He scanned the group again. “So what happened – how did you find each other? I thought you guys had to work in isolation too, just like—” He broke off as he felt Willow stiffen behind him. At the same moment, a low female voice came from the drive:

“You want to explain why you’re holding a gun on my group, hotshot? And it’d better be good, or I’ll blow your freaking head off.”

Alex whirled in place, ready to shoot. Instead he just stared.

The dark-skinned girl who stood holding a gun on him was beautiful, and almost as tall as he was, with high, chiselled cheekbones and close-cropped black hair. Her brown eyes widened abruptly as they regarded each other. She wore tan jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt; he could see the slim, hard muscles of her arms, as if she spent half an hour every day doing chin-ups.

On her left bicep was a black AK tattoo in gothic lettering.

Time had come to a stop. “Kara,” whispered Alex.

The girl opened her mouth; closed it again. “Jake?” she got out. Her voice sounded ragged.

“No,” he said. “No, I’m—”

“Alex,” she finished for him. “Oh my god, Alex!” The next thing he knew, she had catapulted herself into his arms and they were hugging tightly. “I don’t believe it!” Kara gasped, sounding close to tears. “It’s really you – you’re alive, you’re okay...”

“I thought you were dead,” he said against her neck. Kara. His throat felt too small for speech. “I thought everyone was dead, except for me.”

She pulled back and touched his face; her slender hand felt firm and strong. “Look at you,” she breathed, her eyes shining. “You look so much like Jake! You’re all grown up—”

Suddenly they were both laughing. “Yeah, all grown up, just like you,” he teased, putting away his gun. Kara was only four years older than him, but when he’d been a love-struck fourteen-year-old, it had seemed more like four decades.

The tension in the courtyard had faded; the AKs stood watching in bemusement. Willow stepped forward. He could see her joy for him that one of his old friends had made it – though the slight tension around her mouth reminded him of when she’d met Cully, back in New Mexico. She’d been worried then that all the AKs would hate her because of what she was.

“Willow, this is Kara Mendez,” he told her. “We were at the camp together.”

“Hi,” said Willow, offering her hand to Kara. She looked almost waiflike in the plaid shirt, her green eyes dominating her face. “I’m Willow Fields.”

Kara’s eyebrows flew up; she gave Willow a cautious handshake. “Willow Fields – as in, the terrorist who’s all over the news?”

Willow shrugged, and tried to smile. “Yeah, something like that. I was trying to stop the Second Wave from coming.”