There was other bait Mara could use, of course. Insects, grubs. Later, once she had fish, she’d use their guts to catch more, a whole growing cycle. But for now the bar would work best. Human food, processed. Caloric and sweet, like nothing else around. It would take time for the pieces to break apart, for the strange scent to drift out through the water, but it would work. The fish would come. There was no bait like the promise of something new.

14

The next day it rained hard. Lightning flashed through the shelter’s doorway and thunder rumbled from all sides. The survivors huddled in the shelter and struggled to keep the fire strong. Raindrops fell through the chimney, and most of the firewood was soaked, but the shelter itself barely leaked. The air thickened with smoke from the stubborn coals and they coughed into their elbows, or turned their heads and coughed at the wall.

At times the flashes came in succession like a strobe light, and Mara’s teammates’ faces were illuminated and then gone, leaving her blinking, the after-image still stained on her eyelids. She had the strange memory of some black-and-white monster movie, bursts of light that revealed horror for just a millisecond, and as her memory deepened she half expected to see skulls and skeletons flashing at her in place of the others, three beasts by the fire with long fingers and arms. But all she saw were their huddled shapes, so familiar now. Bullfrog hunched with his eyes closed, Ashley’s tense brow, and Kyle sitting upright, listening to the thunder intently, as if he might be called upon to answer a question in class. At the next boom, Ashley squeaked, and Mara held her own knees tighter.

The roof held up. Mara hadn’t doubted the shelter; she just hadn’t seen it tested. Bullfrog had a way of weaving boughs between layers of moss, and she made a mental note to inspect from the outside, once the rain stopped, so she’d know how to do it herself. Curled up tight, nudging and puffing on the coals, she felt like an actor for the first time in days. She knew her role, her lines. Her body was stiff and cold. But her real self was separate, flying, and she could perform like this forever if it meant holding Ashley at the end of the day.

A clap of thunder shook the ground, and they all jumped.

“We should crouch,” said Kyle. “Touch the ground as little as possible. That way we’re less likely to be electrocuted if we’re struck by lightning.”

They were already mostly crouching, because the straw was wet, and insects crawled out when it rained.

“At least we’re not high up,” said Ashley. “Or under something tall.”

“There’s that tree,” said Bullfrog. He meant the maple at the edge of the clearing, the one that was dead and split.

“Good,” said Mara. “It’ll hit the tree and not us.”

“That’s not how lightning works,” said Kyle.