No grieving in his voice. Sam has already gone through that. Just as Malorie went through it for him.

“Shannon…” Malorie says.

Sam nods and holds a finger to his lips.

“Olympia filled us in.”

He still smiles. Malorie knows it’s because her parents accepted the deaths of their daughters a long, long time ago.

“Us?” she says.

“Just because your mother has moved on doesn’t mean I don’t keep her up to date. She’s buried in the backyard.”

“Oh God, Dad. I’m so sorry.”

Sam only nods, raises a hand to say he’s okay.

“I’d like to see her,” Malorie says.

Sam gets up and holds out a hand to help her do the same.

“She would love that.”

—

Malorie breathes deep before exiting the home’s back door. She holds Sam’s hand.

Despite the fact that the people of Indian River are currently fashioning visors out of two-way mirrors, both are blindfolded.

“How long have you guys been here?” Malorie asks.

“Close to three years.”

“Did a census man ever come to your door?”

Sam seems to think about this. Malorie hears the wind through the leaves on the trees. Hears leaves gently swept across the lawn.

“Yes,” Sam says. “A little man. Very dangerous what he was doing. Your mother said it was noble. We offered him our place to stay for the night, but he said he had a lot of work to do.”

Malorie feels fresh tears behind her fold. She wants to find this man. Wants to let him know that what he did, what he does, it works.

“Let’s go see Mary,” Sam says.

He guides Malorie down concrete steps to the lawn. She can hear a fence rattling by that same wind. The fold is tight to her face.

“Here,” Sam says. “It’s not much. But I dug it myself and that means something to me.”

“How did she…”

“In her sleep, Mal. Thank God it wasn’t the creatures.” He kneels, guiding Malorie to do the same. She feels stone beneath her fingers. A large block of it. Leaves and grass, too. “Here.”

Then his hand slips from hers and Malorie is left alone with Mary Walsh. Until now, she believed she’d already lamented the death of her mother. But it strikes her, in full, here, that she’s never been allowed to grieve.

The creatures stole the time to do so.

“I missed you so much,” Malorie finally says.

Then she’s crying too hard to speak.

—

Malorie visits Mary every day for the two weeks they’ve stayed in this house. Not all of Indian River is as progressive as what she witnessed, without sight, in the town square. She understands why Sam didn’t leave. Despite the behavior by some that she considered unfathomably dangerous only fourteen days ago, she also gets it. People in the new world fall into two categories: safe and unsafe.