He stared at them a minute, then sighed. “My home is a long way from here, and that’s where I’m headed now. If you come with me, I’ll raise you till you can stand on your own two feet.”

Silence.

The other three looked at Gabe, waiting for him to decide, as they had since the first week he’d arrived. As if he knew what he was doing, which was totally a crock.

But if they trusted him, he’d better be careful. Couldn’t let them get hurt, and this guy was awful big. When Gramps was dying, Gabe had scavenged on the streets to get money for food and medicine. He’d seen bad stuff happen.

He studied Mako. Clean. Good sturdy clothes. Scary tough. Probably kinda mean. But his gaze was straight; his body was straight. No sign of drugs or alcohol.

And he’d called Phillip a pervert like he hated perverts.

“You’ll take care of us?” Gabe asked carefully. “Feed us an’…and send us to school?”

The man snorted. “Got no school in the wilderness, but you’ll learn, boy. And you’ll eat a far sight better than here. You’ll learn to hunt your own meat. Live off the land. And you’ll be safe when the world goes to hell.”

Was the world supposed to go to hell? That sounded kinda crazy.

Gabe glanced at Phillip, still not moving. Crazy was better than a…a pervert. Or being locked up in a group home. Getting a long way from here would be smart.

“I’ll go with you.” Gabe met the other kids’ looks and spoke for them all. “We’ll go with you.”

“Good enough. Let’s get out of here.” The man turned, and his voice drifted down the hallway. “Start thinking of new names for yourselves.”

Mako hadn’t been joking about a long way away. The sarge took them to Alaska.

Within a month, the other three had found their new names.

A bull moose charged Kana, making him dodge around trees forever, before Mako’d gotten a shot at it. The kid dropped onto the ground, panting and laughing—cuz Kana could laugh at anything. He stared at the monster-sized moose and slapped his chest. “I’m gonna eat him and get as big as him. I’m gonna be a bigga-badda bull.”

Bull had found his name.

When Miguel had trapped a rabbit using just stuff from the forest, Mako said he had the makings of a hunter. Miguel had stared at the trap he’d built. “Cazador. Me llamo Cazador.”

Miguel still hadn’t picked up much English, but the sarge knew Spanish. “You want to be called Cazador?”

Miguel nodded.

Mako crossed his arms over his chest. “Means hunter. Yeah, that’s a good handle, kid. You’re Cazador.”