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Who needed a ghosttown in a ghoststate? After several more miles we saw another sign, this time advertising a Walmart. I sat up a little, a trickle of excitement running through my veins.
    “Joshua, do you think it’s worth us stopping there? See if there’s any gas or more supplies? I wonder if we might be able to find some cameras, or something we could use to film stuff on the other side of the fence,” I asked.
    He looked over at me and smiled. “Good idea,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
    I relaxed back in my seat. Slick with sweat, my shirt and jeans clung to me and soon a layer of dust covered my skin. I drew patterns on it until my fingers were sticky with grime.
    A moan came from the backseat. It was the first sign of complaint from Rachel. Her dark hair fell in damp ringlets against her pale face, her skin glistening. “It must be 110 outside,” she said, pushing her bangs back. “It’s making me feel sick.”
    I looked at the clock on the dashboard.
    4 hours and 56 minutes, that’s how long we’d been on the road.
    296 minutes of silence, sweat and stale air.
    “Do you need us to stop?” I asked.
    Rachel pressed an arm against her stomach. “I’m not sure.”
    “There’s an old Walmart ahead,” Joshua said. “Sherry thinks we should try stopping there – see if there’s any gas, and supplies. Do you think you can make it until then?”
    She shook her head hastily, eyes panicked.
    “Joshua, stop!” I said.
    He slammed his foot on the break and we jerked to a halt. Rachel stumbled out of the car and bent over, starting to retch. Tyler held her hair back as she threw up.
    Joshua and I got out, exchanging a look. Something was wrong with Rachel.
    Suddenly I heard knocking. It sounded like it was coming from the car. I drew my gun. Had something gotten tangled up in the undercarriage?
    “What’s that?” I asked.
    The knocking turned into an insistent hammering.
    “It’s coming from the trunk,” Joshua said. He grabbed the gun from his waistband and moved toward the car.
    “Be careful,” I said, aiming my gun at the trunk.
    With a quick move, Joshua opened the trunk before jumping back, body coiled for attack. He relaxed when he saw what was inside.
    It was Bobby. I lowered my gun, the air rushing from my lungs. I felt a sudden burst of relief but it was quickly followed by intense panic. “What the hell are you doing here?”
    He heaved his legs out of the trunk and carefully stood up. His clothes and hair were drenched with sweat.
    “I overheard you in the chapel,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I want to help. I have to help. I’m sick of staying behind.”
    He swayed suddenly and held onto the car for balance. I went to help him and touched his forehead. He was burning up. “Joshua, he needs water.”
    I brushed the hair from his soaking skin. “God, Bobby, what have you done?” I whispered, hardly able to believe this was happening. “Who’s going to take care of Mom and Mia now? They need you.” I thought of Mia, waking up, thinking we’d both abandoned her. Of Mom, realizing she might lose us, too.
    Guilt flitted across Bobby’s pale face. “I — I’m sure Karen …” But his words trailed off as the doubt crept in.
    Joshua stared inside the trunk before slamming it shut. His brows dipped into a V and a muscle in his jaw twitched.
    “Where are our supplies?” he asked.
    Bobby stared at the ground, giving a small shrug.
    “Nothing,” Joshua spat. “Not a single bottle of water or can of beans.”
    “Bobby?” My voice vibrated like the string of a guitar.
    “I unloaded them so I’d fit in,” he said, sheepishly.
    “You threw away our supplies?” My mouth went dry.
    298 minutes since I’d drank water. 17,880 seconds – too long in the summer heat. And Bobby needed water as soon as possible.
    “Great, just great.” Joshua pushed his hand through his hair. He turned around and stalked off, dust whirling around his sneakers. His shoulders were stiff with