Ashley didn’t smile. She didn’t remind Mara that they had fish, an amount of fish that would have been inconceivable just three days ago, and that food would make everything easier. She didn’t put her forehead to Mara’s shoulder, or squeeze her dirty hand. She didn’t even lift her head for a while. And when she did, she didn’t look at Mara at all.

Instead she stood up, walked to the lake, dropped her mic on the shore, and waded out in her clothes. She swam to the deepest water. She swam for a long time.

WHEN MARA HEARD FOOTSTEPS SHE THOUGHT IT WAS CREW, AND FELT A SURGE OF relief, more even than she expected. How caught up she’d gotten in the others’ worries, their theories. Of course things were still simple. That was the promise of Civilization, wasn’t it? That they could come here and just live, just survive.

But the footsteps were Bullfrog. He carried a cardboard box in both arms. Mara could tell, from a distance, that the box was breaking; he hoisted it twice with his thigh. Then he put it down by the fire.

“I found their camp,” he said.

He didn’t need to say it was unoccupied.

He pulled things from the box one by one. There were ramen cups, a stained hoodie, a wind-up flashlight, two glow sticks, a deck of cards, a first aid kit, and three boxes of Girl Scout cookies. There was also a box of the same bars that Tom had given Mara, and for some reason that bothered her: that the bars weren’t something he’d packed himself, from his own supply, or even that he thought she’d like, but just company property he’d grabbed along the way.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” said Mara. “I can’t break any more rules.”

“Fuck it,” said Bullfrog. “You’re not breaking anything. Rules are, we use what we find.”

He handed Mara the hoodie, and she put it on. On second thought, she slid her arms into the torso and removed her sports bra, pulling it out the neck. She hadn’t taken the bra off since her arrival, had even bathed in it in the stream, and the fabric was oily, stained with sweat. It was bliss to take it off.

The hoodie fabric was synthetic, silky in an artificial way, and cool, though it warmed quickly. She felt guilty, wearing it. As if Lenny would appear from behind a tree, or was watching the cameras that very moment.

Ashley and Kyle appeared in the doorway.

“Oh my god,” said Ashley. “Girl Scout cookies.”

“We sold popcorn,” said Kyle, but everyone ignored him.

They agreed to split the cookies evenly. The boxes had two tubes, which made six. The survivors each got their own tube and put two aside for later. The cookies were mint chocolate, crisp and pristine. Mara put a whole cookie in her mouth and crunched down. A rush of warmth passed through her.

Bullfrog explained. He had set off in the direction the crew came from each morning, the direction they left in each night. There was a wide track of bent grass and scuffed dirt, and he followed the path to a camp about a mile away. Two wall tents, canvas, easy to spot from a distance. One held cots, which were bare; the other held supplies. Most of the supplies were electronics, but there was food, too, and a few other miscellaneous things. Bullfrog had gathered the items that seemed most useful, and he planned to go back for more. Mara thought it was strange that the crew had left food out in bear country.