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I’m about to make myself sound like an even bigger liability. But I need to tell him the truth.
    Snap!
    “Dagnabbit!” Cole shouts from below.
    I peep over the edge again. He’s close now. Just a few rungs down.
    “What?” I ask.
    “Tried to break one with my hands.” Cole cradles his left hand. Blood coats his fingers.
    “Crap,” I say. “Is it bad?”
    “Not deep. Just hurts like hell.”
    He scales the last few rungs, kicking out the boards with his heavy boots, and hauling himself beside me on the deer stand. It creaks with our weight. Are we really going to spend the entire night here? With one flimsy board to hide us from the infected?
    “Let me see your hand,” I offer.
    “Forget it,” he mutters, still clutching the bleeding finger. “Like you could do anything to help.”
    His words sting. Why is he so mean? Sadness bubbles in my chest. I can’t stop it—I’m perilously close to tears again.
    I want to go home. I have to fight not to say the words aloud.
    I drop my chin to my chest, hoping to catch a remnant of my mom’s scent on her jacket, but there’s only the sharp tang of my own sweat and fear.
    I cannot let Cole get to me. He’s annoying, sure, but he’s not the real problem here.
    The flu is the problem. The fact that the flu is here in my country, in this state, in this forest. And there’s the likelihood it’ll decimate our population just like China’s. I think back to bio class—Ms. Smythe showing us all those pictures of people with rabies. How it took centuries to find a cure. How millions of people died a horrible death. And that’s nothing compared to this new virus. Complete infection within twenty seconds. Total loss of cerebral function in ninety.
    The horror of my circumstances crashes down on me with sudden weight. My parents are gone—possibly dead. Eaten.
    And if not, odds are they’re infected like the Beavers.
    An image flashes through my mind—my sweet, funny, slightly clumsy dad, foaming at the mouth, lunging, biting—all the kindness gone from his eyes. And my mom, stumbling through the Home Depot, trapped there forever as a member of the walking dead. I bite my lower lip to keep down a sob.
    I have to find my mom and dad. Before it’s too late. But Glenview is far from here. So far.
    My mind seems to back up, like a computer map after you click the enlarge button. I picture myself, a tiny black dot, surrounded by forest, miles and miles of hostile woodlands filled with dangerous insects and flesh-hungry monsters.
    And I realize with startling clarity that I’ll probably never see my parents again. Odds are, I won’t make it out of this forest alive.
    …
    This deer stand ain’t no bigger than a bathtub. I have to sit slap-up against Ava so we’ll both fit. Neither of us is crazy about the setup.
    High in the mountains, a bird’s cry echoes long and cold in the empty forest, filling in the spaces of the gathering dusk.
    “Why’d you want to see my hand?” I ask after a few long minutes of silence. “It ain’t like you got bandages and antiseptic in that pocketbook.”
    Damn, my finger hurts. I managed to roll out of a speeding car with barely a scratch, and then I mangle my hand on a little piece of wood. So dumb. Makes me want to lash out at someone.
    Ava gives me another one of those death glares. She’s pretty good at those. And then a determined expression passes over her face—almost like she’s decided something.
    “Here.” She fumbles in her pocketbook and passes me a cute little container of hand sanitizer—the kind from that trendy place in the mall. It smells like tropical fruit or some crap, but burns against the cut, so there must be some real antiseptic under all the frou-frou junk.
    “Thanks,” I say reluctantly.
    “I’m not done,” she snaps.
    She hands me an old receipt from her pocketbook. I study the slip of paper—it’s from a Chinese restaurant at Valley Mall. Figures.
    “What’s this for?”
    “Wrap it around