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see. With their heads lowered, they looked like zombies, or like soldiers returning from a battle, which they had lost.
    Although a few younger kids were in the mix, most seemed to be over twelve. The older ones were walking the slowest. Some kids moved in groups of three to six, but others walked alone, stragglers who were unable to keep up with the pack.
    Abby sniffled. “There must be something we can do for them.”
    Jordan had a sudden sinking feeling. He knew the tone all too well. His sister wanted to save the world. Abby might well present a bigger threat to the survival of their friends on Castine Island than Mandy.
    Abby, her cheeks wet from tears, moved into the living room to watch out the window. They all followed her.
    “Take a good look at them,” Mandy said. “That’s how we should act when we go outside. If you walk like you’re sick, nobody will think you have pills.”
    Jordan had to admit that was a good idea.
    Several kids broke from the line and climbed the steps of a house across the street from them. Jordan stuck his head out the window, careful to avoid the glass shards, and saw more kids entering houses further up the street. “I didn’t think anyone lived around here.”
    “They’re going home,” Mel said. “Home to die.”
    Abby paced. “We have to do something.”
    “There’s nothing we can do,” he said. “Do you see how many of them are out there?”
    “Jordan, that was us two days ago.” Her eyes pleaded. “We were that sick.”
    Jordan put himself between Abby and the window, trying to block her view. “What’s the most important thing? Getting home to Toucan, right?” He shot Mandy a quick glance. “Taking the pills to our friends.”
    Abby stepped around him and answered with a gasp.
    A boy who’d been stumbling along, now veered onto the sidewalk in front of their house. He was taking awkward strides, but, somehow, he stayed on his feet. Jordan’s legs tensed and twitched, as if he were the one losing his balance. The boy braced himself against a telephone pole briefly, then placed both hands on his knees. He was wearing black rubber rain boots, and a bottle of water dangled like a pendulum from a loop of rope around his neck. He was making a horrible wheezing noise.
    “We need to get him,” Abby said in a determined tone.
    Instead of blocking her view, Jordan moved between her and the door to block her from going outside. “There are thousands like him.”
    Abby held out her hand to Mandy. “Give me a pill.”
    Mandy shook her head. “He’s too far gone.”
    Jordan hoped the boy would die quickly to end his suffering.
    Abby’s eyes flared with anger. “We saved Jordan. We can save the boy. Mandy, give me a pill.”
    Mandy kept her hands by her side.
    “Give me a pill,” Abby shrieked. Then she lunged and grabbed at Mandy’s pocket.
    Jordan wrapped his arms around his sister. She struggled weakly. His own lack of strength surprised him, and he wondered if he could hold on. Pressed against her, he felt both their hearts racing.
    Just then, the boy crumpled to his knees. Abby cried out and went limp. Jordan released her. If any of the marchers heard his sister’s cry, they showed no curiosity. Nobody stopped to help the dying boy, either.
    “I’m going outside, with or without you,” Abby told him.
    He grabbed her wrist. “Abby, he can get pills in Portland.” He hated himself for lying. The CDC had designated Portland, Maine a Phase II city. The scientists said they would distribute pills there in a month. If he and Abby never made it back, the Castine Island survivors were planning to get pills in Portland, but that boy would not survive another hour, much less a day, and Abby knew it. Jordan also hated himself for deciding who would get the pills—who would live and who would die—but he held onto her wrist. She drilled him with such an accusing look of horror and disgust that he had to look away.
    Mandy wrapped her arms around Abby and drew her