Before I can answer Marcy–before I can even try to come up with an explanation for my absence and where I was and what Harry and I did–Jenelle interrupts. "We don't have time for this," she snaps. "We gotta go."

Marcy and I both turn our heads towards the bed. Tyree's blood stains the sheets, but he's sitting up now, Mitchell next to him, holding his hand.

"You're right," Marcy agrees.

And for a moment, I'm annoyed that she immediately agreed with Jenelle. That those two words slipped out of her mouth so easily when talking to someone else. Someone who's not me.

But this isn't the time.

I nod. Then I tap the keys in my front pocket. "I have a car."

"That'll make it easier," Jenelle says, already stepping towards the door.

Mitchell gets up, his attention wholly on Tyree. "Can you stand?" he whispers to him.

"I'm good, I'm good," Tyree says as he moves, twisting his torso tenderly, then swinging one leg to the ground.

"Are you sure?" Mitchell asks, concern etched into his forehead.

"Yes," Tyree huffs. His movements are still ginger, but in a moment he is standing next to his boyfriend. "Those things are miracles. Let's make sure to have one on hand the next time we're in the path of an invading army."

Mitchell chuckles. "Yes, for sure."

As much as I regret everything that's happened in the last few hours, I'm grateful that I showed up when I did. Can't imagine what would have happened if I didn't.

"Come on," Jenelle prompts.

"Let's go." Mitchell takes Tyree's hand and steps forward.

We navigate towards the exit of the building. When we walk out of the compound, the group from before has dispersed. I feel a twinge of guilt about Alex. I hope they caught a ride to the Meeting Place. But I guess I'll find out soon enough.

In a few minutes, we are at the car. Jenelle, Tyree, and Mitchell squish into the back, and Marcy takes the front passenger seat. Which leaves me to drive.

"I barely got this thing to move before," I admit as I slide the key into the ignition. "Maybe one of you would be a better driver?"

"Just go," Marcy says, her voice rough, insistent, helicopters still buzzing in the air over us.

I press down on the brake as I turn the key and shift the car into drive. As I ease my foot off and the tires roll forward, I glance into the rearview mirror to look at Mitchell. "Where to?"

"Leave the parking lot and turn left," Mitchell directs.

The car jerks less this time. Maybe I'm getting the hang of it.

Marcy is beside me, her posture rigid, her eyes staring vacantly at the landscape of destruction all around us. A steady stream of dark black smoke is rising from the sprawling building that was our home. As we drive through the parking lot, we pass several upside-down vehicles. Slick puddles drip from the crushed hoods.

I want to say something, anything that could ease the palpable tension, but the words seem lodged in my throat.

As we leave the parking lot, Tyree calls out, "What on earth is that?"

I look in the side mirror and, behind us, see a plume of dust rising on the road from the city.

"Ground support is on the way. We're leaving just in time," Mitchell answers.

I press down on the accelerator, pushing the car forward over the cracked asphalt and past ancient crumbling buildings, remnants of what existed before the Great Olek's rise.

Up ahead, I see an intersection. I don't know which way to turn. "Are any helicopters following us? Maybe heading directly to the meeting point is a bad idea."

Looking in the rearview, I notice Mitchell's eyebrows scrunch, thinking. "Let's go the long way," he suggests. "Turn right at the stop sign."

As I steer the car around the corner, I slam on the brakes, causing us all to lunge forward with the sudden motion. But I stop just in time. There is a huge smoking crater blocking our way.

"Drive on the sidewalk," Jenelle suggests, one hand on the back of my seat, the other pointing towards the cracked cement path on the other side of the road.

I yank the car's steering wheel to the left to navigate around the edge of the crater. The tires crunch over the rubble. Tyree groans. Marcy lets out a sharp intake of breath next to me, gripping the dashboard.

We proceed forward cautiously. The car jostles over the uneven ground and, while I do my best to keep the speed even and the steering wheel steady, the ride is anything but smooth.

After a few more blocks, the whir of a helicopter draws near.

"Fuckers are following us," Mitchell curses, looking out the back window.

"What do we do?" I ask.

"Pull over," he suggests. "There." He points to an overpass that covers one of the side streets.

