Isaac, catching his breath, finally sat up and put his arms on his knees, looking at the woman they’d just saved. She was on her side, spitting out water and gasping for air in short, hitched inhalations. She was so thin, so weak, it hurt his heart to see it. But if anything she seemed a little stronger than she’d appeared from a distance, and he knew she’d recover with food, water, and rest. The word disease pried its way back into his mind, then—they had to keep that on top of their stack of worries.

“Miyoko,” he said. “Now that she’s safe, we really need to keep our distance.”

His friend nodded, not about to argue something so sensible. The two of them got up, walked about ten paces away, then sat back down. Miyoko reached into her backpack, pulled out some bread, cheese, and fruit wrapped in cloth and a metal container full of water, then chucked the food over to the stranger, where it plopped into the sand right in front of her face. A sprinkle of the gritty stuff dusted the woman’s eyes and nose and mouth. She spat it out and blinked rapidly.

“Sorry!” Miyoko yelled. “We’re just trying to be careful. You need to eat and drink.”

“You need to work on your aim,” Isaac whispered, feeling a little out of his mind.

“I don’t think she has the strength to open that stuff.”

Miyoko got to her feet and ran to where the food had landed, then quickly spread open the cloth and unscrewed the cap on the water. Then she scrambled back and sat next to Isaac. All they could do now was wait.

The woman moved, but everything she did was in slow motion, almost agonizing to watch. First, she pushed her weight up to rest on one elbow, steadying herself. Next, she reached out with a shaky hand and grabbed the container of water. Appearing as if she might drop it at any second, she put it to her lips and took a long, steady drink, the muscles and tendons of her neck moving against the thin veneer of her skin with every swallow.

After she put the water back down, twisting the metal until it stood firmly in the sand, she reached over and picked up a piece of bread. Then, for the first time, she looked over at Isaac and Miyoko. Her dark, sunken eyes seemed to connect with Isaac’s along two invisible threads sizzling with static electricity.

“Thank you,” she said weakly, then took a bite of bread.

Isaac had a million questions. He was certain that Miyoko had a million more. But the stranger could barely chew, much less reveal where she’d come from, why those people had been shot, why she was here . . . endless questions.