We’re standing beneath the awning of a stranger’s porch, surrounded by trees, and the breeze rustles the bare branches around us. Tiny buds are poking out all over, promising an explosion of green in the coming weeks. The trees don’t care that humanity has died. They’re going to keep budding and blooming and drying up, a stubborn cycle of life and death and rebirth.

“I suppose you’re right,” I say finally. “At least she knows we’re here. If she gets into trouble, maybe she’ll change her mind and . . .”

Birds explode into the sky, a dark cloud of wings and screeched warnings. They disappear, and just as suddenly, a hush falls.

A large shadow passes over the street. A mechanical whine fills the air.

“Get down!” Trey says, yanking on my arm.

I drop to the ground beside him. Together, we huddle in the lee of the awning.

“What is it?” I whisper.

“Not sure, but it might be—”

It appears through a break in the rooftops, following its shadow. It’s silvery and shiny in the sun. Sleek and winged, the size of a one-man fighter but shaped a little like a giant dragonfly. There’s no propulsion system I can see. No windows. No door. Just a sleek narrow body and gossamer wings with lines so fluid and aerodynamic they seem almost like water, gently flowing through the sky, the slight whining sound the only indication that it’s actually a machine.

It’s heading in the exact same direction as the girl.

“That’s the thing I was telling you about,” Trey says, his voice trembling. “The thing that killed those kids.”

“We have to go after her,” I say, as Trey simultaneously says, “We should stay in cover until it’s gone.”

We stare at each other for a long moment, our faces close. Trey’s lips press into a hard line, and then he nods once, curtly.

He takes off running at a low crouch, and I’m happy to follow his lead. We keep to the shadows, sprinting from porch to porch, tree to tree, following the flying thing. We have to get to the girl, warn her away or save her or . . . I don’t even know what we’ll do. I just know that I couldn’t stand it if she died.

We round a corner, and there she is, her empty backpack jouncing against her shoulder. But her pace has slowed, and she glances about in apparent caution. She knows she’s being followed. Above her, the flying thing slows, drops altitude.

There’s no way to reach her in time.

“Look out!” I scream.

The girl whirls.

I point frantically at the silver thing as Trey waves her toward a nearby porch. “Take cover!” he yells.

The girl’s mouth opens as she gapes at the sky. Her pack slides off her shoulder and drops to the ground.