I take a bite and close my eyes to savor. I’m definitely still into peanut butter. How much has the world changed that I can enjoy my sandwich while discussing decomposing bodies?

“How would we do that?” he asks.

“Not sure,” I mumble around a mouthful.

“We should avoid the aliens whenever possible.”

I swallow and look him straight in the eye. “What we don’t know about them could get us killed.”

“Purposely seeking out giant creatures who shoot poisonous fingernails could get us killed too.”

“What do you think we should do?”

His lips press into a firm line. He stares off into space, eyes slightly narrowed—a look I’m already starting to identify as his thinking face. “We should stay here a couple of days,” he says. “I want to see you get some strength back before we make any big moves.”

“And then?”

“And then we get the hell out of Dodge. Hole up someplace rural where there are fewer bodies to deal with. Maybe we can find a house with a big propane tank that will give us some hot water.”

“But if your theory is right, bodies give us protection,” I point out. “Like camouflage. The smellier the better.”

“If this warm weather holds, we only have a week or so of camouflage left anyway.”

I stare at my sandwich. “You think there will be fewer Orkins in rural areas.”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Just because humans work that way doesn’t mean aliens do. Maybe they prefer rural areas. Maybe the small towns of Ohio are crawling with them.”

He gives me an angry frown. “Don’t you think it’s worth a try?”

“My point is that we don’t know.”

He starts slapping his own sandwich together, attacking the peanut butter with vengeful purpose.

“Are we about to have our first fight, Trey?”

This coaxes a grin out of him, but he sobers quickly. “We do know there’s at least one Orkin at the hospital. We know they have at least one big shiny flying thing that kills people right here in Columbus. And we know that they have the technology to wipe us out with an engineered disease.”

Softly, I add, “And we know I’m not healthy enough to run or fight or whatever we have to do.”

“Not yet,” he amends.

“Not yet,” I agree. “So I’m on board with the first part of your plan. We should stay here two or three days. I’m feeling better already. My heel hardly bothers me at all anymore.”