Being a scientist, she knew the possibility of life after death was slim to none. She believed in what she observed, utilizing the evidence provided to her, and there simply wasn’t any data on heaven. Religion had never appealed to her, because it required her to believe in something that replaced evidence with faith. But there had been times in her life where she could recall praying. Not necessarily to a specific deity, but to something—anything—that might be listening. The first time was during the solar storms of 2055. The second was when she thought she was carrying Emanuel’s child. The third was now.

She stared out the window of the ancient Jeep Wrangler that Sergeant Overton and his men had commandeered from the decommissioned garage of the air force bunker. It had been protected by the thick granite roof of the facility, and besides a leaky fuel line and an aged muffler, it was in pretty decent shape.

By the time they hit the gravel road, she had already given up on finding the right words for a prayer. It was mostly pointless anyway. What good would praying do? It wasn’t like anyone was listening. And even if God did have an ear to the ground, there was no way she could bring herself to believe that He would intervene on her behalf. Where would the justice be in that, when so many others had suffered and perished? It was all so confusing. Another reason she preferred lab experiments over Sunday mass.

Overton killed the lights as he steered the Jeep onto Highway 115. He didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention, and while driving in the dim light wasn’t the safest option, it beat trekking on foot in the dark. Besides, he had been trained to drive in similar situations—although that training was more than two decades old.

“Keep sharp,” he said over the com. “I don’t want any surprises.”

The dark blacktop was littered with empty vehicles, sending a chill down his spine. The scene was reminiscent of his time in Puerto Rico, when the Spanish had sent Special Forces in to take the island back. He was with one of the first Marine units to land on the beach. San Juan had been hastily evacuated, cars abandoned everywhere. Mike, his best friend, had taken a sniper’s bullet to the eye before his squad had a chance to set up a forward operating base. He realized with a jolt that his oldest boy was now the age Mikey had been when he died.

Get your head in the game, Marine, and remember your own rule. Don’t let outside distractions affect your mission.