Gone

as inventory. He was mentally translating the separate ingredients into Big Macs, chicken sandwiches, Egg McMuffins.
    Albert’s sister, Rowena, had taught him to cook. With their mom incapacitated, the kids had always had to fend for themselves. Rowena had been the unofficial cook until Albert hit his twelfth birthday, and then part of the kitchen duties had devolved to him.
    He could make red beans and rice, his mother’s favorite dish. He could make hot dogs. He could make French toast and bacon. He had never admitted it to Rowena, but Albert enjoyed cooking. It was a lot better than just doing the cleanup, which, unfortunately, he still had to do even though he was now responsible for the evening meal on Fridays and Sundays.
    The manager had a tiny office. The door was ajar. Inside was a cramped desk, a locked safe, a phone, a computer, and a wall shelf straining under the weight of several thick operator’s manuals.
    He heard sound: voices, and someone banging into a straw dispenser, then apologizing. Two seventh graders were leaning on the counter, staring up at the overhead menu like they were waiting to order.
    Albert hesitated, but not for long. He could do it, he told himself, almost surprised by the thought.
    “Welcome to McDonald’s,” Albert said. “May I help you?”
    “Are you open?”
    “What would you like?”
    The kids shrugged. “Two number-one combos?”
    Albert stared at the computer console. It was a maze of color-coded buttons. That would have to wait.
    “What kind of drink? I mean beverage?”
    “Orange soda?”
    “Coming right up,” Albert said. He found burger patties in a refrigerator drawer below the grill. They made a satisfying sound as he slapped them onto the grill.
    He spotted a paper hat resting on a shelf. He put it on.
    While the burger patties sizzled, he opened the thick manual and searched the index for French fries.

SEVEN
    289 HOURS , 45 MINUTES
    LANA LAY IN the dark, staring up at the stars.
    She couldn’t see the vultures anymore, but they weren’t far off. Several had tried to land nearby, and Patrick had scared them off. But she knew they were still out there.
    She was scared. Scared of dying. Scared of never seeing her mom and dad again. Her mom and dad, who probably didn’t even know she was missing. They called Grandpa Luke every night and talked to her, told her they loved her…and refused to let her come home.
    “We want you to have a break from the city, sweetheart,” her mother would say. “We want you to have some time to think and clear your head.”
    Lana burned with fury at her parents. Especially her mother. If she let it, the anger could burn so hot, it almost blanked out her pain.
    But not quite. Not really. Not for long. The pain was her whole world now. Pain and fear.
    She wondered what she looked like right now. She had never been pretty, really—her eyes, she felt, were too small, her dark hair too lank to do more with than let hang there. But now, with her face a mass of bruises, cuts, and caked-on blood, she probably looked like something from a horror movie.
    Where was Grandpa Luke? She only half remembered the seconds before the crash, and the crash itself was just a blur, fractured images of space twirling around her as her body was bludgeoned.
    It was confusing. Made no sense. Her grandfather had simply disappeared from the truck: one minute there, and the next not there. She had no memory of the truck door opening or closing, and why would the old man have jumped out?
    Crazy.
    Impossible.
    She was sure of one thing: There had been no word of warning from her grandfather. In a heartbeat he was gone and she was plunging down the ravine.
    Lana was desperately thirsty. The closest place she knew where she could get a drink was the ranch. It was probably no more than a mile away. If she could somehow get up to the road…but even in daylight, even healthy, the climb would have been nearly impossible.
    She raised her throbbing head a little and twisted till she saw the truck. It was just a few feet away, wheels up, silhouetted against the stars.
    Something scuttled across her neck. Patrick sat up, focused on the faint sound.
    “Don’t let anything get me, boy,” she begged.
    Patrick woofed, the way he did when he wanted to play.
    “I don’t have any food for you, boy,” she said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to us.”
    Patrick settled back down, head on paws.
    “I guess Mom will be happy,” Lana said. “I guess