He hurried three rows down, threading his way through more people in white sleeping suits.

Theresa was kneeling down in front of Ben, holding him, whispering in his ear.

Ethan wrapped his arms around them, pulled his family in close.

Tears streamed.

“I don’t want to do it, Dad,” Ben cried. “I’m scared.”

“I’m scared too,” Ethan said. “We’re all scared and that’s okay.”

“What if this is the end?” Theresa asked.

Ethan stared into his wife’s green eyes.

“Then know I love you. It’s time,” Ethan said.

He helped Ben onto his feet, held the boy’s arm as he stepped into his machine.

His son was shaking—from the cold, from the fear.

Ethan eased him down onto the metal seat.

Restraints shot out of the walls, locking around Ben’s ankles and wrists.

“I’m so cold, Dad.”

“I love you, Ben. I’m so proud of you. I have to shut the door now.”

“Not yet. Please.”

Ethan leaned in and kissed his forehead, thinking, This could be the last time I ever touch my boy. He stared into Ben’s eyes.

“Look at me, son. Be brave.”

Ben nodded.

Ethan wiped the tears from his cheek, stepped out of the suspension chamber.

“I love you, Ben,” Theresa said.

“Love you, Mom.”

Ethan gave the door to Ben’s machine a nudge. It swung shut, and an internal locking mechanism triggered the seal.

Ethan and Theresa stared through the glass as the interior of Ben’s chamber began to fill with gas.

They smiled through their tears as Ben’s eyes closed.

Theresa turned to Ethan. “Tuck me in?” she asked.

He took her by the hand and walked her down to her machine. The door was already open, and she stared inside at the black composite seat, the armrests, the black tubing hanging from the inner wall, tipped with a large-gauge needle that would vacuum every drop of blood from her veins.

She said, “Oh Jesus Christ.”

She climbed in and sat down.

The machine locked her in.

Ethan said, “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“You think we’ll really get there?”

“Absolutely.”

And then he kissed his wife like it was the last time he would ever touch her.

Climbing into his suspension chamber, Ethan thought of what he’d written down in his study last night, the words he’d recorded in the surveillance center.

Possibly the last recorded statement of human history.

The world is cruel. The world is hard, and in this valley, we lived at the mercy of the abbies. We lived like prisoners, and it went against every fiber of our being. Humanity is meant to explore; we’re meant to conquer, to roam. It’s in our DNA, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.

He sat down in the seat.