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It took them until the sun was fully up to come across the first farm’s back fence: an obvious no-go. They stayed low, Cameron wishing he had the binoculars that had been in his backpack with the rest of his gear. But even from this far they could see a pair of armed sentries. They moved on, stomachs grumbling.

The rest of the morning passed without luck. There were other houses in a cluster near the farm, but it was obvious that either the same group controlled the entire area or homeowners had held their claims. There were a few abandoned places without barns or leftover food or supplies worth taking, and a few that seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere — ancillary barns to a larger claim, perhaps. Two of these contained tractors, but Cameron laughed at the idea of taking them. Speed or stealth, tractors served neither goal. But one barn did net them a dusty old backpack and a few discarded, empty water bottles for carrying sustenance once they found it. They each also took a machete from the walls, neither commenting on the irony that they’d nearly been killed with machetes not even twenty-four hours earlier.
 

On and off, Cameron pulled out his radio. The batteries would only last so long, but it turned out that power, at least for the moment, wasn’t the problem. He’d programmed the radio with open frequencies, but communication with Vail had thus far proved impossible. They could hear chatter. Ninety percent was military. But in dead spaces, Cameron tried raising the bunker, using the call signs and codes he’d worked out with Vincent before leaving, trusting Terrence’s antenna modifications in Vail to do its job. But there had been almost nothing.

“Any luck?” Piper asked as he returned the radio to his belt.
 

“Lots. But I still can’t raise them. It’s strange.”
 

“Do you think they’re okay?”
 

Cameron hadn’t a clue. And considering the care they’d taken to ensure they’d be able to communicate, the lack of response made “they’re not okay at all” the most reasonable explanation for the silence. But he kept quiet. It could be anything: sunspots, maybe even that double line of Carnac stones they’d crossed that had scrambled their thoughts so completely. Maybe they were fine. And they’d stay that way, with Vincent and Terrence in charge. Even Dan would give his life for them. He’d damned near given his life for Cameron enough times before they’d rendezvoused with Vincent and Terrence.
 

“Of course,” Cameron replied with a smile he didn’t entirely feel.

At one point, they passed a winding mountain road, looking around and ducking past at a section without traffic or residences. In the far distance was a roadblock. Piper said there was a tank among the blockade’s mess, but Cameron hadn’t been able to tell and wasn’t about to head in for a closer look.
 

When the sun was high, they finally found what they were looking for. A small farm tucked back on a spur — an off-jut of a road that was itself a rutted, dirt-covered off-jut. The porch was covered with cats, and the house empty. To Cameron, it felt
left
rather than
raided
. There were no signs of intrusion. They themselves had barely found it, tucked behind two hills as it was.
 

No, whoever had lived here had gone somewhere else — to find Grandma in Utah, to meet up at a bigger farm with lots of supplies, protection, and company. There was no way to tell, and Cameron didn’t care. There was mold-covered bread in the pantry. Boxes of cereal had been split open and littered the kitchen: the work of rodents, who in turn were keeping the porch cats fat and happy.
 

Anything perishable had long since rotted, but there were plenty of cans, a hand-operated can opener, and even some unaffected dry goods. It was enough food that it hurt to leave, but there was only so much two people could carry. They found a pair of good backpacks and raided the house for anything portable and necessary. They drank from a spigot in the yard and filled their bottles. There was nothing in the way of survival gear, but Cameron counted them lucky, happy to at least not starve for a while.
 

Once packed, they returned to the barn, where they found three horses and a goat. The goat seemed to have escaped and dragged a bag of feed to almost within the horses’ reach. The horses didn’t need it; the farmer had left them in the pasture with enough grass and water from low spots and puddles. But they’d eaten all they could reach anyway.
 

Parker helped Cameron saddle two of the horses. They mounted and prepared to ride.
 

At the door, Cameron, feeling a strange pang of something unarticulated, looked back at the lone horse. They’d opened the gate to let it leave, but it wasn’t going anywhere.
 

“It’s stupid,” Cameron said to Piper, “but I feel bad taking two of them and leaving that horse all alone.”

Piper shrugged. “He’s got the goat.”
 

Cameron looked at the goat and then the horse.
 

“Horses like goats,” Piper explained.
 

The goat bleated.

“Then I guess this is a win,” Cameron said.
 

They left the barn and headed true west, checking the position of Route 70 first to reorient themselves before heading out in earnest, double time.
 

Cameron couldn’t shake the feeling that the clock — now more than ever — was ticking.
 

And he couldn’t shake the sense that they were being watched by unseen eyes, attached to strange hands with unknown intentions.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Lila watched, feeling tired, while Terrence, Vincent, and Dan moved aside a large freestanding shelf at the far end of the living room and pried at what turned out to be an enormous grate. She hadn’t noticed it before, but that had surely been the intention. Her father was equal parts practical and aesthetically minded. He wore bespoke suits and bought the best things he could afford chiefly because he could afford them. It made sense that, even needing a back door to his bunker, he’d hidden it with grace. The shelf unit did a good job of hiding the vent because they were made of the same shiny silver metal, and the vent simply looked like the unit’s back. But the shelves were barely stocked, so the air flow wasn’t blocked. Form and function, perfectly married.
 

But with the unit out of the way, the vent came off easily using only Vincent’s fingers. There were no bolts holding the thing in place — presumably because if you needed to flee through the vent, you wouldn’t want to be held up just because you hadn’t thought to grab a screwdriver.
 

