I was afraid to meet her eyes, afraid that they might convince me—and they couldn’t convince me. I had to make sure Mama was all right. Had to find a place for Jamey and Starla. I imagined Mama welcoming them like her own grandkids.

“Wil,” Lisbeth repeated. “What if this is all there is?”

The washer grunted and finished its cycle. The sun had all but disappeared, pale pink rust in a sky streaked white. It would snow tonight. It would snow every night.

The Church patrolled the railroad tracks, and the road beyond the trees: that was how they had found us. They had watch duty, food, a school in the little town. They had a Laundromat. I tried to think of what it might be like to stay here: to sleep in a house without wheels, to wake without fear, to live in a place with guards.

But possibilities were like stars. I could go anywhere. I could have a little farm of my own. I could grow things again, everything we needed. “I have to know what’s out there,” I said.

“What if it’s nothing?”

Lisbeth left me to do her evening chores. All these new little worlds had structure, patterns. Otherwise, they would fall into chaos, like Skate State—and even Skate State had a hierarchy: Jake in charge, the men beneath him fixing the cars and guarding the property, scaring up food and supplies. The women, cooking and cleaning, taking care of the children. Doing everything else, everything he made them do. All the work women were going to have to do again.

Lisbeth said she had to feed the dogs, pets that came along and strays that had wandered into the town, drawn by the smell of food. The Church was living off the emergency supplies they had brought with them, stockpiles that would last for months, though maybe not that long if they kept taking in strangers.

Dogs had been allowed to come along with the caravan—but not my mama. I remembered the offer Lisbeth had made before The Church left was just for me. I was still young enough to be saved, she had told me once, because I was a child when I first started breaking the law. When was I going to be too old, beyond the reach of her saving book? Was I already? I wondered if she still slept with her shoes on.

Someone was coming up the path toward me in the darkness. I heard the crunch of ice and a rhythmic thud. It was Grayson, dragging his leg. He hauled himself onto the van hood beside me.

I wished we had whiskey, something to warm us, sitting outside in the cold like stupid kids. We didn’t even have a fire. But as soon as we went inside, they would separate us, I knew. Boys in one house, girls in another. The thought made me nervous.