It’s impossible for her not to compare real life with the words and pages of writers from the old world. And adding to this is the number of “coming of age” stories she’s found. Dozens of novels in which the boy or girl found themselves by the end, their purpose, their future. Is Tom on a similar precipice?

And if so, could he step into a wholly new future without them?

Voices outside the room. People sound worried. Maybe they suspect something’s outside, too. She needs to tell everyone what she’s heard. If there’s one horror Malorie has underscored more than any other, it’s that it only takes a single person to look, one to see, one madman to set the entire matchbook aflame.

She slides open the cabin door, half expecting to see the man Henry who, if she’s honest with herself, reminded her of Malorie’s description of Gary. Malorie’s boogeyman. In the hall. With an axe.

GOTCHA!

But, no. In his stead are a half dozen scared people, looking to her, a sixteen-year-old girl, for guidance, information, hope.

“What’s going on?” a woman asks.

“Like Dean warned us,” she says, “we’re passing through an area with a lot of them.”

Them.

Nobody needs further clarification in the new world.

But the people only stare at her.

“Please,” Olympia says. Then she adopts her mother’s voice. “Stick in your cabins, close your eyes, till we get past them.”

Leading. Guiding. Olympia has been doing variations of this for years.

She heads up the hall. The doors to each room are open. People sense something is up.

“Close your eyes,” she tells each she passes. “Sit tight.”

When she reaches the end of the car, she does the same. She slides the door open and steps through.

Here, more people. More conversation. They all look so confused. So vulnerable. Don’t they know there’s only one rule to live by? Don’t they understand that any time they feel like something is up they should close their eyes?

“Hey!” she calls, gaining confidence in giving directions. “Everybody close your eyes. Lots of them outside.”

A man stops her.

“What do you know?” he asks, suspicion in his eyes. Olympia thinks of something Malorie taught her long ago.

Whoever you meet, whoever we encounter, you have to remember that they’ve experienced loss. Whether it was their parents, their kids, their friends…they’ve lost someone to the new world. And you need to keep that in mind when they talk to you, when they sound like they don’t trust you, when they eye you like you’re the danger.

“There are many outside the train,” she says.

The man closes his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says.

Olympia is moving again. Thinking of Tom. Thinking of Malorie. Where are they?