URGED NORTH.

Below is a picture of a massive horde of Unconsecrated, taken from above as if by a bird.

I hold the photograph closer, trying to ascertain the details in the graininess. It is more Unconsecrated than I have ever seen in my life. Stretching wide and deep and determined.

I stumble dazed back into the attic, scattering the other pages on the floor, looking for more pictures. The large black words scream at me from every page: GOVERNMENT MOVED TO

SECRET LOCATION; CDC UNABLE TO DETERMINE CAUSE OF INFECTION; LAST

STAND AT ROCKIES FAILS; OUTBREAKS REPORTED WORLDWIDE;

PREVIOUSLY CLEARED AREAS ENDANGERED BY FAST-MOVING INFECTED.

My fingers shaking, I pick up one page that shouts NEW YORK CITY UNDER SIEGE with a picture of buildings taller than I could ever imagine. They are massive, stacked almost one atop another for as far as the eye can see. I feel dizzy just looking at them, remembering the stories my mother told me of buildings that used to touch the sky.

But I had never thought of anything like these, could never have dreamed of buildings such as these!

I swallow, my breath catching in my throat as I realize the implication of this photograph. It proves that my mother was right. That the stories she passed down are true.

That there is an ocean. And that it must be massive.

I scramble to my feet and run to Travis on the porch.

“You have to see this,” I tell him, tugging on his sleeve.

He looks at me as if from far away, a furrow between his eyes as if he is deep in concentration.

“Are you ready?” He walks past me back into the attic. I follow him, holding out the brittle paper.

“Travis, look at this picture. Look at what it means.”

He still looks at me from somewhere else, my words seeming to mean nothing to him. There is a loud thump and a crack of the boards under our feet. The floor tilts just enough that I stumble, throwing out my hands to catch myself.

The page crumbles between our hands as Travis reaches for me, steadies me.

“We must hurry, Mary,” he shouts, grabbing the makeshift rope I had braided and taking it out to the porch.

My heart thunders in tune with the Unconsecrated writhing beneath us. My picture ruined, I drop to my knees, sifting through the rest of the pages for more proof. For another glimpse of those buildings. But everything vanishes as soon as I grasp it, falling apart, ripping into nothingness.

My eyes blur with frustrated tears. I no longer even see the words or the pictures, just blindly cast about for something to hold on to. For the memory. And then my fingers trace over something smooth, sturdier. It is a picture of a vast stretch of impossibly tall buildings—just like the picture I had destroyed only moments before. More buildings than I could have ever thought existed in the world, much less in one location.