Elle paced restlessly around her kitchen, keeping one eye on the TV news in the living room. The horrifying footage was playing continuously and only seemed to get worse every time she saw it. She’d watched every minute over and over, half-hoping, half-dreading that she’d catch a glimpse of Ford amongst the chaos, but so far there had been no sign of him, even though, according to Sam, Ford had called from the Honolulu airport right before the monsters attacked.

“Yes, Ford Brody—Japan to San Francisco,” she repeated into the phone at her ear. Pacing in her hospital scrubs, she fought to keep panic at bay. “Look, I know your systems are down,” she pleaded to the frazzled-sounding airline representative she’d finally managed to get hold of. So far he hadn’t been much help. “What? No, wait! Can I leave my number just in—?”

A click at the other end of the line cut off the call.

“Damn it!” she swore, slamming the phone down onto the kitchen table. The curse came out louder than she intended, startling Sam who was sitting at the table eating a bologna sandwich.

He looked up at her with a worried expression.

She hurried over to comfort him, pulling him close. To be honest, the hug was as much for her benefit as his.

“It’s okay,” she said, trying to reassure them both. “Daddy’s going to be okay.”

She wished she could believe that.

* * *

Once again, Ford found himself aboard a C-17 Globe-master bound for home. Crammed in among the other soldiers, all of whom were decked out in combat gear, Ford felt out of place in his beaten-up civilian attire. He rubbed his chin, which was badly in need of a shave. He suspected he could use a shower as well. He had been on the move for days now.

Fortunately, his new traveling companion didn’t seem to mind his lack of hygiene.

“I’m Queens all the way,” Sergeant Tre Morales volunteered, as if his New York accent wasn’t proof enough. He proudly shared photos of three generations of Morales. “Mi familia. My wife’s from San Francisco, but we dragged her over.”

Ford felt bad that he didn’t have any photos of Elle or Sam on his person. “We’re just across the Bridge.”

“Kids?” Tre asked.

“I have a son. He’s four. Sam.”

“I’m having a daughter,” Tre said.

Ford appreciated the conversation. He knew he probably ought to be trying to get some sleep, but he was too uneasy knowing that a pair of feuding monsters was heading toward America. He wasn’t going to be able to relax until he knew that Sam and Elle were safe.

“You gotta be psyched about that,” he said, regarding Tre’s upcoming blessed event.