So Bullfrog was right. Someone had missed them, and come searching, and left, before they even knew it. People in this place. It made her skin crawl with longing, and something else, too—the sense that it was almost a violation. Strangers in their home. Now the strangers were gone again, and the world was theirs alone.

In another world, far away, their families were mourning. Kyle’s, at least, and Ashley’s. But not hers. If the news had reached them somehow, they would know she was okay.

In the bushes nearby, Mara found shreds of plastic. Raccoons had gotten into the tents, she guessed, or coyotes, and then she thought probably the bear cub, learning to live on its own, and that seemed right. After killing its mother, they’d left it a feast of bar wrappers and Mountain Dew. She hoped it had eaten well.

She lingered, gathering bits of trash until the sun was high. Then she walked the familiar path to the survivors’ camp.

On the way she passed two mounds of dry scat, gray and chalky with white shards. Ash and bone. So whatever had rummaged through crew camp had rummaged through Kyle. Mara expected to feel horrified, but she didn’t. She had run out of horror long ago. They had eaten enough animals here. It only made sense that animals would eat them, too.

The camp, their old home, was peaceful. That was her first thought. A simple meadow in the woods, lakeside, under a bluebird sky. Trees swaying, and a few red leaves drifting through the air. The grass had grown taller and covered the remains of their signal fires. The big maple groaned in the breeze.

In place of their shelter was a pile of charred logs. Ash had blown in all directions, darkening the grasses around it. Black lumps in a ring of soot. There was no smell.

Mara set down the skunk hide for Kyle. She closed her eyes to steady herself. And as she did, she felt self-conscious, a feeling she had almost forgotten. As if someone were gauging her reaction, judging her for it. As if she were being watched. It was the feeling of the place for her, like a stage or the set of a play. But for a moment, for the first time, it made her feel powerful.

You want me to perform? she thought to the trees. Just watch.

34

She had come for the trap.

No distance at all to the bank of the lake, the steep bank, which had felt longer and steeper when they were starving. But when Mara reached the water, the trap wasn’t there. No lines of sticks tracing the surface, no labyrinth poking through. Just the smooth, untroubled water. A few red lily pads, glinting with the sun. The hum of gnats. Something splashed, modest, a turtle off a stone.

It didn’t make any sense.

Mara inched closer, until the toes of her boots touched the water, and even then it was only crouching that she saw it. There beneath the glare, beneath reflected clouds. The trap was intact, but the water level had risen higher than the walls. The fish had simply swum out. She had never needed to come back at all.