Jack’s the first off the boat, jumping off and running onto the steady ground and barking his excitement. He pees, then rushes off toward the castle, taking in all the new smells of grass, mud, and stone.

Molly and I leap off while Zeke ties up the boat. As soon as he’s done, Ryan follows, and the four of us race into the castle.

We’re soaking wet by the time we’re inside. The castle has seen better days, and parts of the ceiling have caved in. Water drips down, pooling in the middle of the large, marble floor.

There’s a spiral staircase leading up, a broken piano in one corner of the hall, and a grandfather clock that’s no longer ticking. Black mold spots the walls and there’s a dank smell.

So much for my fantasy of opulence.

“Where’s Jack?” Ryan asks, peering through the gloom.

“He ran off that way,” Zeke says, pointing down one of the corridors.

We begin to walk down the corridor, our footsteps echoing across the marble tiles.

“Jack!” Ryan calls. “Where are you, boy?”

There’s the sound of barking from far in the distance. We head toward the sound.

“Hey,” I say as we go. “What’s that up ahead?”

Everyone looks, peering through the darkness. There seems to be something glowing in the distance, like some kind of source of light. But it’s too yellow to be daylight. It looks more like a flame.

“A fire!” I gasp, suddenly alerted to the fact that someone else is here.

Immediately we draw our weapons. My mind races. Who could be here? A crazy colony? A group of slaverunners camping out on their way to the cities?

A lone survivor?

Suddenly, Jack emerges from the shadows. He leaps up at Ryan, licking him.

“Whoever it is,” Ryan says, “Jack seems to think it’s safe. He’s usually a good judge of character.”

“Who is there?” a voice calls from the darkness.

We all freeze, our guns poised, ready to fire. Shadows leap across the stone walls as a figure slowly shuffles toward us. As he gets closer, I see that it’s a young Hispanic boy, maybe fifteen. He’s thin with a baby face.

“Don’t come any closer!” I shout, jabbing my gun forward for emphasis.

The boy holds his hands up. “That’s not a very polite way to treat your host,” he says. “You are in my home, after all.”

My eyes dart right and meet Molly’s. She’s pulling a bemused expression.

“You live in this castle?” I say to the boy. “Alone?”

“All alone,” the boy replies. “You’re the first people I’ve seen in four years.” He looks away as though pained. “I’d started to think I was the last.”

“The last what?” I ask.

“The last human on earth.”