Jim doesn't seem to hear him, and when he looks at Hunter, he doesn't seem to see him either.

Jimmy stands in the cramped confines of the cave, barely big enough for two thirteen-year-old boys, his stomach a constant searing ache in its emptiness. "I'm gonna get more water," he says, looking back over his shoulder at Tommy. "Your burns are getting worse."

It probably won't do any good. The water isn't clean and they have no way to boil or sanitize it, or even bring back more than a few mouthfuls at a time. But it's the only thing he can do.

He takes a step, and just as suddenly, he's not in the cave anymore. "Tommy?" No, not Tommy. That was years ago. "...Hunter?"