But Olympia goes to Michigan anyway. There are dozens of pages for the state, as there are for most of the states in the Midwest.

“That’s a lot of people,” Tom says. “See? Someone’s caught one.”

“Well, if you consider the population seventeen years ago, this isn’t that many. Remember when Mom told us about the phone book? And all the calls they made?”

“Yeah.” Tom gets it. “And that was just for their immediate area.”

“Exactly.”

They flip through the names. Some are illegible. Others stand out.

“I got an idea,” Tom says.

He hops up off Olympia’s bed and goes to the dresser beside his own. From the top drawer he takes a pencil.

“Let’s put our names in there anyway,” he says.

Olympia is relieved. She’d been worried the list of modern cities might send her brother into weeks of self-reflection. Tom has gone quiet before. Especially when he starts thinking of the world outside the camp. Despite Malorie referring to him as “her optimist,” Tom actually has long bouts of visible consternation. Olympia has read all about characters who get quiet when they get serious. But then again, she’s also read of hundreds who’ve changed by the end of the story. And changed those around them.

Tom is beside her again. He takes the book from her and flips to the last page of Michigan names.

He writes Camp Yadin near the bottom of the page, where there’s room. He writes his own name. He hands Olympia the pencil.

She likes this idea. She’s smiling as she reads the seemingly infinite list of people. But her smile begins to sag as two names leap out at her, two that are familiar to her, though Malorie hardly ever refers to them by their actual names.

“What’s up?” Tom asks.

Olympia is already flipping the page back, checking the name of the city where these two people were found.

“Olympia, what’s going on? You look scared.”

She doesn’t even realize she’s looking Tom in the eye now; all she sees are the two names written in chicken-scratch and the name St. Ignace like a banner, swinging weakly in a world decimated by creatures who drive you mad when you see them.

“Olympia, are you okay?”

“We have to get Mom, Tom.”

“She’s sweeping the camp. Besides, I don’t want her to know about this—”

“We have to get Mom now.”

THREE

Malorie thinks of Gary.

It makes sense. A man arrives at the camp. He knocks. He speaks from the other side of the door. All good intentions, of course. Until you let him in, of course. Then he makes friends with the others, ingratiates himself to the point where your own kids turn on you, and presto, you’ve welcomed an old-world madman into your life.