14 days until Roberts' crew lands.

We are stopped on the banks of the Mississippi. We followed interstate highways all the way from Arizona to St. Louis, a city all but blackened with ash except for vegetation growing in and out of the rubble. Two large metal posts stand in the distance. Declan tells me they used to connect to make an arch, but the center has since fallen in decay.

The Immortal drove through an old commercial area to get here, knocking into and scraping against buildings that look like they were abandoned even before the blast. Spray paint graffiti consumes the concrete structures and the barriers between the land where we've stopped and the river. Most of the graffiti looks like it was once colorful designs with funky lettering, but one catches my eye even from the balcony of the Immortal, something plain. "Gone but never forgotten. RIP," the wall reads in faint blue paint, and then a list of names and dates follow. I always forget that survival was difficult for some people even before the world ended.

The Immortal is large enough to drive through the river, but the Beast and the pods aren't. They will have to drive over the large bridge to the north of us, which still stands in the water, though some of its dirtied white supports have fallen, like snipped yarn.

While we are stopped, engineers work to disconnect the pods from the Immortal and reattach them to the Beast for the last leg of our trip to Virginia, and everyone is taking the time to restock supplies and walk around outside, including Phoebe. Joe can't leave the Immortal in his wheelchair, but Phoebe was the first person off once we stopped. She fell to the ground and gripped the overgrown weeds in her hands. If I didn't know her any better, I would have thought she was worshipping the grass.

Before we leave the Immortal, Declan and I scan the area for signs of other survivors. "Are you sure they were spikes, and not just branches or something?" he asks after I tell him what I saw last night.

"Positive," I say, a little anxious. With all of the hollowed out factory buildings, anyone could hide anywhere. I'm reminded of the day the Deathless found us in the Prowlers, of searching through Mountville, wondering if I would be shot like the mayor's daughter. I've since met and befriended many Nomads, so I know they're not the monsters my parents made them out to be. Dad was a Nomad once too, for goodness sake. But still... the thought of someone watching and trying to trap us sends chills through my blood. I pull my sweater sleeves over my hands and cross my arms.

"I mean... we were farther away last night. I'm sure we're safe here," he says as if he's trying to convince himself as well. "Besides, no one messes with the Immortal."

He smiles, and I let myself smile back. "I hope you're right."

The door from the hall of labs creaks open, and I look back to see Dad holding it for Eleanor as she wheels Joe onto the patio. Mom, holding baby Tempest in the arm that is still skin soft, follows behind. She smiles at me, and as Dad wraps his arm around her shoulder, a pang of hurt ripples through me. Right now, everything is as it should. My parents are together, they are happy, and they are expanding our family; but soon, we will be marching into battle. What if we lose this?

I rush into my parents' embrace, my face inches from Tempest's. She looks up at me with wide eyes, open to all the world's ugliness, so I kiss her forehead. I want one of the first things she sees of this world to be love, though I'm sure Mom has made sure of that already.

A gust of wind pushes the hair from my neck, and Joe laughs to himself. "What is so funny?" Eleanor asks.

"I forgot about wind," he says. "It's so good to feel it again."

Dad explains his wind theory to Joe, and as he talks about those we've lost, Eleanor closes her eyes and tilts her head back to let the air pass over her. Joe takes a few moments to think it over, staring out over the muddy river. "I like that," he finally says. "You Blumes are a creative tribe."

"You are," Declan agrees, leaning back against the balcony. "You know, if you want another kid, you could just adopt me," he suggests with a smile.

Mom laughs. "I thought we already had, Declan. Are you feeling left out?" she asks. He turns down his lips in a fake frown. "Aw, poor thing. C'mon on over here," she says, opening her metal arm to Declan. He curls into our family like he's always belonged there, and Mom plants an exaggerated kiss on his forehead. "Look at this," she coos. "My funny little family."

"Speaking of...," Eleanor trails off. She holds her hands to her mouth like a megaphone. "Daniel!" She waits, then waves below before turning to me. "Isla, care to join me?"

