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that, because The End might be very quick. The tumor would keep getting bigger and bigger, and there was only so much room up there. Build up enough pressure in that contained space and then her brain would squirt from the base of her skull like toothpaste out of the tube. Then it would be lights-out as everything that kept her ticking—heart, lungs—simply stopped.
    Mind you, Barrett wasn’t positive about anything, because everyone was different. He couldn’t tell her what to expect because, well, he’d never died. Fair enough. But she was absolutely positive: Barrett had never, ever said anything about how, at The End, she might actually get back what she’d lost.
    Like her sense of smell.
    Like taste.
    Like her dad. Her mom.
    Now, she smelled Jack’s blood. There had been those forgotten memories of her wagon and white roses and her mother. She’d heard her father’s voice . She could taste the raw edge of vomit in her mouth, and she was awake; she wasn’t dreaming.
    Maybe this was what people meant when they said your life passed before your eyes when you died. She didn’t know. She’d never specifically asked Barrett about that. To be honest, she hadn’t been sure she wanted to know. She’d heard of near-death experiences, of course. She’d seen Ghost , and she knew the stories: how all your loved ones who’d passed on before hung out waiting for you to walk into the light. But that was dumb. It was what people hoped would happen, not what really did. She knew enough science and had plenty of her own experiences. The brain was one funky organ. Kill your sense of smell, chew up your ability to taste, and a lot of your memories got swallowed, too. So, cut off the brain’s blood supply, starve the cells of oxygen—and maybe white light was what you saw when you croaked. Who knew? She sure didn’t. She had no idea what to expect at The End.
    Unless this was it.
    Unless this was her end, and she was living it.

7
    The dog groaned.
    â€œLook.” Ellie’s voice was stuffy and clogged. A smear of bloody snot glistened above her upper lip. “By your tent.”
    No, no, go away, just leave me alone. A needle of fear pierced her heart. If she didn’t pay attention, would everything—the smells and memories—slip away? All she wanted was to hunker down alone somewhere quiet, focus on what was happening to her.
    â€œWhat?” she said, but now she spotted the dog struggling to its feet and had to suppress a groan. The animal looked bad, dazed. Blood dribbled like thick syrup from a gash on its scalp. Panting, the dog tottered toward Jack’s body, wading through a scatter of dead birds, inking the rock with bloody paw prints. Wary, Alex tensed as Mina began to sniff Jack’s body. She had no experience with dogs. Didn’t some refuse to leave once their owners were dead? God, what would she do if Mina—
    The dog began to bark, furiously and very loudly. Startled, Alex jumped.
    â€œShut up, you dumb dog!” Ellie clapped her gory hands over her ears. “Shut up, shut up!”
    â€œShh, shh, Mina, shh,” Alex said. The barks were unbearable, like gunshots. She started forward, with no clear idea of what she meant to do; she just wanted the dog to be quiet. She reached for the animal. “Mina, hey.”
    With a snarl, the dog whipped its head around, teeth bared. Alex snatched her hand back with a small cry, and then, in the very next second, she caught the odor of dank fur—and something else, feral and thick and wild.
    What was that? Alex felt the tiny hairs bristle along the nape of her neck. The smell was overpowering, rolling off the animal in waves. Alex was dead certain she’d never smelled anything like that before in her life.
    â€œOkay,” Alex said, her pulse thumping in her neck. “Okay, girl, it’s okay.” Without looking around, she eased back, felt the soft