Kletter had been a crappy boat captain when they’d set sail, and she was a crappy boat captain when they “docked” at a long cement pier. The starboard side of the ship slammed into the pier then scraped along until sheer friction slowed them to a stop. Carson and Dominic had barely pulled their feet back before getting shortened for life, then recovered their wits and jumped onto the pier to tie them down. The whole escapade had put the fear of god in Isaac enough that he forgot about Cranks and viruses for a solid minute or two.

But then a silence like covered earth settled upon them, broken only by the soft lapping of the waves. A stillness, as well. For the first time in Isaac’s life, and for most of the others, they were connected to the land of the “real” world. The one they’d been hearing about all their lives. The one that had been flushed down the latrine of apocalypse.

No one spoke. Kletter, a few pounds heavier than when she’d first arrived on the island, but still gaunt and pale and ill-looking, came out of the boat’s cabin, a place she’d hardly left during the voyage. Without a word she walked to the edge of the craft and jumped the half-foot gap to the cement pier, which was laden with cracks, pitted like some beast with iron teeth had taken a chomping to it. She was shivering, and stood there on the pier for a minute or two, her head bowed, cupping her elbows in both hands as if to warm them. Isaac and his friends watched her, this strange new world become a church, waiting for her to start some ancient ceremony.

Old Man Frypan broke the reverence. “What’re we waiting on, people? I gotta take my hourly piss and I’d like to use an actual tree on actual dirt.”

Someone snickered, and to Isaac’s shock he realized it had been Kletter herself.

She turned to them and said, “Come on, then. Trust me, not a soul on that boat is happier than I am to be back in North America. I’m gonna take a bath for three days and eat about seven cans of chili. And take a break from you people.”

With that less-than-religious benediction, she started walking down the pier toward the land of their new life. Old Man Frypan was the first one to follow.

Then everybody, all at once.

“This was Los Angeles,” Kletter said. “I mean, still is, I guess. City of Dead Angels.”