Mara didn’t mind him as much, humbled. Still, she knew that she and Kyle should avoid each other. They got along better that way. Once he’d been going on about his hero, Chris McCandless, and how great Chris would do if he were there, and Mara said, because it seemed obviously flawed to idolize a survivor who hadn’t survived, “He’s dead,” at which point Kyle said, “Yeah, but he really lived,” and Mara laughed for far too long before she realized it wasn’t a joke.

She decided to find meat. Not to show Kyle up—not entirely—but because she was hungry, and Ashley was, too, and she wanted to feed Ashley almost as much as herself. Besides, with their basic tasks completed, it made sense to turn toward the longer-term problems of protein and fat.

Mara’s first thought was to make a line of snares. But she could tell by the age of tracks that most of the bigger animals around them had left. Of course they had, with the crashing and voices and smell of people. Any that stayed would be on high alert.

Then she thought of a throwing stick, which she could aim at the geese who sometimes visited the lake. With any luck she could break a wing as they flew, and a goose would fall to the water, and maybe Ashley could swim and get it. Bullfrog had begun to build a split-log shelf for his side of the shelter, which struck Mara as both an impressive feat and a waste of energy, and when he lay down for a nap she borrowed the axe and set off in search of a dense, curved piece of wood. She would have stopped often to catch her breath if her sandals didn’t demand slow and careful steps in the first place.

The beech trees had sprouted, seemingly overnight, and the woods were not airy anymore but dense as a jungle; Mara had never seen a season turn so hard so quickly. She pushed through bunches of vibrant leaves, which fell over each other like scales. Even the smallest twigs had bloomed, and the ground rose with ferns that tickled her knees. The familiar sight lines were gone, and she oriented by smaller landmarks she had scarcely given thought to before: a broken stump decked in lines of jelly mushrooms; clusters of trillium, white and blush.

Mara heard footsteps as she walked. She didn’t look back. She was used to the cameras now, who followed in case she met the bear again—not to protect her, but to capture the drama. Anyway, she did her best to ignore them. It wasn’t until she started chopping a young birch, choking up for control, that she heard her name between thwacks. Sure enough, when Mara looked, it was her.

“You’re making something,” Ashley said.

Mara nodded.

“What is it?”

“You followed me.”

Ashley nodded. “I want to talk to you.”

Mara was sitting, though she wasn’t sure when she had sat down. Ashley sat beside her. The ground was rough, but she hardly felt it. A camera came closer, and Mara wanted to hide, but maybe Ashley’s shine was so bright that no one would notice anyone else.