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to help find me? Those Black Lake mercenaries are out for no one but themselves, but you wrangled their help anyway. This is what you were born to do, Alex.”
    “I’m sixteen!”
    “So. Freaking. What.”
    A hundred emotions waged war within me. Pride at the way Darla was looking at me, at her faith. Love for her, for her unwavering support. But mostly fear. I knew what I needed to say—but I didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit my weakness, even to her.
    “I . . . I froze out there. When they were shooting at Aunt Caroline. If I’d moved faster, maybe I could have saved her.”
    “Alex, it’s—”
    “What if it happens again?” People around us turned to look. I’d raised my voice far louder than I’d intended.
    Darla held me tighter, waiting until everyone turned away. “Every time I made a mistake, my dad used to trot out this lame saying he had. He’d say, ‘I’m glad you’re not perfect, bunnykins. You see, the aliens carry off all the perfect people for study. And I’d like you to stick around.’” “Bunnykins?”
    Darla’s face flared so red, I could see the color in her cheeks even by torchlight. “I swear to God, Alex, if you tell anyone that nickname, I’ll twist your balls so hard that your new locker-room nickname will be Slinky.”
    My knees came together instinctively. “Maybe I’ll call you Bunnykins in private?”
    “No. You won’t.”
    I gave her my best evil grin but felt it fade from my face as I remembered the point of the conversation.
    “It’s not your fault, Alex. Aunt Caroline is dead because Stockton decided to steal our food. Not because you hesitated for a split second in the middle of a battle that would have made most guys shit their pants and hide. You can do this. We can do it.”
    “You’re not coming. You need to rest. It’s seven miles. At night.”
    “Can we take the trucks?”
    “I need to check whether they have enough gas.” Somehow, I’d decided to go without even realizing it. Darla was tricky like that.
    “Well, if they do, I’m going too.”
    I didn’t respond right away. I was thinking—hoping to hit upon something, anything that would convince Darla to stay behind. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her around; I was terrified she’d get hurt. Normally, she was at least as capable as I was—stronger, in fact. But not now. “I need someone to organize a defense here. Someone I can trust.” “Ask Uncle Paul.”
    “His wife just died. I’m not asking him to do anything but mourn. Which is all I want to do.”
    “I’ll ask him. I’m going with you. I’ll drive and guard the trucks.”
    I didn’t like it. But arguing with Darla was usually pointless. “Round up some people to come with us. I’ll do the same. We’ll meet at the trucks in half an hour.”
    “Got it.”
    One of the beauties of Darla was that when it was a serious matter, she didn’t rub it in—winning, that is. I reached out and gently turned her face back toward me. She launched herself at me, wrapping her arms around me and kissing me like she meant to imprint her taste on my lips forever. When the kiss broke, neither of us said anything. We turned to walk our separate paths out into the uncaring night.

Chapter 8
    I checked the trucks first—all three of them had between a quarter and a half tank of gas. Plenty to get to Stockton. Then I started running around trying to convince people to join us.
    The first guy I talked to, Lynn Manck, agreed right away. I’d barely gotten the words “attack Stockton” out of my mouth when he said, “I’m in.” While we were talking, Nylce Myers stopped to listen and volunteered without being asked.
    They couldn’t have been more different. Lynn was a huge bear of a man, a farmer in his fifties who sported a beard so long, he must have been growing it out for years. Most guys had beards now—razors were hard to come by—but Lynn’s was magnificent. By contrast, all I could grow were stupid-looking wisps of