“Okay,” I say.

“I really hope I don’t see it, Sloane,” he says softly. “I really hope you wake up.”

He hesitates and then he brings his hand to the crook of my elbow. He presses his lips against the side of my mouth and my heart recoils because for all its gentleness, it hurts.

He goes back to the auditorium alone.

So we prepare.

We go through lockers and find book bags for everyone. There are certain requirements: utilitarian is best. They can’t be too big or bulky or easy to grab. We overstuff them with water bottles and food and find them too heavy and then we start making hard decisions like less water or less food? Medical supplies. We need those too, in case someone gets hurt. It quickly becomes obvious we’ll need far more than we’ll ever be able to carry.

In the end, the book bags become a depressing sight lined up in the library.

“We should go with the clothes on our backs,” Grace says. I don’t think she’s talking about the latest ensemble she’s wearing. Another fifties-style dress. “Layer.”

“Good idea,” Trace says. “It’s not exactly warm out.”

“Hey,” Cary says. “We made it seven days out there before—”

“You mean most of us made it seven days out there before.”

“Okay, most of us made it seven days out there before.” He gives Trace a bitter look. “We should probably establish some ground rules for that gun.”

“Sure.” Trace nods. “Rule number one: you don’t get to tell me how I can use the gun. Great. I’m glad we had this talk.”

“Trace,” Grace says. She turns to Cary. “What were you thinking?”

“Gunfire will draw them out. Any loud noises will. Don’t use it unless you absolutely have to. That’s all I was going to say.”

Grace turns back to Trace. “Use discretion. Sounds reasonable.”

Trace gives a grudging shrug. I look around the library. Walls, ceiling, doors that are locked and barricaded. Soon we’ll be trading them for the ugly outdoors. I can’t help but feel a certain nervousness about what’s coming the day after tomorrow.

On the way out of the library, Grace asks me if I’ve thought about what I’m going to do when we get to Rayford. I tell her I haven’t and she looks disappointed. I know it’s awful and ungrateful to leave her hanging after she can say something as extraordinarily generous as I’ve always wanted a sister to me but I am afraid to tell her yes. I can’t promise to stay with her when I don’t know if I will. I couldn’t do that. I’m not like Lily.

Still, the guilt I feel about it is like a thousand needles all over my skin and it doesn’t go away. It lasts through dinner, after dinner, after the sun sets. I take a shower in the dark to get it off me. The cold water hurts, but it’s a better hurt.