Filling that hole is the only reason Trey and I would agree to help Tanq with her “business.” It’s not safe to go anywhere, do anything, except lay low until we figure stuff out.

But with my family, my best friend, all my hopes for the future gone like smoke in a breeze—Tanq is here, an actual person, and I can help her, even if it might not be the smart thing. This is how we stay human.

“North on 270, right?” I say to Tanq.

“Yeah. I’ll give you more directions as we get closer.”

Tanq guides us through a neighborhood of million-dollar brick mansions overlooking winter-brown lawns as vast as football fields. We turn into a narrow drive and wind through rows of poplars that are just beginning to bud with green, then around a pond shimmering with a thin layer of ice toward the biggest house I’ve ever seen in real life. It boasts a columned entry, long casement windows, three full stories, and several brick chimneys. To the left is a bay of garage doors—enough for six cars.

We curve around the circular drive and park at the front door. Tanq is the first to step out, hefting her backpack. Her gaze has grown fierce, and she glares at the massive double door like she’s sighting down the barrel of a gun.

“You expect anyone to be home?” I ask as Emmaline trots over to the grass to pee.

“No.”

“How do you know?” Trey says. His neck is craned, his eyes constantly scanning the sky.

“The owner of the house is in Europe. Well, he’s probably dead, but he was in Europe when the virus hit.”

I’m curious how she knows, but something tells me not to push. “How are we going to get in?” I ask instead, and with forced cheer I add, “I stand ready to bust through a window.”

Tanq ignores me, reaching toward a small panel beside the door and whisking it aside to reveal a touch pad. The screen lights up, which means it has a backup power source.

She keys in a seven-digit code. The deadbolt clicks, and Tanq pushes the front door open to reveal a marble foyer framed by twin staircases that wind toward a balconied second story. Paintings line the walls of the foyer, each labeled with a gilded plaque—like in a museum. In the very center is an honest-to-god tree in a giant pot, reaching toward a skylight high above.

Trey whistles. “This is the fanciest house I’ve ever stepped inside.”

“Same here,” I say, gawking at the skylight. Emmaline’s claws make an echoing tap-tap as she scurries everywhere, sniffing everything in reach of her muzzle.

“Show yourselves around,” Tanq said. “Feel free to snoop. Extra points for vandalism.”

“Wait, for real?” Trey says.