They continued in silence. Despite the tension, Peter felt himself drifting off. He slept for two hours, awakening to find that the truck had stopped. Greer and Michael were toting two heavy plastic jugs of fuel from the hardbox. His thoughts were fuzzy; his limbs, heavy and slow, moved like pooled liquid. Everywhere in his body, he felt his age.

Michael glanced his way as he stepped out. “How’s she doing?”

“Still asleep.”

Greer was pouring gas through a funnel into the truck’s tank. “She’ll be okay. Sleep is what she needs.”

“Let me take the wheel for a while,” Peter offered. “I know the way from here.”

Greer bent to cap the can and wiped his hands on his shirt. “Better if Michael does for now. There’s a few tricky spots ahead.”

—

They found Kate at the edge of the woods. The gun was still in her hand, her finger curled inside the trigger guard. One shot, through the sweet spot: Kate, thorough to the last, had wanted to be sure.

They had no time to bury her. They decided to take her into the house and lay her in the bed Caleb and Pim had shared, since they would never be coming back here. Hollis and Caleb carried her inside. It did not seem right to leave her in her blood-stained clothes; Pim and Sara undressed her, washed her body, and put her in one of Pim’s nightgowns, made of soft blue cotton. They placed a pillow beneath her head and tucked a blanket tightly around her; Pim, weeping silently, brushed her sister’s hair. A final question: Should they let the girls see her? Yes, Sara said. Kate was their mother. They needed to say goodbye.

Caleb waited outside. It was midmorning, cruelly bright. Nature mocked him with its disregard. The birds sang, the breeze blew, the clouds scudded overhead, the sun moved in its lazy, fateful arc. Handsome lay dead in the field; a crowd of buzzards jabbed at the banquet of his flesh, flapping their enormous wings. All was a ruin, yet the world did not seem to know or care. In the bedroom, Caleb had told Kate he loved her and kissed her on the forehead. Her skin was shockingly cold, but that was not the most disturbing thing. He realized he was expecting her to say something. It didn’t hurt too much. Or It’s okay, Caleb, I don’t blame you. You did the best you could. Maybe she would say something sarcastic, such as Seriously? You’re going to tuck me into bed? I’m not a child, you know. I bet this is a lot of fun for you, Caleb. Yet there was nothing. Her body existed, but all that had made her distinct as a person was absent. Her voice was gone; never would it be heard again.

Pim came out first, with the girls. Elle was crying softly; Bug looked merely confused. A few minutes passed before Sara and Hollis emerged.

“If you’re ready, we should get moving,” Caleb said.

Hollis nodded. Sara, standing apart, was gazing toward the trees. Her eyes were glassy, her face unnaturally still, as if some essential element of life had left it. She cleared her throat and spoke:

“Husband, will you do something for me?”

“All right.”

She looked him in the eye. “Kill every last fucking one of them.”

—

The going was slow. Soon all three children were being carried—Bug on Caleb’s shoulders, Elle on her grandfather’s back, Theo in his sling, Pim and Sara taking turns. They were deep into the afternoon by the time they reached town. The streets were devoid of life. In Elacqua’s yard, they found the truck, still parked where Caleb had seen it. Caleb got in the driver’s seat. He’d hoped the key would be in the ignition, but it wasn’t. He searched the cab to no avail and climbed back out.

“Do you know how to hot-wire a truck?” he asked Hollis.

“Not really.”

Caleb looked toward the house. A window on the top floor was broken, smashed from its frame. Glass and splintered wood littered the ground beneath it.

“Somebody’s going to have to go inside to look.”

“I’ll do it,” said Hollis.

“This is my responsibility. Stay here.”

Caleb left the rifle with Hollis and took the revolver. The air in the house was so still it felt unbreathed. He crept from room to room, opening drawers and cabinets. Finding no keys, he climbed the stairs. There were two rooms with closed doors on either side of a narrow hall. He opened the first door. Here was where Elacqua and his wife had slept. The bed was unmade; beside it, lace curtains shifted slightly in the breeze coming through the broken window. He searched all the drawers, then stepped to the window and waved down. Hollis gazed up with a questioning look. Caleb shook his head.

One room to go. What if they couldn’t find the keys? He’d seen no other vehicles in town. That didn’t mean there weren’t any, but they were running out of time.

Caleb took a breath and pushed the door with his foot.

Elacqua was lying on the bed fully clothed. The room reeked of piss and rancid breath. At first Caleb thought the man was dead, but then he gave a wet snort and rolled onto his side. An empty whiskey bottle stood on the floor beside the bed. The man wasn’t dead, just dead drunk.

Caleb shook him roughly by the shoulders. “Wake up.”

Elacqua, eyes still closed, batted clumsily at Caleb’s hand. “Leave me alone,” he mumbled.

“Dr. Elacqua, it’s Caleb Jaxon. Pull yourself together.”

His tongue moved heavily in his mouth. “You…bitch.”

Caleb had a sense of what had occurred. Cast out from his marital bed, the man had anesthetized himself into oblivion and missed the whole thing. Perhaps he’d been drunk to begin with and that was why his wife had sent him packing. In either case, Caleb practically envied him; the disaster had passed him by. How had the virals missed him? Maybe he just smelled too bad; maybe that was the solution. Maybe they should all get drunk and stay that way.