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Kevin. He was sick to death of the gray jellied meat, the watery mashed potatoes, the slimy peach slices. “I hope I never eat another damned MRE the rest of my life.”
    “Two days of living off the forest and you’ll be begging for more MREs,” said Nick.
    Kevin wouldn’t admit it, but Nick was right again. After a few days of chewing on tough roots and bitter flowers, with the occasional handful of berries, they were all weak, and Kevin was dreaming of real food. Cass did catch a few squirrels with a small pistol stunbolt they had taken from the emergency shelter. The stunbolt’s needle ammo had a short range, and the electric charge it packed wouldn’t kill a person, but it was strong enough for small game. Kevin tried to hunt, but he wasn’t nearly as quiet or patient as Cass, and his aim was poor; he gave up quickly. Nick, with his lousy depth perception, didn’t even bother trying.
    That night, long after Nick and Cass had fallen asleep, Kevin lay awake listening to Nick’s heavy breathing that was almost, but not quite, a snore. Kevin couldn’t sleep; he had too many worries running through his mind. What would they do if they never did find the City, or their parents? Would they just live in the woods like wild animals? His legs ached from the day’s walk, but he felt like getting up and running to burn off the crazy energy churning in his head. It was a nearly full moon, so it was a bright night, and he stared at the treetops moving gently in the light wind and tried to calm his thoughts. He replayed the wiring of Tom’s guitar pickup in his head to distract himself, running through all the connections, testing his work to see if he could have been more efficient. But that just made him think of Tom and whether he was still alive or lying dead in the wreckage of the Freepost.
    He rolled over onto his side, angry at himself for being awake when he had another long day of hiking ahead of him, and saw a figure creeping carefully and quietly toward their sleeping bags. Kevin’s breath caught in his throat as he bit back a scream. He couldn’t see the person’s face in the night, but it seemed like a man, broad and tall, and he was no more than twenty feet away.
    Kevin lay still, pushing down the panic, then sat up, grabbed the lightstrip that was resting nearby, and activated it. He shined it at the man, who flung his arm over his eyes. “Wake up!” Kevin screamed to his siblings.
    Nick sat up, groggy and confused. “What’s happening?” he asked.
    Cass jumped to her feet, grabbed the small stunbolt, and leveled it at the man, who was still shielding his eyes from Kevin’s lightstrip. The light glinted off something metal in the man’s right hand. Kevin realized, with a sick twist in his stomach, that he was holding a long serrated hunting knife.
    Nick and Kevin scrambled out of their sleeping bags, and the man began to step away. “Don’t move!” Cass said. “I’ll shoot you if you run, I swear.”
    The man stopped and let his arm drop down to his side. His face was streaked with dirt, and he had a patchy beard and mustache. He had long thin hair, tied back in a ponytail with a piece of rope. One of his ears, Kevin noticed, had a jagged piece missing, like it had been bitten. He was wearing camouflage gear—long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. One of the pant legs had been ripped off at the knee, exposing a dirty calf. The man’s eyes darted wildly from side to side.
    “Who are you?” said Nick. “What do you want?”
    The man didn’t say anything.
    “Why were you sneaking up on us?” said Kevin, making sure to keep the light shining in the man’s eyes.
    The man raised his knife and pointed at their backpacks.
    “Put the knife down!” said Cass.
    The man shook his head. “No,” he said, in a hoarse voice.
    “Put it down!” said Nick.
    “No,” said the man. He took another step toward them, his knife still held high and flickering with reflected lightstrip glow.
    Kevin heard a