“What about the pilot?” said Ashley.

“He’s a hermit. Flies his own plane. Has a tomcat who’s been waiting years for the chance to eat him. Cat’s probably starved to death now.”

“Bullfrog,” said Mara.

“I’m just saying, it’s not impossible.”

“Okay,” said Ashley, in a tight, small voice. “A plane crash.”

Her arms formed a perfect ring around the fawn. It was crumpled and skeletal, and one ear drooped over Ashley’s wrist. Mara didn’t feel anything when she saw it, except sadness that Kyle had to see it, too. But at least he was asleep.

Mara looked at the gun. She didn’t want to talk. It was best to let the story lie. But her mouth moved anyway.

“It wasn’t a plane crash,” she said. “Tom left me the gun. He knew he’d be gone.”

She watched from the corner of her eye, but Ashley didn’t look up.

“He say anything else?” said Bullfrog.

“A note. ‘Just in case.’”

Bullfrog stared into the fire. “Maybe he quit the job. Maybe Lenny caught him sneaking and fired him, eh? And he wanted to help you before he left. Still doesn’t mean there wasn’t a plane crash. Maybe he tried to help you out, and then he died.”

“I don’t want to think about this,” said Ashley.

“Okay,” said Bullfrog. “We’ll take a break.”

He was quiet for a while. Mara closed her eyes.

“Hear me out,” Bullfrog whispered to the darkness. “Aliens.” But no one answered.

In her half dreams, it was the last word Mara heard before Ashley’s scream woke her. She reached past the fire and felt the fawn’s body, hard and cold to the touch.

Ashley seemed less sad than disgusted. She shoved the fawn from her and ran out of the shelter to retch. Nobody followed. She slumped in the doorway, her figure a blacker black than the night itself.

The fawn seemed peaceful now. Bullfrog gutted it, and in the morning butchered what was left. There wasn’t much, but there was skin Mara could dry or tan, which would at least give her something to do. She had not tanned the bear hide. It was too much. But the fawn she could handle, and if Kyle woke up he could criticize her tanning technique, which would both please him and pass the time. Every animal, she imagined him saying, has a brain big enough to tan its own hide.

Bullfrog made an organ stew from the heart and tongue and the tiny liver, chopped into small bits. He had carved each of the survivors a bowl and a spoon to go with the cups. When they ate the fawn, Ashley ate it, too.

Mara waited for Ashley to cry or gag, but she didn’t. She took a spoonful of stew and chewed. Then she swallowed. Then she took another spoonful and chewed too many times before swallowing. Like an actor chewing. Like she was chewing gum. She swallowed, and Mara watched the bulge as the food slid down her throat. Without expression, Ashley reached for a third bite.