me to admit, Hayden was probably right about this one. The poor guy seems to know his bird’s name, but that’s about it. We’re clearly on our own in getting out of this furnace.

I give the confused man a deflated thank you before turning back to Hayden. The look on his face screams, “I told you so,” which makes me want to wipe it off with my boot heel. The only small satisfaction I get is from bumping his shoulder on the way by.

For some reason there’s still this nagging worry that I can’t get rid of. The crazy guy and his fat bird will die without food or water. I doubt they would even make it through the day. Insane or not, no one deserves that. Part of me wonders if he’s too crazy to drink it anyhow, or if he does make it through today, what ab...

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