“Why is it so important?” she asked, and I could almost see defensive shutters drop between us.

“Remember me telling you about the two special operations teams I used to run with? The Department of Military Sciences and—”

“Rogue Team International,” she finished. “Yes. Why?”

“Church created both organizations. I worked for him and with him, and as far as I’m concerned, he is the strongest, smartest and most critically important person I’ve ever known. If anyone can help us beat this, it’s him and—”

“‘Beat this’?” she echoed. “Joe, much as I admire optimism, much as I like to think of the glass half full and a waiter coming with a fresh pitcher, there is no way to fix this. We lost the world. Millions of people are dead, possibly hundreds of millions or even billions. There is no infrastructure, many of the cities have been destroyed with nuclear weapons, the power grid is out, cell phones don’t work, not even cars will drive. The soldiers I’ve met have all said that there is no one giving orders anymore. And all of those dead people are actively hunting a dwindling number of surviving living people. I’m not trying to kick you below the belt, Joe, but how can anyone fix that?”

“I . . . ” But my words faltered. “I don’t know, Abigail. That’s the whole thing. He probably has a plan. When you talked to him, did he say anything about that? About how we’re going to beat this plague?”

Instead of answering immediately, she began walking again and I fell into step beside her. We walked maybe a hundred yards before she spoke.

“Joe, I only spoke with him a few times. Maybe twice at any length. If he had any knowledge about how to stop the plague, or some way to reverse it, he never said so. Mostly we talked about how to manage things as they were. He had some very good ideas about scavenging, about locating and establishing a safe haven. That’s why we’re heading south now.”

“Are you going to Asheville?” I asked.