"Yes," I say, taking her hand. I help her down the stairs since the stairwell is so narrow, and we head toward the exit.

As soon as we're out of the Immortal, I spot Daniel, golden in the sunlight, and I break from Eleanor to run into his arms. After all that's happened since we left the camp, I don't really know what else to tell him but, "Thank you... for being there for me."

"You were there for me too," he whispers into my hair. "That's the deal."

Over Daniel's shoulder, I see his assistant Gil disembark the Beast with the wolf, who drags him into the grass, sniffing everything. "You have him on a leash now?" I ask, pulling away from Daniel.

"What? Oh, the wolf—yeah, his training is coming along really well now that he's realized I am the person who gives him food, not the actual food itself." He laughs to himself, and I smile along.

Eleanor comes up behind me, and Daniel pulls her into a hug. "Hey Mom," he says. "How are you feeling?" He pulls away, resting his hands on her belly. The look of concern fades into one of discomfort. "How's the baby?"

"She's good," she says, smiling. "Did you hear that? I said she."

Daniel smiles, picking up his bag from the ground and slinging it back over his shoulder. "Yeah, I heard. Isla told me. Congratulations, Mom."

She rests her hand on his cheek. "Thank you, my love. Now we can start preparing for her. Knowledge is power."

He smirks. "Knowledge is power." From behind Daniel, Gil approaches us, the wolf nearly dragging him all the way. "I'm excited to meet her," Daniel tells Eleanor, and this time, his words aren't soaked in insincerity. I smile.

There's something new about Daniel now. I can't put my finger on it until the wolf sprints out of Gil's grasp and leaps onto Daniel, pushing him to his knees. The wolf hops between Daniel and Eleanor, and I panic for an instant before I realize the wolf isn't mauling off his face, but licking it. Daniel, laughing as best as he can without opening his mouth, pushes the wolf away, and I help him back up.

Daniel's lighter now—not physically, of course; he's still all muscle and bone—but somehow the darkness he carried from the estate to the camp has lifted, as has the wolf's vicious demeanor. They've saved each other from sinking into their worst selves.

Yes, I helped too, I think. But I think there are certain depths of darkness that people don't show other people, but freely reveal to animals. Like Declan and Victor. Like me and the groundhog I almost shot while putting away Daniel's gun. Declan revealed his loneliness, I revealed my anger, and Daniel revealed his guilt.

He takes the wolf by the collar in one hand and rubs the back of his neck with the other. "You wouldn't believe this is the same wolf, right?" Daniel asks me.

I barely believe this is the same boy. "Not at all. How'd you do it?"

"Patience, and a lot of training. Sit," he commands, and the wolf does, opening his mouth to receive the treat he must know is coming. Daniel reaches into a bag slung around his shoulder to retrieve a treat, feeds him, and then pats his head as Gil hands him the leash. "I'm calling him MacArthur, after the World War II General," Daniel says.

Eleanor grins. "I love it."

"You and your history," I mumble. I move my hand slowly toward the wolf's fur, but he growls at me. Daniel takes him by the scruff as a small punishment, and then takes a second treat from his bag. He holds it up over MacArthur's head, and the wolf quickly returns to a docile posture.

Daniel takes my hand, opens my palm with his fingers like a blooming flower, and drops the treat onto my skin. MacArthur shifts in anticipation.

"He needs to know you want to help him, not hurt him," Daniel says in a calm tone. He rests his hand beneath mine and guides us closer to MacArthur. He must smell the assuring scents of food and Daniel, because he leans forward to inspect the treat briefly before licking it away from my hand, leaving a long, wet trail of saliva. I laugh, wiping it off on my jumpsuit.

Daniel curls his fingers up to fit between mine, and he gently brings our hands to MacArthur's fur. It's not nearly as soft as I imagined it would be, but stiff and strong. I feel his breathing slow with calmness, then quickly pick up before he growls again. I yank our hands away.

"Hey," Daniel scolds MacArthur, dropping my hand and pulling the leash close to him. "He's getting used to you, but that was good. Can you imagine him acting like that when we first met him?"

