She lifted her eyes from the flames. And when Peter saw what lay inside them, he understood what she had done—that she had chosen to take this burden from him, from them all, and that this was a mercy.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Amy said. “But it would have made you like me. And I couldn’t let that happen.”

They did not speak of that night again—of the virus, or the flames, or what Amy had done. Sometimes, in odd moments when he recalled these events, Peter felt, strangely, as if it had been a dream; or if not a dream, then something like a dream, with a dream’s texture of inevitability. And he came to believe that the destruction of the virus was not, in the end, the catastrophe he had feared but, rather, one more step on the road they would travel together, and that what lay ahead was something he could not know, nor needed to know. Like Amy herself, it was something he would take on faith.

The morning of their departure, Peter stood on the porch with Michael and Theo, watching the sun come up. His brother’s splints had come off at last; he could walk, but with a pronounced limp, and he tired quickly. Below them, Hollis and Sara were loading up the Humvee with the last of the gear. Amy was still inside with Maus, who was nursing Caleb one last time before they set out.

“You know,” Theo said, “I have the feeling that if we ever came back here, it would be just as it is now. Like it’s apart from everything. Like no time ever really passes here.”

“Maybe you will,” Peter said.

Theo fell silent, letting his gaze travel over the dusty street.

“Oh, hell, brother,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It’s nice to think it, though.”

Amy and Mausami emerged from the house. Everyone gathered around the Humvee. Another departure, another goodbye. There were hugs, good wishes, tears. Sara climbed behind the wheel, Hollis beside her, Theo and Mausami in the back with their gear. Also in the cargo compartment of the Humvee were the documents Lacey had given to Peter. Just deliver them, Peter had said, to whoever’s in charge.

Amy reached inside to give baby Caleb one last embrace. As Sara turned the engine over, Greer stepped to the open driver’s window.

“Remember what I said. From the fuel depot, straight south on Highway 191. You should be able to pick up Route 60 in Eagar. That’s the Roswell Road, takes you straight to the garrison. There’s fortified bunkers about every hundred kilometers. I marked them on Hollis’s map, but look for the red crosses, you can’t miss them. Nothing fancy, but it should get you through. Gas, ammo, whatever you need.”

Sara nodded. “Got it.”

“And whatever you do, stay away from Albuquerque—the place is crawling. Hollis? All eyes.”