“See what?” Malorie asks. She tries not to imagine a drawing. A photo. What did she miss in the stack?

But that’s not what Ron means.

“Someone says they…caught one?”

“Just rumor,” Malorie says quickly. “That’s impossible.”

“But to even think to try?”

Ron sets his drink on a stack of paint cans. He wipes his hands on his coat again, as if, by doing so, he might erase the fact that he’s touched papers suggesting a creature could be caught.

“Oh, Malorie,” Ron says. “It’s too much. All of this. It’s overwhelming me.”

“I’m sorry, Ron,” Malorie says. She should go. She should get up and leave this place. Why did she come here?

“My sister’s name is in there, too,” Ron suddenly says.

“What?”

He rises and turns his back to her.

“My sister’s name, Malorie.” He’s almost shouting now.

“On the survivor list?” Malorie asks. She looks to the pages he’s discarded.

“Yes. My sister is on the list, too. What don’t you understand about that? My sister is on the list!”

Malorie doesn’t know what to say. Here she hasn’t processed her own news yet.

She bends and takes up the papers.

“My God,” Ron says. “My God, my God, my God.”

Malorie doesn’t read the words in her lap. She only feels the presence of Ron’s emotions. The sadness, the futility, the fact that he’s just learned of his sister having survived at least the arrival of the creatures. Here, a paranoid hermit has gotten word of something worth venturing into the new world for.

Ron sits again. He’s smiling, but his expression scares her. As if his eyes are made of black cloth. As if he isn’t capable of seeing her at all.

His hand slides to the chair’s armrest. He lifts the blindfold and, smiling yet, secures it around his head.

Malorie doesn’t know what to say. She shouldn’t say anything at all. She should go.

“Thank you for letting me in, Ron,” she says. Then she asks it because she feels as though she must. “Would you take that train to see your sister again?”

“Hmm?” Like he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Like she’s brought up a subject from some hours ago, a trifle in the course of more important matters. “Oh, that? I wouldn’t have to. She was listed as a survivor in Saugatuck. South of us.”

Malorie waits. But she can’t stop herself.

“Maybe…” she begins. “Maybe it’d be good for you…to…”

Ron’s hand darts out and blasts the volume on the ham radio. He moves fast and the sound is loud and Malorie’s already setting the rest of her drink on the floor and rising to leave.