Grace and Riley keep some distance behind us.

Nia nearly rubs elbows with me while we walk toward the town center, her eyes darting around. Her breath catches several times. “It’s so empty here. Where is everybody?”

“At the town hall,” I sign. “Or dead.”

She swallows hard. “Do you think this’ll work?”

“I think it’s worth a try.”

“What if it doesn’t? What do we do then?”

“We let Emerson try. If they don’t succeed either…”

“We’ll figure something out, though I don’t know what yet.” Nia spends all her time in the kitchen. She knows how empty our stores are.

“Exactly.”

“This is our last chance, isn’t it?”

The reality of that set in for all of us over the past couple of days. From good chance, to best chance, to last chance. I don’t know what to say.

“Stay close to me, will you?”

I reach for her hand and squeeze her fingers. I keep my eyes on the street in front of me and refuse to count the plague signs for a change. Instead, we follow the easiest route toward the main street. We avoid the church and the school. The house with the dolls inside and the last one we cleared. It had an unfinished painting of a father and his daughter at a carnival on an easel. The picture used as reference leaned against it.

When we get closer to the town hall, other people join us on our route too. Some glance in our direction, but most keep their heads down. They’re alone. As hesitant as Nia and me. As scared too.

I try not to stare, but I need to be aware of them. Where they are, how they walk, how close they might get. It’s why Leah would ask me to stand guard when she went out stealing.

The door in the house to our right opens. A young woman walks out with a toddler in her arms. The girl has blue ribbons in her hair, and she’s wearing a cute, yellow dress that’s too large for her. The woman’s gaze meets mine for a second, then she immediately looks down. She clings the girl closer to her.

On the other side of the street, a boy in a wheelchair makes his way down the street. He’s wearing headphones and a mask, and he pays attention to nothing and no one but the empty road in front of him. He speeds past us.

“Do you think any of them survived the plague?” Nia whispers. “Do you think they are still waiting for others to recover too?”

I shrug. I don’t know, but it’s the nightmare that haunts me. The idea that there are people like Leah out there, not surrounded by friends or family, but in marked houses. Alone.

The closer we get to the center, the busier it gets. Occasionally people shout across the street and greet each other, though they keep a careful distance.

The first time it happens, Nia tenses up completely, and I freeze in my tracks.