“I don’t know if you do.” She breathes in, she holds it, she breathes out. She almost looks like a warrior to Tom. He lightly fingers the outside of his bag. The glasses are within. Malorie continues, “Whether we find them or not, the fact that we’re going means something. A great deal. There are people out there too afraid to attempt what we’re about to try.”

“The train,” Olympia says.

Malorie looks to her quickly.

“Are you worried about the train?” she asks. “Oh, Olympia. I am, too.” Then, “Are either of you against doing this?”

Tom can tell she hasn’t taken this into account until now. It’s all over her face.

“I’m not against it,” he says. “I’m excited.”

He looks to her bag, sees the census pages jutting out the top.

Malorie shakes her head no.

“Don’t be excited, Tom. Please. Just be alert.” She turns to Olympia. “And you?”

“I want them to be alive,” she says.

Malorie nods. Then she motions for the two of them to come to her, and they do. In the center of the cabin she grips each of their wrists.

“This is the right thing to do,” she says. “Imagine you two found out I was living alone, someplace else. You’d do the same, right?”

“Yes,” Olympia says.

“We wouldn’t let you go,” Tom says.

Malorie breathes deep again.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s go. Get the last of your things.”

She looks to Tom’s bag.

“You’re set?” she asks. “Nothing extra in there?”

Tom shakes his head no. Malorie nods.

“Okay. How many are out there?”

“Right now?” he asks.

Olympia cocks an ear to the cabin wall. Tom stands still. After a minute of silence, of listening, both teens respond with the same number at the same time.

“One.”

“Jesus Christ,” Malorie says. “There’s even one for our very first step. Let’s hope that ratio doesn’t last.”

Tom zips his bag and puts on his hoodie. By the time his head comes through the top, Olympia’s bag is beside her, too.

“Gloves,” Malorie says.

But both teens are already putting them on.

“I love you guys,” she says.

And Tom feels it.

He looks to her bag again and sees the tops of the white pages. He thinks of the story the man at the door alluded to. Tales of a creature caught.

Could it be?

“Okay,” Malorie says. “Blindfolds.”

They put them on. As Tom closes his eyes and secures the fabric to his face, he imagines himself on a mountaintop with a box, as people all over the world line up to see what’s inside.

Yes, see, as Tom will allow them a look with his glasses, the very glasses he built himself.

“Now,” Malorie says, a touch of hysteria in her voice. “Now, let’s go.”