The hatch was a solid block of reinforced steel. A heavily armored doorway that led deeper underground.

“Um. Guys.” Emma hesitated for 2.3 seconds. “There’s . . . something I need to tell you.”

Ceeron responded, “What is it?”

She looked up from the hatch. Her gaze sketched a steady path from SkD to Ceeron before finally landing on me.

She took a deep breath.

Then she said, “I’m not the last human.”

01010011

Beginning. Middle. End.

This is the formula that most stories take. When we first met, Emma told us what had happened to her. And now—days later—she made a confession:

Her story was a lie.

Not all of it. The beginning and middle were the same.

The underground world. The illness. These parts were true.

But the end was different.

Standing over the hatch, Emma told us Version[2] of her story. As she spoke, she aimed her eyes at the ground. She wrapped her words in a nervous hush. Almost a whisper. I turned up my audio ports and listened.

This is what she said.

This is the real end to Emma’s story:

Emma’s underground world was crumbling as illness spread through the bunker, coiling its dark tendrils around everyone.

Everyone except Emma.

For some unknown reason, some mystery hidden deep within her programming, Emma was immune to the illness.

She went to the small/cramped room that she shared with her FamilyUnit.

Her mother and father were lying on their bunks, their skin pale and drenched in sweat.

Emma took her mother’s hand. “The doctor said we don’t have the medicine we need. Without it . . .”

Her voice trailed away, but her unspoken words hung in the air like smoke.

Without it, there is no cure.

Without it, the sickness will only get worse.

Without it, you will die.

“I have to help.” Emma squeezed her mother’s hand. “I have to leave the bunker to find more medicine.”

Her mother shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s the only way,” Emma replied.

Her mother tried to argue, but all that came was coughing.

From the top bunk, her father spoke. “Emma. Listen to me.”

There were dark circles under his eyes.

His hands were so hot.

“There’s another bunker,” he said. “About thirty miles from here.”

He reached into a pouch beside his bed.

He removed a tattered piece of paper.

A map.

Two hand-drawn markings had been added to the map:

[1] A blue dot.

(near the top)

[2] A red dot.

(near the bottom

Her father pressed an unsteady finger against the blue dot. “This is where we are now. And this.” His finger moved to the red dot. “This is another bunker. There are other humans here. They went into hiding at the same time we did.”

Emma stared at the map.

Her eyes traced the lines of human and geographic landmarks.

Roads/Cities/Lakes/Rivers/Mountains.