Gavin was busy while I was gone. All the loose equipment that was tossed around in the accident is neatly back in place. He’s swept out the broken glass and arranged everything neatly.

“Wow, you did a great job in here,” I say, pulling out the first-aid kit. I need to get rid of this pounding in my head so I can think. Not wanting to use the last of our water, I crunch Advil and my antibiotics in my mouth. The bitter taste makes me scrunch up my face.

Gavin watches me with amusement and then casually points to a row of containers on the hawk box. My eyes widen. They’re full of water.

“Where did you get this?” I ask.

“There’s a creek behind the trees. Good thing I found it too; I drank all my water just after you left.” He gives me a Gavin grin. “I had to make it livable in here. After the first night, we weren’t sure where you were or how long it would take. At least we had the sleeping bags and stuff from the camping kit to stay warm.”

They had water. All this time, that was my worst fear, and Gavin had solved it on his own.

Gavin’s eyes go to a blackened fire pit just outside the door that I hadn’t seen when I first rushed in. Only now do I notice the empty box by the door. Gavin’s comic-book box. I know it’s only comics, but my heart feels like it’s breaking into a million pieces—with regret, and with pride at how Gavin has dealt with everything.

“Smart,” Cooper says. He and Gavin appraise each other, and I wish I knew what they were both thinking. I give Gavin’s shoulder a squeeze as I slump on a blanket he’s laid out. I touch the cool water bottle to my forehead and close my eyes.

Every part of my journey, every bump and strain and scrape, sings on my body. I can’t even think about walking the forty miles out on the road to the highway, but that’s what I’m going to have to do. No messing around this time. Maybe if I had done that to begin with, we’d all be home by now. A desperate ache rolls over me.

I wish I could tie a message to Stark and have her fly out to wherever the people are. I haven’t seen her since we were up on the mountain. But my worry for Dad trumps worrying about where she is. I’m so tired and worn down. If only someone else would come up with a plan. If only Dad were awake to tell me what to do. I sigh and open my eyes. I can’t rest yet.

“How did you get here?” Gavin asks Cooper.

“Aha!” I yell, making Gavin and Cooper startle. “Gavin, you’re a genius!”

“I am?” Gavin looks at me with confusion.

“Cooper’s dirt bike.” I’m sure I can learn to drive a dirt bike. It can’t be any harder than anything I’ve done these past few days. I don’t want to leave Dad and Gavin again. I want to bring them both with me, but it’s impossible.

“It’s out of gas,” Cooper reminds me.

“We can take the gas out of our van and use it for the bike,” I explain. “We had to do that once with our generator during a storm when our power went out.”

“Huh?” Cooper says.

“Dad had to take gas out of the van because he’d forgotten to store gas for our backup generator. I watched him do it. I know I can do it again.”

Cooper stares at me as if I’ve suddenly grown wings. “That’s a good idea.”

“It won’t take me long to—” I begin.

Gavin interrupts. “Do you know how to drive a dirt bike, Karma?”

“Yes,” I say.

At the same time Cooper announces, “I’m going.”

We stare at each other, both with determined expressions.

“It’s starting to snow, so driving a bike won’t be easy,” Cooper says. “And you’re sick with a fever, and you have to use both arms to steer. It makes more sense for me to take the bike.”

I know he’s right, yet I don’t want to have to depend on him to actually come back. A small part of me remembers how Cooper helped me cross the chasm. How he saved me from the bear and wrapped me up on the mountain. But then I remember seeing him near our back tire when Dad let him off. I grab hold of the fury again.

“I’m going,” I say.

“Do you want to waste time arguing about it, or should we get started?”

I give Cooper my most vicious stare. I am a newly caught accipiter, all wild eyed with sharp talons.

“My dad…” I begin, but then my throat stops me from saying more.

Cooper’s gaze melts a little at the edges, but he says nothing. He turns and rifles through our stuff. Pulling out our black solar shower bag and hose system, he waves the hose at me and raises his eyebrows.

I shake my head. “That’s too short. It won’t reach the gas tank.”

Then I remember what will work. I force myself up, still feeling sick and dizzy. I open our camping gear kit from under the bench seat and find our clear garden hose that we use to give water to the raptors.

“We’ll use this,” I say, holding it up. “And we can use that shower bag as a gas can, since it’s heavy plastic. It’s our portable camping shower. You can carry it to the bike.”

We glance outside at the snow turning to rain, and I pull on my warm winter coat. My thoughts drift to Stark again, still out there somewhere. I face the open doors at the back and give a shrill whistle in case she’s close but can’t find us. Maybe she’s at the top of the mountain, where it’s snowing. I turn away and focus on the task of getting the gas.

I immediately see that this will be a challenge because our van is sideways. The gas tank is up in the air. I can’t climb up to put the hose down into the tank. This little obstacle makes me want to scream.

Cooper gently takes the hose from me and leads me to sit down. “This was a great idea, Karma. I’ve got it.”

He vaults himself up onto the van. I can’t help but be grateful he’s here helping us.

“You have to feed the hose all the way down into the tank, ’til it touches the bottom,” I advise from where I sit, watching.

“It won’t fit.”

“Cut the screw off from the end,” I say. “Slice it at an angle so it’s like a wedge.”

“Are you sure you don’t know how to do this from your secret life of crime?” Cooper flicks his knife out and cuts the hose before stuffing it into the gas tank, hand over hand.

“I’m surprised you don’t know.” Seeing the look on Cooper’s face, I immediately wish I hadn’t said that.

“Now what?” he asks. “There’s no gas coming out.”

“You have to bring the other end of the hose lower than the tank to allow gravity to take over.”

Cooper drapes the hose off the side of the van and leaps down.

“Now you have to siphon it,” I say. “You have to create suction in the hose, like a vacuum, to draw the gas out of the tank.”

Cooper puts his mouth around the hose and sucks. After a moment he gives up. “This is like trying to drink a thick milkshake.”

“The gas has to travel the length of the hose, but once it gets started it’ll come on its own. Keep trying. But be careful once the gas is close so you don’t get it in your mouth.”

Cooper tries again, taking breaks by kinking the hose to keep the suction in while he pants to get his breath. Finally I see the gas creeping along the hose toward us.

“Watch out, it’s coming!” I yell.

Cooper jerks his mouth away from the hose just as gas bubbles out the end. He spits and gags as he stuffs the hose into the shower bag. “Yuck. It didn’t get in my mouth, but the fumes are gross.”

The bag bulges as it fills.

“You did it!” I can’t help but cheer.

Cooper spits again. He hoists the heavy, awkward bag, and I can see him trying to figure out how he’s going to carry it all the way to the berm where he left his bike.

“Carry it in here,” I say, holding up my backpack. Cooper stuffs the gas into the pack and shoulders it.

“It’s a couple hours’ walk,” I say, slipping my coat off. “You’d better wear this.”

He takes my coat. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Karma. Just…trust me.”

We share a look that screams loudly with all the things left unsaid.

My thoughts circle, going back in time. But the more I circle, the more confused I feel. Is it really all Cooper’s fault? Is it mine? Is it anyone’s?

Cooper’s determined expression mirrors mine. One thing I know is that I need him now. And I think he needs us. If he’s my friend, I have to trust him. With my father’s life.

“Here’s your do-over,” I say.

Cooper nods once before stepping away. I watch him climb the slope until he disappears from view.