“You can’t what?” Mara asked once. Ashley opened her mouth, frozen, then began to sob so hard that it seemed like throwing up. Bones under a blanket, convulsing. She was a thousand pieces wrapped in skin. “I can’t, I can’t—”

Eventually Mara learned the answer.

“You don’t need to,” Mara said. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to.”

AT TIMES THE WORDS ASHLEY REPEATED WERE DIFFERENT. “I CAN’T TELL YOU,” SHE would say. Or, “I never.” And then she’d circle back to I can’t.

Mara remembered what Ashley had done for Kyle, telling him about himself, and she tried to do the same. Repeating details she remembered, or that she’d overheard Ashley tell the cameras. Many of them were things she didn’t even remember learning. But somehow she knew.

“You’re twenty-four years old,” Mara said. “You grew up in California, with your mom and your sister. You’re a swimmer. You like camping. Your mother’s name is Doreen. Your sister is Beth.”

It occurred to Mara that maybe Ashley wasn’t twenty-four anymore, and she wouldn’t know. Maybe Ashley didn’t know, either.

“You signed up for Civilization,” Mara said, “because you’re tough and brave and you have something to show the world, and the world is going to see it. You’re going to have one of those science shows. You’re going to be famous someday.”

When Ashley tensed, Mara knew it was time to change course.

“Or,” she said. “Or you can move home and change your name and nobody will find you ever again. You can start over. You can be whoever you want.”

On days like that, when Mara petted Ashley long enough that she took a deep breath, air rattling to the bottom of her lungs after hours of gasping and choking, it felt like the most important thing Mara had ever done.

31

The morning felt normal enough. Mara sat on the cot, leaning back against the wall, with Ashley curled up in her lap. Ashley seemed to be asleep, twitching and mumbling. Then her movements grew. She shook harder, almost convulsing, flailing her fists so they landed on Mara hard. Mara had never seen a body move like that, had never seen grief shake the bones. She wrapped her arms around Ashley and pinned her tight, squeezing as hard as she could. Trying to still her, to calm her, before either of them got hurt.

“Shh,” said Mara. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“You don’t know,” said Ashley. “You don’t know.”

“I know it’s okay,” said Mara.

Ashley was still shuddering, or would have been, if Mara weren’t holding her so tight. That trembling in her bones.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” said Mara.

“You don’t know.”

“Look around,” said Mara. “Tell me what you see.”

She would do anything, say anything, to take Ashley out of her own mind.

“We’re trapped,” said Ashley.

“We’re not trapped,” said Mara, though Ashley was, in her arms. “Tell me what you see.”

When Ashley spoke next, her voice was so small, so cracked, that it seemed to come from someone tiny, someone who could fit in the palm of one hand. A ghost. A puppy who only wanted milk.