MacArthur smells something in the direction of the run-down town past the banks where we've stopped and begins barking wildly at it. "Gil," Daniel calls. "Take MacArthur over there and let him run around, but make sure he comes back."

He hands the leash off to Gil, who looks absolutely terrified. "How do I do that?" Gil asks.

"Offer him a treat, call his name, stuff like that. Remember, this is an animal who was raised in captivity and then frozen for twenty-five years. He wants to be a wolf and to follow his instincts, but he also wants to stay with his pack. He'll come back."

Gil sighs with nerves. "Okay."

Eleanor shakes her head with pride. "My son," she says. "All grown up. Listen, I still want to throw you two an engagement party while we're here. I think it will be good to get everyone's mind off of everything for a little while. You know, the calm before the storm. How about tonight?" She looks up at the sky. "Assuming it doesn't start pouring soon, because even with our losses, we still have too many people to fit in the cafeteria at once; but maybe if we filter in and out, we can come back out here, set up some of the furs from camp on the ground, have a night picnic? What do you say?"

Just as Daniel says, "Sure," I hesitate. "Did you not want to have a party?" Daniel asks me, a bit hurt.

"No, it's not that, I'm just a little worried about the orange X's and Jane's group of Deathless."

Eleanor waves my concern away. "Use the party to bring everyone back together. The Originals like outdoor gatherings, so they'll feel at home, and it will be to celebrate you, so your army will want to show their support. Be a politician, Isla," she says, thrusting her first into the air. "Show them how to unite."

I smile, but she has a point. "Okay. Yeah, you're right."

"Excellent," she beams. "I will get started on that now." She gives Daniel a kiss before scurrying off.

"Leave it to your mom to bring joy to our war march," I say.

"It will be a nice distraction from everything," he replies, and then stares at me as if waiting for me to agree. I do, of course, it will be a nice distraction, and Eleanor was right. We can use the party to help bring everyone back together.

"Yeah," I say. "You're right. I'm excited."

He smiles, and takes my hand. "Me too."

I turn to watch all the Deathless in the abandoned factory grounds—leaning over the graffitied walls to watch the river roll past, opening their arms to the pre-storm wind, stretching—and that uneasy fear of someone else watching us returns.

"Let's find General Kazemi before the party starts," I suggest, "since you had a plan to share with her."

He rolls his thumb over the ring he gave me. "Okay," he says, with a small smile. "But first, let's make another first. Our first trip to St. Louis." I hesitate. "C'mon, we haven't been able to have any time truly alone since we snuck off to the cave. We don't have to be gone for long, just as long as it takes to walk around for a bit. I want to spend some time with you that isn't shared with other people. Like old times."

I squeeze his hand in mine. "Okay," I say, smiling.

We start off on our walk toward where Gil is desperately trying to control MacArthur. The wolf drags poor Gil along as he hurries toward the abandoned factory ahead of us. Daniel laughs and jogs ahead to catch up to them. He says something to Gil, to which he gives Daniel a hug before handing off the leash. Gil hurries past me, flustered. "Thank goodness for your boyfriend," he tells me before rushing away.

Daniel holds MacArthur in place, and his arms strengthen in place beneath his sweater. I want to curl into them and never leave. I cross my arms with late autumn chill, and walk into the warmth beneath Daniel's shoulder. He kisses the top of my head. Together the wolf, Daniel, and I are a ragtag little family. My family keeps getting bigger, I think, but the thought sends coals to the pit of my stomach. I am both blessed and cursed to have something so special as a family to go to war for. I hope I still have them when it's all over, and they still have me.

"C'mon," Daniel whispers, and I bury my head in his chest as he leads us closer to the factory building. Once we're close, he releases MacArthur to run into the city for a while, and after tucking the leash into his bag, Daniel reveals two cans of spray paint. One blue and one green. He hands the blue spray paint to me with a grin.

"Are we going to paint?" I ask. He nods, smiling with his tongue between his teeth. I smile. "Why are you so weird?"

He laughs. "We're going to graffiti the walls."

"Okay... why is that so funny?"

