“Where is Jack?” I ask, expecting to see him sleeping on the end of the bed like Penelope was with Charlie.

Ryan looks at me sadly. “He didn’t make it,” he says.

Bree lets out a sob. Grief washes over me. Jack had been a trusted ally, fighting side by side with us since day one. He even saved our lives back in the tunnels in Toledo. To have lost him now seems so unfair.

“I’m so sorry,” I say to Ryan, squeezing his good arm.

He nods, but I can tell he’s not ready to talk about it. Jack was his best friend. When others died around him, Ryan always had Jack. The loss will take a long time to heal.

“Where’s Molly?” I say, realizing that the bed beside Ryan’s is empty.

But before he has a chance to answer, I look up and see a shock of ginger hair peeking through a gap in a curtain around a bed a few down from where we stand. I’m in two minds about seeing Molly again. Because of her, Stephan and Zeke were left behind in Memphis. If Molly hadn’t lied, perhaps I’d have been able to save them. But despite the feelings of anger inside of me, I’m glad that she’s here. Molly had it worse than any of us back in the desert. She is my friend, after all, and no matter how disappointed I am in the decision she made back in Memphis, I still love her.

I prepare myself for the sight that awaits me, knowing full well her leg will have been amputated because of the bite she sustained from the radiated wild dogs. But as I approach her bed, the doctor quickly rushes over and blocks me from proceeding.

“Brooke, maybe it’s time for another saline solution,” she says.

“In a minute,” I reply, trying to move past her. “I need to see Molly first.”

The doctor becomes more insistent. “I really think you should have another drink now. Please, this way.”

Bree can tell something’s up. She ducks past the doctor quick as a flash and hauls open the curtain surrounding Molly. As I look over the doctor’s shoulder, I see Bree suddenly halt and gasp.

“Bree,” I say, feeling my heart begin to thump. “What is it?”

The doctor finally drops her arms and sighs loudly. “Your friend didn’t survive,” she tells me.

The words hit me like a punch in the gut. “What?” I cry, barging past her. My stomach churns as I hobble over to Molly’s bedside.

She’s covered in a white sheet, and her skin is so pale it makes her ginger hair even more strikingly red. She looks peaceful in death in a way she never did in life. It’s like her fight is finally over.