“Eat something first!” Trey orders. “I made you a tuna sandwich. Is that okay? Do you like tuna?”

“Did you put anything else in it?” The area north of Columbus is a reality-warping black hole where an innocent girl can ask for mayonnaise and get Miracle Whip instead. I learned a long time ago it’s best to have your tuna plain.

“No, nothing else.”

“Then yes, I love tuna.”

They watch me eat, especially Trey, as though he’s worried I might sneak it to Emmaline—who stares up at me with the purest, rawest hope that I’ll do just that. I chew fast, trying to decide if Trey’s commitment to my health and well-being is touching or irritating.

Touching, I decide. He’s an older sibling, just like me. He probably can’t help himself.

We sling our meager things over our shoulders—my floral purse, Tanq’s backpack, Trey’s rifle—and head for the RAV4. It’s parked sideways in the driveway now, as close to the door as possible. So Tanq could siphon gas into it, I realize.

It’s bitterly cold, and a line of crows stares at us from the peak of the garage roof. I was right; the day is gray and cloudy—how long has it been since I’ve seen the sun? Like me, Trey and Tanq constantly crane their necks, keeping an eye out for flying craft as we strap into the car. Trey sits in the passenger seat this time. Emmaline hops into the back with Tanq.

“We’ll never see them coming,” I say, “with the clouds this low.”

“Maybe they won’t see us either?” Tanq says.

“If they even see,” Trey says. “The one at the medical center didn’t seem to have eyes.”

“Wait,” Tanq says. “Waitwaitwait. You saw one?”

Worried she’ll change her mind about coming along, I quickly put the car in gear and aim it toward the road. Trey recounts our experience at the medical center—the impossibly tall, eyeless creature that seemed to float down the hallway, its odd attempt at speaking, the projectile fingernails that launched from its hand and embedded themselves in our skin.

“Oh my god,” Tanq says, over and over.

I have no desire to relive it all, so I mostly ignore their conversation, focusing on the road, searching the wide gray sky ahead and the fields around us for a telltale silver glint. A couple of warmer days have transformed the world, and green is poking out everywhere: grass spreading along the roadside, trees budding with new leaves, crocuses blooming lavender in winter-brown lawns. Even daffodils and tulips are sending their first shoots out of the mud. Within a few weeks, this roadside will be a riot of color.

Ohio is cold, cold, cold, Mom used to say. And when you can hardly stand it, it’s cold some more. Then suddenly, one day you blink and it’s spring.