“Can you fathom being given this opportunity?” Pilcher muses. “In the world we came from, our existence was so easy. And so full of discontent because it was so easy. How do you find meaning when you’re one of seven billion? When food, clothing, everything you need is just one Walmart away? When we numb our minds to sleep on all manner of screens and HD entertainment, the meaning of life, of our existence and purpose, becomes lost.”

“And what is that?” Pope asks.

“What is what?”

“Our purpose.”

“To perpetuate our species of course. To reign over this planet. And we will again. Not in your or my lifetime, but we will. The people I bring out of suspension to populate my town won’t have Facebook or iPhones, iPads, Twitter, next-day delivery. They’ll interact like our species used to. Face-to-face. And they’ll live knowing they’re the last of humanity, that outside our fence are a billion monsters that want to devour them. With that knowledge, they’ll abide in a full understanding that in the face of these enormous stakes, their lives have taken on incomprehensible worth. And isn’t that all we want in the end? To feel useful? Of value?”

Pilcher smiles as his town—his dream—comes to life before his eyes.

He says, “This place is going to be our Eden.”

THE TURNERS

THE TURNERS

Jim Turner kissed his eight-year-old daughter on the forehead and wiped away the tears that were streaming out of her eyes.

She said, “But I want you to stay with us.”

“I have to go secure the house.”

“I’m scared.”

“Mommy’s staying with you.”

“Why are people screaming outside?”

“I don’t know,” he lied.

“Is it because of those monsters? We learned about them in school. Mr. Pilcher protects us from them.”

“I don’t know what they are, Jessica, but I have to go make sure you and Mommy are safe, okay?”

The little girl nodded.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

He stood, put his hands on his wife’s face. Couldn’t see her in the darkness, but he could feel her lips trembling, the wetness of tears running over them.

He said, “You have water, food, a flashlight.” He tried to make a joke out of it. “Even a pot to piss in.”

She grabbed his neck, put her lips to his ear.

“Don’t do this.”

“There’s no other way and you know it.”

“The basement—”

“It won’t work. The boards are too long to go across the door.” He heard their neighbors, the Millers, dying in their home across the street. “When it comes time to get out—”

“You’ll break us out.”

“I want nothing more. But if I’m not here to do it, use the crowbar. You’ll have to wedge it into the jamb.”

“We should’ve stayed with the others.”