The river curled on itself, back and forth, and the banks were steep. The survivors scrambled, ducking through the trees, stumbling over roots, too tired to guard their faces from the branches that whipped back on them and stung.

They stopped often. Every few minutes, holding tree trunks, or crouching with their foreheads to their knees. Even with the ramen, the cookies, and the meat, they were weary. They were half people, worn thin. When Mara stood, her ears filled with the hum of a thousand bees. Her pulse pounded in her eyeballs, in every inch of her skin. They sat to sip from their bottles. They had walked an impossible distance, over an impossible period of time. It was probably less than two miles.

Bullfrog climbed down the bank and stepped into the river. Waves rose around his calves. To his right, the water darkened in a deeper channel. “It’s better in the water. We can walk faster.”

Mara slid down after him, waded into the shallow edge. The cold was a balm on her feet. The riverbed was rocky, cast with dancing light. She felt Ashley behind her.

But when Mara stepped forward, her foot slipped on a rock. For a split second she thought she’d fall. The river stones were slick as ice.

“I don’t know about this,” said Mara.

“It’s fine,” said Bullfrog.

Ashley waded past her. One careful step, then another.

“Wait,” said Mara.

They both stopped.

“It just seems dangerous,” said Mara. “Walking in the water. It would be easy to fall.”

“Relax,” said Bullfrog. “We’ll be careful. Maybe we’ll actually make some progress.”

“Yeah, unless someone breaks their leg.”

“It does seem faster,” said Ashley.

Mara hesitated. The river was easy; there were no branches to push through, no logs to clamber over. Just a smooth and open path. But all they needed was one loose stone, one unexpected hole. One moment of lost balance. Even a shallow current could push them down. A sprained ankle, a broken foot, and—

Bullfrog took a swig from his bottle. “You coming?”

Just one more broken body. And then what? A fever. An infection. The sweating and waiting. The screaming. Who would be next? Bullfrog? Ashley? Mara herself?

“No,” said Mara. “We’ll walk on the bank. It’s safer.”

“It’ll be fine,” said Bullfrog.

“I’m not asking,” said Mara.

Nobody moved. Ashley wasn’t looking at either of them.

The water slid past, smooth, unhurried. Always flowing.

“Are you listening to me?” said Mara. She struggled to keep her voice calm, reasonable. “We can’t get hurt out here. We can’t afford to take chances.”

“Nobody’s getting hurt,” said Bullfrog.

“How can you say that, after Kyle?”

“Listen,” said Bullfrog. “I’m just trying to get us out of here while we can still fucking walk.”

“Get out of the river,” said Mara.

Bullfrog wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He took another step down the stream.

“You didn’t even see him at the end,” said Mara, her voice rising. “You were gone. We had to do it without you.”