He shakes his can and bites his lip. "Because it's mischievous. You know, like... this was illegal before the blast. We're being rebellious."

I take a step back and smile. "So fighting against a world-controlling government organization doesn't make you feel like a rebel, but spray painting an old factory wall does?"

He nods, still smiling. "Yeah."

"You're crazy... but okay. Let's graffiti these walls," I say, shaking my can.

"Yeah," he cheers, holding his arms up in victory before letting them fall back around me for a quick hug. I have to smile. This is the most carefree I've seen him since even before the Prowlers started coming around.

He steps away, giving us each plenty of space to vandalize, and we stare at each other, both of us with our spray paint at the ready. I laugh. "Go," I say. "Start painting, you rebel."

Together we send color onto the grey wall. At first, I don't know what to paint, so I just write, "Isla Blume was here," but I'm sure I can do better than that. I remember my favorite line from To Kill A Mockingbird, and write, "Real courage: When you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway, and see it through no matter what. -Atticus Finch."

I look over to Daniel's section of the wall, and see he's started with a quote too. "Never, never, never, never give up. -Winston Churchill."

Daniel looks over at me. "Hey, get back to vandalizing," he jokes.

"Yessir," I say.

We continue to spray paint the wall, from meaningful quotes to squiggly lines, eventually intruding into each other's wall space. I spray paint a smiley face over the I in "give." He retaliates by painting a big swirl in the center of a sun I've painted. Finally, our cans are empty, and we take a few steps back to admire our creation. It's a green and blue collage of happy nonsense, and Daniel and I laugh at its ridiculousness.

"Well, that's kind of a mess," Daniel says once he's caught his breath.

"Yep, it is. We needed Celia to help us, I think," I say, still laughing.

"Nah, I can fix it." He runs to his bag, and reveals a third can of spray paint, this one bright yellow. He shakes and uncaps the can. Then, pressing the valve, he spells out one final message over our blue and green squiggles.

"Isla Blume and Daniel Crowley forever." He turns around, his smile faded. He shakes the can again, and writes one more thing: "Remember us."

I cross my arms again with a chill, so he puts the spray paint back in his bag and holds me. Tucked beneath his arms, I listen as Daniel tells me, "Before the blast, lovers used to carve their names in trees; but now, the trees are stressed out enough as it is. Now we have to adapt, find new ways to leave our names behind. Who knows if there will be history books after us, or epic poems written about all of this, but I left behind what matters most to me here. You and me."

Looking at the wall now, all I can think is that we've made it beautiful. All the green and blue mess from Daniel and I coalesce into something bigger than ourselves. Art and beauty in a grey world. As I gaze over all we created, my eye catches on something move from a window above us. At first I think it must be MacArthur, but then the wolf turns the corner, running back to Daniel and the bag full of treats. As Daniel races MacArthur for the bag, I search the windows for something, anything that could have moved.

Daniel must see the panic on my face, because when he turns back, he follows my gaze up to the windows. The carefree Daniel slips away as he hooks the leash back onto MacArthur, and pulls him into a sprint. "C'mon boy," he calls, and even though he's clearly talking to the wolf, I follow them too.

MacArthur catches the scent of something and pulls Daniel up the stairs. I race behind them, up some crackled, ashy grey stairs. When we reach the second floor, MacArthur veers us out of the stairwell and onto an open concrete floor occupied only by dust and rubble. Daniel releases MacArthur onto the scent, and he whips out two slingshots from the bag. I immediately recognize them as my dad's handiwork. Daniel throws one to me, and we both scoop chunks of cement from the floor to pull back in our slings.

Armed with broken bits of cement, Daniel and I run toward the window where MacArthur has stopped, barking as he stands against the empty frame. Daniel grabs MacArthur by the scruff to pull him down from the window, but he keeps barking. I peer out the window frame to see if I can spot anything, but all I see are some rustling bushes and overgrown grass below. I can't tell if it's moving because of the oncoming storm or an escaped bystander, but one thing's for certain: I'm not crazy and I'm not seeing things. Daniel and MacArthur saw it too.

We are definitely not alone.