Peter remembered the story Lacey had told him, about Noah and the ship, realizing something he hadn’t thought of before. Noah wasn’t alone. There were the animals, of course, but that wasn’t all. He had taken his family with him.

“What do you think we’re supposed to do?” he asked.

Greer shook his head. “I don’t think it’s up to me. You’re the one with those vials in your pack. That woman gave them to you and no one else. As far as I’m concerned, my friend, that decision is yours.” He rose, taking up his rifle. “But speaking as a soldier, ten more Donadios would make a hell of a weapon.”

They spoke no more that night. Moab was two days away.

They approached the farmstead from the south, Sara at the wheel of the Humvee, Peter up top with the binoculars.

“Anything?” Sara called.

It was late afternoon. Sara had brought the vehicle to a halt on the wide plain of the valley. A hard, dusty wind had arisen, obscuring Peter’s vision. After four warm days the temperature had fallen again, cold as winter.

Peter climbed down, blowing onto his hands. The others were crowded onto the benches with their gear. “I can see the buildings. No movement. The dust is too heavy.”

Everyone was silent, fearful of what they’d find. At least they had fuel; south of the town of Blanding, they had stumbled across—actually driven straight into—a vast fuel depot, two dozen rust-streaked tanks poking from the soil like a field of giant mushrooms. They realized that if they planned their route correctly, seeking out airfields and the larger towns, especially those with railheads, they should be able to find enough usable fuel along the way to get them home, as long as the Humvee itself held out.

“Pull ahead,” Peter said.

She drew forward slowly, onto the street of little houses. Peter thought, with a sinking feeling, that it all seemed just like it had when they’d found it, empty and abandoned. Surely Theo and Mausami should have heard the sound of their motor and come out by now. Sara drew up to the porch of the main house and silenced the engine; everyone got out. Still no sounds or movement from inside.

Alicia spoke first, touching Peter on the shoulder. “Let me go.”

But he shook his head; the job was his. “No. I’ll do it.”

He ascended the porch and opened the door. He saw at once that everything had changed. The furniture had been moved around, made more comfortable, even homey. An arrangement of old photographs stood on the mantel above the ashy hearth. He stepped forward and felt for heat, but the fire had gone cold, long ago.

“Theo?”