“This is Suyin Carby,” I say. “She made incredible chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, and she was devoted to training her dog. If not for her, we wouldn’t have Emmaline. Finding Emmaline may have saved my life, and Mrs. Carby deserves to be remembered.”

I reach in for another ID and slap it down on the coffee table. A runny pink smile dares us to live.

“This is Hazel Jenkins. I took shelter in her house after mine blew up. I ate her food, slept on her bed. This ugly purse belonged to her. It’s carried water, food, supplies, a gun, even my dog. Hazel Jenkins really loved pink, and she deserves to be remembered.”

Wyatt sits up on the sofa. He stares at the IDs.

I grab another.

“Barry Stockton,” I say, flipping out his driver’s license like it’s a playing card. “Grocery store manager. He sent his employees home and locked his store down tight when the virus hit. That meant Trey and I had all the supplies we could possibly need. That handgun was his, the one Trey used to kill a walker. We might all be dead if not for Barry Stockton. He deserves to be remembered.

“And this one,” I say, “is Kenneth Anderson.”

Tanq shoots up. She still holds herself apart, but she’s looking. She’s listening.

“Tanq’s bio-dad,” I explain. “He was an asshole who liked his fancy cars more than his own family. But we stayed in his house and ate his food and siphoned his fuel, and he might not deserve to be forgiven, but he deserves to be remembered.

“Here’s Kent Williams. He gave us the El Camino. Tanq ate every single one of his corn chips.”

I reach in one more time and grab the badge.

“Meet Captain Mercedes Wade,” I say. The metal clasp attaching the badge to its lanyard clatters when I set it down. “Thanks to her, we have a coal barge with plenty of fuel. She must have run a tight ship, because it withstood a massive Lake Erie storm without breaking a sweat. Also, I think she ran the barge aground on purpose, so it wouldn’t do any damage when she died. Captain Wade deserves to be remembered.”

I stare at all the photos of the dead. The others stare too.

“Six people who helped us get this far. If we quit now, no one will know their names. Don’t you see? It’s not just humanity’s future that’s at stake here. It’s our past. Everything we’ve ever been, everyone we’ve ever known.”

“One more,” comes a whisper. It’s Tanq. She reaches down beside the sofa and hefts something—it’s a giant binder filled with pages and clippings, all in plastic covers.