Silence falls across the crowd.

The Commander looks at me. “We don’t know for certain if the survivors there are still alive,” he says. “And Texas is a very long way to travel on the off chance that they are.”

“It’s a chance that many of us are willing to take,” I say, confidently.

But when I look around, to my dismay I find that no one is agreeing with me. I realize in that moment that they’ve changed their minds. Making limited local runs to rescue people is enough for them. Heading across the length of America is too much. Traveling all the way to Texas was never the plan. I feel deflated.

“Like I said,” the Commander replies, noting the complete lack of support anyone is giving me, “you’re free to leave. But you cannot come back.”

I know I should just be happy that, at last, there will be a group of people searching for survivors.

But it’s not enough. Because I can’t help thinking that the person trying to contact us could be my dad, that he could have survived the war just like the Commander did, and started his own group. Even if there’s only a million to one chance that it is him, I have to find out.

And that means leaving Fort Noix.

And if need be, alone.

I breathe in deeply.

“In that case,” I say, “I want to leave.”

The silence would be deafening if it weren’t for the shrill cry of a young girl coming from somewhere at the back of the crowd. It takes me a second to realize that the cry is coming from Bree.

I look over my shoulder and see her pelting through the crowd, making a beeline for me. Guilt swirls inside of me. I once made a promise to her that I would never leave her, and here I am, breaking it to her in the least sensitive way ever, that I’m going to do just that.

She reaches me and flings herself into my lap.

“I don’t understand what’s happening!” she sobs into my chest. “You want to leave? But you’d never be able to come back!” She pulls away, her tear-stained face bright red with emotion. “What about me? Charlie? Ben? What about us?”

I’m about to soothe her and explain my theory about Dad, when Neena pushes her way through the crowd and puts a maternal arm around Bree, as if trying to shield her from the pain I’m causing.

“Come on,” Neena says in hushed tones as she heaves her to her feet. “Let the grown-ups talk. This is no place for a child.”

Bree looks at me through red-rimmed eyes, her bottom lip trembling, then lets Neena lead her away. Ben and Charlie follow them through the crowd, both glaring at me darkly.