I stood up from the counter. At some point all of these odd details would have to add up. I caught my reflection in the lab’s mirror. With my rolled-out-of-bed straggly blond hair and pasty complexion, I realized I looked like my mom—the tired version. It would take some work to make me presentable for the first day of school.

“Hey,” came a deep voice behind me, and I jumped.

“Hey back. You startled me.”

“Sorry,” Jordan said, grinning. “I was just looking for someone who might give me a rabies shot.”

“Sure,” I said. “Bend over.”

“Ah, that’s all right.” I felt self-conscious standing there all rumpled and unmade-up in my oversize T-shirt, but Jordan’s cheerful look put me at ease. “Well, since we’re both up early, how about a quick field trip before school?”

Soon we were walking to the Main Street office of the Mount Hope Sentinel. It wasn’t the best paper, but what can you expect from a town of five thousand people? Until the nuclear plant exploded, what constituted big news around here was Mrs. Corrigan’s beet salad placing second at a county cook-off. The Sentinel was a weekly and didn’t even have a functional website to fill in the gaps over the rest of the week. With the portly, wheezing fifty-something editor, Ronnie Stevenson, writing most of the stories while his birdlike layout person, Lizzie Grisbene, took photos and penned the occasional piece as well, this paper had limited utility—except now that we were cut off from the internet and CNN and our smartphone signals.

As I walked, I thought about what the news outlets would be reporting if they knew what was going on. The Carters apparently were all dead—the mom and dad and their four kids. They were younger than me, so I hadn’t hung out with them, but I couldn’t count the times I’d sat on Jordan’s porch and watched them running around on their lawn.

Then there were the Moores. I’d promised Evie I’d save her parents, and now she and Hannah were orphans.

Then there was the burning person Jordan saw that night. I feared that I was losing Jordan—that he was going crazy and there was nothing I could do about it. As he strode beside me with no limp, his head was up, his lips closed, his expression almost serene. It was a stark contrast to the previous day, when every little facial muscle was tightened to the max. The night’s sleep had done him good.

What had sliced him at the nuclear plant, a monster’s arm sword or, more likely, the razor wire surrounding the building? What was with his Superman—or Spider-Man—complex, where he thought he could fight anybody? Could he really see in the dark?

I wanted to trust Jordan, needed to. Especially now with so much going on. Especially now because, well, we pretty much knew how we felt about each other, even though apparently we never were going to do anything about it. So my nagging doubts and suspicions were a problem. I glanced at him again and took in those clear brown eyes. This was a great guy, my great guy. If only I could believe blindly.