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swarming with drifters. But there’s no one here now. You’ll be fine.”
    He smiles, but it looks forced. “What are you talking about?” I swallow hard.
    “Hear me out, Bea.”
    “No,” I say.
    “We can’t carry her across the country.”
    “You’re leaving?”
    “One of us has to get help, and I won’t let you go out there alone.” I don’t want to be without him. Not again. Not ever. I try to speak, but the words get trapped in my throat, and I cough. He pats me on the back. “Give me the map and let me go,” he says.
    “Where? Where will you go, Quinn?” My voice is a squeal.
    “I’ll find Sequoia. How hard can it be to locate a building big enough to house a whole movement? Someone will be able to help, and I’ll be back. Alina will be there.” He lowers his voice. “Jazz doesn’t stand a chance if we all stay here.”
    “There has to be another way.” Now I do cry as the weight of what’s happened and what will happen crashes down on me. I want to be stronger, I just don’t know how.
    He wraps his arms around me, holding me up as much as embracing me. “I’ll be back. I promise,” he says.
    My parents made a promise like this, and it was the last time I ever saw them. I let him hold me. But I don’t believe him.
    “They work. I checked,” Quinn says, unloading another respirator, and pressing his hand against the solar panel bathed in light from above. He turns a knob on the top, nudges it with his foot, and we listen to the old thing grind to life. “And they’re mobile, so you can carry them . . . if you have to.” I nod even though the respirators are enormous; I’d never even be able to lift one. “But you should stay here, so I’ll know where to find you,” he says.
    Beside me, Jazz mewls and turns over in her sleep.
    “What day is it?” I ask. I want to feel grounded to something reliable, predictable. And if I don’t know when he left, how will I know when to expect him back? When to stop waiting?
    Quinn blinks and calculates using his fingers. “Monday,” he says. “Or Tuesday. Let’s say Monday. Look, every time the sun comes up, throw something in there.” He points at a tarnished water fountain attached to the wall.
    “And when should I stop counting?”
    “Bea.” He sighs. “I’ll be back.”
    “Don’t go,” Jazz says, waking up. She winces with pain. “Can’t you give me a piggyback? I’m light. I’m really light.”
    She’s already sweating a fever, though she’s shivering. “You need to conserve your energy,” I tell her.
    Quinn buttons up his coat. “Tell me this is for the best,” he says. “Please tell me I’m doing the right thing.” I don’t answer but follow him outside into the derelict city. The sunshine has melted some of the snow. The air is still frigid. I tuck my chin into my chest.
    “Your air won’t last long,” I say.
    “Stop it,” he says.
    “ You stop it,” I say.
    “Bea . . .” He takes my wrist, lifts his mask, and pushing back my sleeve, kisses it. I close my eyes, and he takes off my glove and kisses the palm of my hand. Eventually he has to put his face mask back in place, so he wraps me up in his arms. I rest my chin on his shoulder. “I can’t read you,” he says.
    “I can’t read myself anymore.” I take a deep breath and push my hair away from my face. “If Jazz dies, and you don’t come back, I’ll head for Sequoia,” I say.
    He looks up at the rows of broken clerestory windows set into the red brick of the station and nods. “Give me two weeks. You can survive here for two weeks.”
    “Yes,” I say, but we both know Jazz won’t make it that long.
    We stand for a few moments longer, holding hands and looking at our boots in the sludge.
    “Why did it take me forever to see you?” he asks. He puts his hands around the back of my neck and pulls my head toward him so that our foreheads touch. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”
    I nod, but I don’t tell him that I love