In a moment, the car comes to a rest in the shadows; the engine idling softly until I turn the key to shut it off.

We sit there for several minutes, listening as the helicopter rotors get louder and then fade away into the distance.

Seizing the moment of stillness, I turn towards Marcy; the words tumble out awkwardly. "Marcy, I... I should've told you where I was going, but the truth is, I didn't know until it happened."

Her gaze, icy and piercing, meets mine. "You've been keeping too many secrets, Charlie. I'm tired of the excuses."

My stomach twists into a knot and I open my mouth to protest, to explain, but a sudden, deafening explosion in the distance silences me. The car shudders slightly, the echo resonating through the concrete structure above us.

Jenelle's voice cuts through the tension, pragmatic as ever. "We can't just sit here. We're sitting ducks, waiting for a pile of concrete to fall on our heads."

Nodding in agreement, I restart the car, maneuvering out from under the overpass. The drive resumes, but our progress is hampered as we twice find ourselves turned around, the familiar landmarks unrecognizable amidst the chaos.

On our third attempt to find a clear path, Mitchell, usually so sure, asks me to pull over. "I need to think," he says, his voice strained.

The car falls silent, a heavy air of uncertainty settling over us.

It's Marcy who breaks the silence, her voice soft. "Those are the tracks we used to escape the city," she murmurs, almost to herself.

I look over to where she is looking. The station doesn't have any visible signage. It looks like a concrete overpass jutting out of a small hill, but I recognize the stairs we climbed down that night. Can see the engine peeking out of the tunnel.

Then, in a sudden movement, her seatbelt clicks open, and she climbs out of the car.

Panic surges within me. "Marcy, wait!" My voice tinged with desperation. "Where are you going? It's not safe in the city."

Her response is sharp, resolute. "My dad will protect me. I know he will." She doesn't look at me. The finality in her words, the mention of her father, sends a pang of guilt through me.

"Marcy, please," I plead, but she doesn't look back. The door closes with a soft thud, and she walks away.

"You can't leave," I shout, jumping out of the car, leaving the ignition running as I chase after her.

Finally, before she reaches the stairs, she stops, turns around, and walks back to me.

I hear a door slam behind us. I assume Jenelle has stepped out of the car, but I don't turn around.

I can't tear my eyes off of Marcy.

The woman I love.

The woman who is leaving.

Marcy takes one last step forward and reaches out to hold my face.

"Charlie," she whispers, meeting my eyes. "I can't do this. I can't live on the run for the rest of my life."

"I need you." A lump forms in my throat.

"No, you don't." She shakes her head, then pulls me into a tight hug. "You are strong, and brave, and look at how much you've changed. You've done all that on your own."

I squeeze her tight, feeling her ribs expand and compress as she breathes. Then her shoulders shake and she sobs against me.

"Don't go," I whisper into her neck, salt on my lips.

"I can't do this. This isn't what I expected." She sniffles. Pulls me tight one more time. And then pushes me away and runs towards the train tracks, leaving me standing there.

Cold.

Empty.

Alone.

I watch as she runs up the stairs.

Do I run after her?

She said she couldn't stay, but she didn't say I couldn't follow.

But I know going to the city right now would be a death sentence for me. Marcy isn't the one who ran away from her Choosing Day. She's still nineteen.

And I don't have a parent in the government. Her dad wouldn't risk his neck for me. For the one who corrupted his daughter.

Marcy disappears into the tunnel.

Then finally, slowly, I turn around.

Jenelle is leaning against the car's hood, watching. She averts her eyes as I walk back, my shoulders slumped, my feet dragging.

I don't know what just happened. How to recover from this.

Mitchell gets out of the car as I approach. He indicates I should sit down next to Tyree.

Without speaking, I slump into the back seat.

Jenelle takes Marcy's place in the front, and Mitchell sits in the driver's seat.

Silently, the car pulls back onto the road.

I can't look out the window. Can't focus my eyes on anything. The tears obscure my vision. I only know we are driving because the car continues to vibrate and jerk as it travels over the decaying roads.

I don't know where we are going. And right now, I don't care.