“What the…?” I mutter.

At that moment a shadow moves across the back of the kitchen, headed for the rear door. I can hear light footsteps. Chris immediately vaults over the counter and tackles the shadow. I scurry after him, buzzing with adrenaline.

Man. How many times are we going to have people sneak up on us?

I shine the flashlight and wrinkle my nose, shocked. Chris is holding a skinny kid by the shoulders. A girl. She’s got scraggly blonde hair with a bunch of clips in it, knee-high combat boots and rainbow fingerless gloves. “Wow, dude,” she says, looking angry. “You just tackled me? You weigh like three hundred pounds. Let go, will you?”

She kicks Chris in the leg. It doesn’t hurt him, but he let’s go anyway.

“Geez,” I say. “You’re just a kid.”

“You and me both, sister,” she shrugs, turning to face me. Her skin is extremely pale, almost cherubic. She looks about eleven or twelve. “What’s the big idea tackling me?”

“Sorry,” I say. “We thought you were dangerous.”

“I am,” she sniffs. “Anyway, this is my McDonald’s. Leave already.”

“Where are your parents?” Chris asks, frowning.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She only comes up to my shoulder. She’s got on long black leggings underneath a pink skirt. “Hellooo. Leave. Now.”

“Answer the question,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Where are your parents?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you alone?” I press. “Who’s taking care of you?”

“I can handle myself,” she answers, looking proud. “Bye.”

She turns to leave, but Chris catches her around the waist and holds her there. “You’re alone,” he states. “How long have you been hiding out here?”

The girl tries to wrestle herself out of Chris’s grip, but not even a sumo wrestler could break those iron arms. “I don’t know. A week, maybe? Everybody left when the electricity went out. I came here to find food.”

“Why didn’t your parents take you with them?” I ask, horrified.

“I don’t have parents, genius,” she replies. “I’m a foster child, okay?”

I sigh.

“I get it.” I look around the kitchen. “So. Is there any food left?”

She laughs.

“Like I would share it with you.”

Chris gives her his death stare and she swallows.

“Fine. This way.”

She shoves past me and tromps into the other half of the kitchen. She opens up a sliding door underneath the counter and pulls out a few boxes of cookies and sealed apple slices. “Happy now?” she demands.

“What’s your name?” I ask, dumping a bunch of apple packages into my pack. “How old are you?”

“Twelve. Almost thirteen,” she replies, picking at a cookie.

“And your name?” I say, putting my hands on my hips.

“Isabel,” she replies.

“I’m Cassidy,” I smile, shaking her hand whether she wants me to or not. “And this is Chris.”

“He your boyfriend?” Isabel asks.

I flush, glad I can’t see Chris’s face.

“He’s my friend,” I reply. “Do you have any family or friends around here who can help you?”

“No. The whole area’s empty,” she shrugs. “I just got left behind.”

“How?”

“My foster family left without me.” She bites down on a cookie, propping her legs up against the wall. “There are like, two people in the whole county around here so it’s not like it took long for everybody to disappear.”

“Have you been living off cookies and apples for a week?” I ask.

“There were French fries and hamburgers and stuff at first,” she answers. “Then everything started getting yucky.”

I nod.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what’s happening everywhere.” I turn to Chris, who’s putting a few cookies in his backpack. “Don’t overdo it there, pal. Chocolate melts.”

He stuffs one more in his bag before shooting me a you-can’t-tell-me-what-to-do look. I turn back to Isabel. “Look, we can’t leave you here alone,” I say. “We’re headed north. You can come with us.”

Behind me, Chris heaves a sigh.

“She’s a kid,” he mumbles.

“She’s coming with us,” I say, making it clear that I won’t take no for an answer. I’m not going to look back on my life a hundred years from now and have to remember that I left twelve year-old girl in the middle of an empty McDonald’s when the world ended.

“Seriously?” she says, looking surprised. “I can come with you?”

“Sure,” I smile. “You’ll be safe with us.”

“That’s debatable,” Chris remarks.

“Shut up, Chris,” I say.

Isabel suddenly jumps forward and hugs me around the waist. It takes me by surprise, since just a minute ago she was kicking Chris in the shins. Then again, I would be a little defensive, too, if I’d been hiding out in a dark kitchen for a week.

“Okay,” I say, squeezing her shoulders. “We should move. You up for this?”

“Totally!” she beams. “Where are you going?”

“The mountains,” I answer, not wanting to dump too much important information off on her. “It’s safe there.”

“That’s also debatable,” Chris says.

“Go away,” I say, shaking my head.

“Hey, I found these, too,” Isabel says, pulling open another drawer. There are some small water bottles inside. “Want some?”

I clap my hands together. “Water!” I exclaim. “Awesome. Good job, Isabel.”

We fit as many as we can into our packs. Isabel stuffs a few into a backpack she pulls from underneath the counter. It’s a pink with sparkly rhinestones all over the top. “Nice,” I comment.

“Thanks,” she replies. “It’s for school. I’m in sixth grade.”

“Wow.” We hop over the front counter, walking out of the McDonald’s. The fog isn’t as dense as it was during the early morning, but it’s still pretty cold. And wet. And depressing.

             “I haven’t been outside since it happened,” Isabel remarks, skipping along beside me. “There were a lot of weird people hanging around for a few days.”

             “What kind of weird people?” Chris asks.

             “Like gangsters or something,” she replies, making a face. “They came inside the McDonald’s and stole all the money from the cash register. Then they left. I didn’t want to go outside because I thought they might still be there.”

             “That was a good idea,” I say, sharing a concerned glance with Chris.

             “Yeah, I know!” she kicks a rock down the road. “So where are we going again?”

             “The mountains,” I repeat. “There won’t be any weirdos up there.”

             “Cool. Do you have, like, a secret fortress or something?”

             “Or something.”

             “Why won’t you tell me?”

             “When you need to know, I’ll explain it to you, okay?”

             “Okay,” she sighs. “So are you like, in High School?”

             “No. College.” I tilt my head. “Chris was a Navy Seal.”

             “A Navy Seal?” she laughs. “What’s that?”

  I raise my eyebrows at Chris. He shifts the rifles and the backpack before launching into a convincing explanation about the awesomeness of his former Seal team. Even I get into it, asking him if he’s ever pulled a James Bond and worn a tuxedo under his diving gear.

Unfortunately, he’s never tried that.

“You know,” Isabel says, “I had a foster mom once who was in the army.”

“Did you like her?” I ask.

“No. She yelled all the time.” Isabel sighs. “Do you have any parents?”

“Kind of.”

We walk to the freeway, going back to car counting and complaining about the weather. Only now we have a twelve year-old cutting into the conversation, talking almost non-stop about school and math and her less than attractive history teacher from Greece.

Mid-morning rolls around, leaving us all sleepy. Except for Isabel, who seems to have endless energy and a need to bring up talking points concerning why jellyfish are the most persecuted animals in the ocean. Apparently she’s a science geek.