That’s all gone now, all of it. And stars. Time to time I think that’s what I miss seeing most of all, back in the Time Before. From the window of my bedroom I could look over the roofs of the buildings and the houses and see them, these points of light in the sky, hanging there like God his own self had strung the sky for Christmas. It was my mama who told me the names for some and how you could watch them awhile and start to see pictures up there, simple things like spoons and people and animals. I used to think you could look at the stars and that was God, right there. Like looking straight into his face. You needed the dark to see him plain. Maybe he forgot us and maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was us who forgot, when we couldn’t see the stars no more. And to tell the truth they’re the one thing I’d like to see again before I die.

There were other trains, I do believe. We’d heard about trains leaving from all over, that other cities had sent them before the jumps got in. Maybe it was just people talking like they do when they’re scared, grasping at any bit of hope that floats on past. I don’t know how many made it all the way to where they were going. Some were sent to California, some to places with names I don’t just now recall. There was only one we ever heard from, back in the early days. Before the Walkers and the One Law, when radio was still allowed. Someplace in New Mexico, I do believe it was. But something happened to their lights and we didn’t hear from them again after that. From what Peter and Theo and the others tell me, I do believe we are the only one left now.