Together they lifted and it slid right out of the concrete, a small box from a larger one, like a Russian nesting doll. Calliope helped Amy drag it toward the window, until they were standing less than ten feet away. And though she shouldn’t have, she helped Amy raise it over her head, and at the count of three they heaved it toward the glass. Nothing happened. The metal scraped against the glass, then landed on the sidewalk with a thud, spilling garbage everywhere. Eunjoo squealed from the car in fear or delight, Calliope couldn’t tell.

“It’s bulletproof or something. Jeez. What the hell?” Amy was panting.

“I’ll look in the trunk. My husband’s a paramedic. He may keep a toolkit back there.”

They pulled the bags and suitcases from the trunk.

“You don’t pack light,” Amy said.

A red flush speared Calliope’s cheeks. She’d filled the car with things they wouldn’t need and didn’t bring anything useful. Except when she found Phoenix—he’d need his stuff.

Her mouth had grown stickier and dry. The girl had gotten out of the car and was staring blankly ahead, her eyes sunken. “Eunjoo? You feel sick, chica?” The girl nodded. All the ash and smoke didn’t help; the water Eunjoo drank to wash down the peanut butter wasn’t enough. Calliope had to let her drink more of their water, almost gone after Amy’s gulping. She fetched the liter bottle from the car, handed it to the girl. “Here, chica. Sip this.” When was the last time she’d felt the twins kicking?

Underneath the luggage in the trunk, they uncovered the first aid kit and a box of clothes, a flashlight, a blanket, but no water. Calliope pulled the boxes out, uncovered the spare tire. “We could use the lug wrench,” she said, surprised at herself, as she lifted the fabric veneer from the trunk that covered the spare and its parts. She had never changed a tire in her life.

Amy took the L-shaped metal rod from her and pounded it on the convenience store’s glass, cracking fissures with each strike. It didn’t immediately shatter, the way Calliope had seen on movies, but after several hard hammers, it gave way, chinks of glass splitting. No alarms or sirens sounded. No one inside came to see what was happening. Nothing but glass on the ground. Even Eunjoo was silent. Amy stepped through the glass, her black boots crunching. Inside the store, she pushed on the front door, exclaiming “What the hell?” when it swung open. She pulled it shut again, calling to Calliope, “Try opening it from your side.”

Calliope pulled on the door. It opened wide.

“It wasn’t even locked,” Amy said, exasperated. “All that work for nothing. We’re brainless.”