From where he stood, it was a crushing collection of sights and sounds: all those little mounds of dirt, the dead waiting to be lowered into their final resting places, the grieving of those who had lost everything, the mountain people standing behind the townies looking solemnly on, and the column of smoke at the north end of town coughing spirals of sweet-smelling black into the sky as six hundred abby corpses smoldered into nothing.

Except for David Pilcher, the man responsible for all this pain, every human being left on earth was in this field.

Even Adam Hassler, standing on the outskirts with Theresa and Ben.

Ethan was struck with a single, terrifying thought: I’m losing my wife.

He made a slow turn, studying all the faces. The grief was overpowering. A living thing.

“I don’t know what to say. Words can’t make any of this feel better. We lost three-quarters of our people, and it’s going to be hard for a long, long time. Let’s do what we can to help one another, because it’s just us out here alone in the world.”

As everyone began to lift the bodies gently down into their graves, Ethan headed back across the field, through the falling snow toward Kate.

He helped her lower Harold into his grave.

Then they took up their shovels, and, along with everyone else, began to fill in the dirt.

THERESA

THERESA

She walked with Hassler through the forest south of town, snowflakes drifting down between the pines. Adam had shaved his beard and cut his hair, but the smooth skin only underscored the gaunt, drawn quality of his face. He looked emaciated. Like a refugee of a starving world. She couldn’t get past how surreal it felt to be physically close to him again. Before she’d given him up for dead, she’d made it a habit of imagining their reunion. None of those fantasies had been anything like the real thing.

“Are you sleeping all right?” Theresa asked.

“It’s funny. You don’t know how many nights out in the wild I dreamed of sleeping in a bed again. All the pillows, the covers, the warmth, the safety. Being able to reach out in the dark to a bedside table and wrap my hand around a cool glass of water. But since I’ve been back, I’ve barely slept. Guess I got used to sleeping in a bivy sack, tied into a tree thirty feet off the ground. How about you?”

“It’s difficult,” she said.

“Nightmares?”

“I keep dreaming that things went another way. That those abbies got into the jail cell.”

“How’s Ben?”

“He’s okay. I can tell he’s trying to wrap his head around what happened. A lot of his classmates didn’t make it.”

“He saw things no kid should ever have to see.”

“He’s twelve now. Can you believe it?”