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that?”
    Because Jack’s dead and our electronics are toast and I smell you, Ellie. I smell blood. I smell the dog. “You can never be too careful.”
    â€œWhose is it?”
    â€œMy dad’s. Mine, now.”
    â€œMy grandpa says guns kill people.”
    She wasn’t going there. “Don’t wait too long. It gets dark fast.”
    â€œSo go.” Ellie screwed in her earbuds. “I don’t care.”
    She wanted to point out that the iPod was dead but thought that was mean. “You will if you’re caught on the mountain in the dark.”
    â€œI’m not coming.”
    â€œI’ll see you later.”
    â€œNo, you won’t.”
    â€œOkay then.” She set off and didn’t look back. But she felt Ellie’s eyes for a long time just the same.

10
    The trail was much worse than she’d imagined. The drop was steep, slippery with dead birds, scaly rock, and soft, splintery gray limestone. Centuries of erosion from rain and snowmelt had left the mountain scored with steep chutes and funnels where debris—loose rock, fallen trees—emptied before being swept down into the valley. After an hour, her thighs and knees were screaming; her face was oily with sweat, her mouth gummy, and her shirt glued to her shoulder blades. Stopping for a water break, she stripped down to her sweatshirt, tying her parka to her pack, then dragged off her cap to let the air’s cold fingers glide over her scalp. Tugging free one of two Nalgene bottles from her fanny pack, she splashed water onto her face, sucking in a breath against the chill. The water was a luxury. Normally, she’d conserve, but there was a stream where she planned to camp overnight, and she had a good filter with a seventy-ounce capacity, so she could afford to splurge. She’d need the extra water, too. After the stream, there wouldn’t be any more opportunities to replenish her supply until she intersected the river fifteen miles on, and then nothing until she hit the station.
    From habit, she held her water bottle in her right hand, the one that didn’t shake. Now she paused, and then—before she could chicken out—she shifted the bottle, grabbing it with her left with all the force she could muster.
    Her left hand was rocksteady. No shakes. She’d built up muscle mass the last few months with all that lifting, but that had done nothing for her shakes. Now, though, the shakes were gone, and she felt stronger. Powerful. Like she could grab hold and really hang on.
    This is so crazy. She was still freaked out, but her getting better didn’t jibe with her idea of what happened when a person died. Or—wait—did it? Weren’t there stories about how people came out of comas just long enough to say good-bye? Like the brain was on its last legs and kind of let go all at once, all the juices flowing so that everything clicked one last time? Well, maybe she ought to enjoy this for as long as she could.
    She brought the bottle to her nose. She still didn’t trust her sense of smell; kept expecting it to vanish. But the water had a scent that was clean and very cold, and she had another of those flashbulb moments: her dad hoisting her onto his shoulders, his strong hands wrapped around her ankles as he waded into Lake Superior, singing, Old Dan and I, with throats burned dry, and souls that cry for water … cool, clear water.
    She let the water roll over her tongue and moaned, savoring the taste of every molecule, every wonderful atom, every precious particle of memory.
    She thought, Well, at least it’s wet .
    And that made her cry a little bit more, because her dad always said that, too.
    She looked back up the way she’d come, swept her eyes first left and then, slowly, right. A wink of sun dazzle caught her attention. Was that Ellie? Had she been wearing a frame? No, Ellie’s Hello Kitty pack had been very small. Probably just room enough for