The vent’s interior looked like three-quarters of an oven’s inside. The floor was concrete, probably because the bunker itself was a big concrete shell. The walls, however, were bright, reflective silver metal, like the air ducts in her grandmother’s basement. It was tall enough for Vincent (the group’s tallest) to stand without ducking, and slightly narrower in width.

Christopher was sitting across from Lila. It had seemed okay to sit with him because when she’d first sat, Raj had been at the table too. She’d merely wanted to get some food in her before whatever happened happened. But then Raj had left, and she’d found herself alone with Christopher, their hands almost near enough to touch.
 

“Should you be helping?”

Christopher shrugged. “They’ve got it.”
 

Lila looked. Vincent had already sliced a hole in the roof of the thin metal twenty feet or so down the corridor-like vent and was now standing on a stepladder with his head and arms above the ceiling, his top half invisible.

Lila’s eyes ticked toward Raj’s room. It didn’t make sense for him to be in there now, so he’d be coming back out. She was just sitting at the same table where he’d left her, but she couldn’t shake an awkward feeling at the thought of Raj seeing them alone.

“You know,” said Christopher, “I can tell this is making you nervous.”
 

“Oh?”

“I just want to make you feel better.”
 

“Thanks,” she said. But truth be told, Lila wasn’t feeling it. Things had been hot and heavy with Christopher for a while there, and the way they’d been broken up had left her hungry for more. For half a day afterward, he’d been tossing her looks that — again — accelerated her heart and constricted her jeans in a way that had nothing to do with a slowly growing belly.
 

But now she felt conflicted.

Between Vincent and Terrence’s explaining and implementing their plan, Lila had lain on the couch, and Raj had brought her two pillows: one for her head and another to prop between her legs if she chose to lie on her side. It was the simplest, nothing kind of gesture, but his offer and delivery had been somehow touching. For once, he hadn’t struck her as self-pitying. The way he’d slunk away had seemed defeated instead, and it dawned on her all at once that she’d been as big of a bitch as he’d been an asshole. She’d called him back, and he’d sat on the floor in front of her, guilt churning her gut as she’d run her hands through his dark, coarse hair, like she used to do when the world had been different.
 

“Can I get you anything?” Christopher asked.
 

“No. Thank you.”
 

“Anything to drink?”
 

“I’m good.”

He watched her for a second, his green eyes magnetic and smile charming. There was an innocence in his gaze that was hard to turn from. He’d done nothing wrong. Lila had. And the worst part was she kind wanted to do it again.
More
than kind of.
 

“How are you feeling?” he asked.
 

“I’m fine.”
 

“Your … ” He nodded toward her stomach. “You know. How’s your … how’s he or she doing?”
 

“You know?”
 

But then really, how could he
not
know? Her mother knew; Trevor knew; Piper had known. Trevor must have said something. They were all buddy-buddy, so that seemed logical. Still, Lila felt violated. She wasn’t showing much yet, and it should be her choice to tell others matters of her own body not her brother’s. Especially when the person in question had already explored some of her body, and she’d spent time in the shower imagining him exploring the rest.
 

“Yeah. Is that okay?”
 

“Of course,” she lied.
 

“So?”
 

“Fine, I guess.”
 

“Because you seem tired.”
 

“Tired how?”
 

Christopher shrugged. “Just tired.”
 

“Bad tired?”
 

“No, no.” He smiled. “
Beautiful
tired.”
 

Lila tried to smile back.

“Look,” she said. “About the other day.”
 

Christopher smiled wider. “What about it?”

Lila wanted to say that it wasn’t a good idea but couldn’t. If she said it, he’d probably stop trying to get into her pants. She hadn’t wanted Raj in her pants lately, despite the four-month package he’d deposited there, and sometimes that felt like a stubborn shortcoming, especially when thinking about Christopher. But they were all trapped here together, and it was probably a bad idea to mix business and pleasure, if that’s what it was. On the flip side: Was it really her fault that aliens had come and forced her and her boyfriend to live together? She might have dumped him by now, and could play with Christopher all she wanted. It wasn’t fair.
 

“Nothing,” she said.
 

Lila remembered the way Raj had brought her the pillows. The sad way he’d slunk off. The way she’d called him back. The feel of his hair between her fingers. The girlish dreams she’d had a lifetime ago, of how they’d live happily ever after with their accidental child, and damn her father’s judgments.
 

“You okay?” His eyes flicked toward where Raj had vanished, then dared to lift Lila’s chin and meet her eyes. Another check of the room, and then he let her chin drop.
 

“I’m fine.”
 

“You’re sure?”

“Jesus, Chris, do you really think I’m this fragile?” she snapped.

Christopher blinked.
 

“I’m sorry.” But she wasn’t. Lila was Meyer Dempsey’s daughter. She was strong. She didn’t need boys —
any
boys — to hold her upright and keep her from fainting. Or possibly swooning.
 

“It’s totally fine. No worries.”

Dan passed, walking toward the vent with an armful of cloth. He looked over, nodded to his burden, and said, “Rags and shit. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Why would I mind?” Lila pulled away from Christopher. She registered a small hurt look; he’d been reaching for her hand, and she’d yanked it away. She hadn’t broken anything off with him, if there was anything to break off, but Christopher wasn’t stupid. He’d seen her moment with Raj. He couldn’t be this bad at reading emotion.
 

He knew what she was thinking. And as unfair as it seemed in the moment, Lila felt another layer of guilt descend upon her.