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over our group.
    “Thank you, Bernard.” The man in the suit unbuttons his jacket, sitting back against the edge of the railing. “We can’t afford to dissolve into tears or fits of anger. We were granted the gift of life in this tunnel, and we’re going to make sure we get out of it alive. Now, I haven’t been able to find any cell-phone reception down here, but the radio in our car is working, and local stations are already broadcasting about the cave-in. And,” he takes a moment, looking at each of us in turn, “they believe in the possibility of survivors. Standard protocol in any natural disaster such as this is to search for survivors first, so they’ll be using every tool they have to find us. And they will.”
    He pauses, and my mom and a few others seem to relax a little. I give the girls an encouraging squeeze.
    “In the meantime, we’re going to maintain order in this tunnel,” he continues. “I think it would be a good idea to start with introductions. Some of you may have recognized my name – I’m Governor Rosings, from Utah. This man here is my driver, and faithful friend, Bernard. We’re of the black town car toward the eastern entrance.”
    The man in the cap gives our group a short nod, and the Governor turns to look at the man standing beside him.
    “I’m Kevin,” says one of the guys in hiking boots, “and this here is my brother Jason. We came here on vacation, and we’re going to...we were going to hike the Great Divide. We have that brown car with the shattered windshield, with all the luggage strapped to the top.”
    Everyone’s eyes shift, and I’m next. I look down, though, and let my mom handle the introductions. “I’m Mary, and these are my daughters Emily, Suzanne, and Michelle,” she says, pointing. “We had to go to Denver today, and we were finally on our way home. I drive the car furthest toward the west entrance.”
    I keep my face a steady blank as I stare at the ground, squeezing my sisters again.
    “I’m Mrs. Amelia Potts,” says the large lady, with an emphasis on the Mrs. “These are my two precious babies, Alexander and Alexa – five and three years old. We were...we were on our way home from Alexander’s admittance party to a prestigious private school in Denver. We have the green Expedition over there.”
    We turn next to the small younger woman in broken glasses. She looks up only long enough to establish that it’s her turn. “My name is Hannah Avery,” she says quietly, flicking her eyes up again. “I-I work in a library a little west of the tunnel and was headed b-back there. I drive the g-green sedan toward the western entrance.”
    The old man is next in the circle. He spits. “Name’s Simon Tara. Drivin’ that red pick- up.”
    Next up is the boy I saved, hovering toward the outside of our circle. “I’m Chris,” he says, his voice devoid of any pain he might be feeling in his legs. “I was on my way to Grand Junction. My car got...destroyed...somehow in the cave-in on the eastern side.” I meet his eyes and feel my cheeks flush. His blue eyes seem almost to be laughing, a small smile playing on his lips.
    Destroyed somehow? My pulse picks up just the tiniest amount. Is he teasing me?
    “I’m Miguel Rodriguez,” says the dad from the family of five, and I shift my eyes quickly. The older man has jet black hair, one arm around his wife, the other stretching to encompass his three small children. They’re all younger than the twins, but their matching brown eyes show a sense of maturity and patience. “This is my wife Angela, and our three niños , Javier, Teresa, and Rosa. We have the mini-van back there.”
    The Governor smiles at the family, then turns at last to the workmen. I can’t read his expression as he nods at one of them – the boss, it seems. “I’m Phil, and this is Doug, Terry, Bob, and Henry,” he says, pointing first to a man I recognized from the driver’s seat of the work truck, and then to the three in