Ross felt a seat hit the back of his thighs and realized he'd been backing away from the screen.

'The Slayer's seventy-five miles away. He can't hurt you,' he told himself.

Ross's brain stem, however, did not comprehend remote-viewing technology. It only saw that he was dangerously close to an apex predator in the grip of a blind rage.

An Imp turned to run and The Slayer chopped it straight down the middle with the edge of his hand. The two halves sagged away from each other, exposing the entire cross-section of its head and torso like an anatomy lesson: skull, brain, spine, heart, lungs, everything.

Ross felt very fragile. 'I have a body even less substantial than an Imp,' he thought. All the times The Slayer had nearly walked right over him came to mind. One wrong step and he could have snapped Ross's leg by accident. 'Imagine what he could do on purpose.'

A Baron tried to slash at his midsection. He slapped its arm aside contemptuously, then grabbed both of its horns and wrenched them like a steering wheel. The Baron dropped, lifeless.

They were all standing now, shuffling backward like the display screens were spiked walls closing in.

"I gotta get out of here," Darren said, wide-eyed. "Somewhere safer. Like Massachusetts."

Oppenheim said, "All of Massachusetts is a Hellified Zone."

"That's what I meant."

"He's right," Catherine agreed. "He'd be safer somewhere with an enemy we can actually fight." She pointed at the screen. "Which that is not."

"He's not our enemy," Vera said as she sat down in her orthopedic chair. It was hard to tell if the tremor in her voice was due to her advanced age, or fear.

"Yeah, he's not our enemy right now," Philips protested. "What about tomorrow? What about next week? What about when he bumps into someone and they spill paint on his boots? What assurance do we have that he won't –"

The Slayer kicked the legs out from under a Zombie, grabbed it in mid-air, and cracked it like a glowstick.

"– won't do that, oh my God!"

"He won't hurt us." Ross heard himself automatically making excuses for The Slayer. Even with probable evidence to the contrary, Ross's natural tendency was to assume the best. Normally that was an asset. This time he might be Icarus, stupidly flying too close to the sun.

"And you know this, how? Because you're such good friends?" Darren snapped. The drone pilot was an obnoxious presence, but it was rare that he actually lost his temper. "Because you have little chats at Cryo over nachos and beer? Because you trade opinions on the future of humanity with your jogging buddy The Guy Who Could Kill You At Any Moment?"

Jessie was pacing, flapping her hands at the wrists as if she were trying to get the circulation back. "Oh, God. Oh, God."

The Slayer pinned a Zombie in place by stepping on its foot. When he yanked off its head the spine came with it.

A collective shout of horrified disgust echoed around the control room.

A Pinky charged the back of his legs, scooting The Slayer one step forward across the concrete. He spun toward it, jabbed the thumbs of both hands through the centerline of the creature's thick skull plate and wrenched the two halves apart. The drone didn't have a microphone, so Ross's imagination provided the demon's piglike squeals of terror. A nearby Dread Knight received a double punch to the chest that exploded it into a fleshy skeleton. If that were a human, it would have taken only one backhanded strike to have the same result.

Philips squeaked, "I think I just peed a little."

With the exception of Vera and Oppenheim, they had retreated all the way to the wall, huddling together for comfort.

As he passed by a Humvee 6000, The Slayer kicked out and crushed a creature's head with his boot.

He paused.

He lowered his foot.

The figure was slumped against the driver-side door. Its head lay around it in chunks, with pieces of black armor plating mixed in.

An Imp leapt onto The Slayer from behind. He hauled it over his shoulder and slammed it into the ground so hard that it burst. To his left, a Baron was closing in fast. The Slayer unsheathed his arm blade and went back to killing things.

"Get the second drone closer and have a look at that one," Oppenheim ordered.

Darren reluctantly crept back to his console. When the drone was close enough, they could see it was clad in the black armor of an Elite Guard. It had none of the extra muscle that Hell energy gave Possessed Soldiers, or the biomechanical additions of a Mecha. It wasn't wearing the white UAC uniform of a converted Cultist. It didn't have the ripped clothing of a Zombie.

The Slayer had crushed the head of a human being.

Catherine covered her mouth with both hands.

A movement by the door caught Ross's eye: it was Private Hao instinctively unslinging his rifle. 'That's not going to work,' Ross thought. 'Trying to shoot him would be like throwing rocks at a hurricane.'

Martin said matter-of-factly, "We're all gonna die."

Oppenheim went to a vacant control station and punched in a code.

"Yes, sir?" came Lieutenant Garcia's voice.

"Return to base, Lieutenant."

"Sir?" The helicopter's dot on the wall projection showed that he and Thompson were only two minutes from the battlefield.

"Return to base. Do not approach NORAD. Repeat, do not approach NORAD. Return to base."

Garcia's voice was puzzled. "Copy that, Director."

"I'll explain when you get back."

"Affirmative. Returning to base."

"Wait," Ross said, "we're leaving him there?"

"I won't send two soldiers and a stealth helicopter to get shot down by an out-of-control Slayer." He turned back to the console and entered another code. "Attention, all ARC personnel. This is your weekly evacuation drill. Mega-Mech Thermal Runaway Protocol 4." He repeated himself twice while tapping the sequence of icons that activated the sensory alarms for Deaf staff members and those wearing hearing protection.

Oppenheim pivoted toward Vera. "Come on, de Jong. You too."

"I'm not scared of him, James. And I'm 88 years old. If it's my time, it's my time."

"It's not your time. Don't make me carry you."

She sighed. "Fine, then. But it's really not necessary."

Oppenheim pointed at the nearest display. A Possessed Soldier was dangling from the blade that went in through its mouth and came out the top of its head.

"Okay, maybe it's a little necessary," she admitted.

"Why's he using the blade now?" Ross wondered out loud. "He wasn't before." He felt the tickle of an idea forming in the back of his mind.

"Because he likes stabbing people, idiot," Darren said as he hauled on Ross's elbow. "Let's go."

Jessie took his other arm and they marched him out like an unruly drunk being removed from a bar.

"Private Hao," Oppenheim ordered. "Help me get this group to the Red Diamond shelter, then go to the hangar and wait for Thompson and Garcia. When they arrive, take them and Sandeep to the nearest White Diamond shelter. I want all ARC personnel evacuated or bunkered by the time The Slayer gets back to Denver."

"Yes, sir."

"But sir," Ross protested. "When he comes back and sees the place deserted …"

Oppenheim traced a simple pattern on a data slate and every screen turned to the red-on-black Lockdown Initiated status. "Yes, I know. He'll see the ARC is empty and be suspicious. It might make him even angrier and he'll come looking for us. But the alternative is having an already-angry Slayer come into a building full of people who might say or do something to set him off, and then we'll have mass casualties immediately instead of in stages. Our choices are 'bad' and 'worse'. Waiting to see if he goes on a killing spree as soon as he walks through the door is the 'worse' option."

MESA, the Denver ARC's Mathematics, Engineering and Science Archive, said in its smooth feminine AI voice, "Attention: security protocols have been activated. Please exit the facility now."

"Sir –" Ross was tugged along by Darren and Jessie as Hao led the way toward Oppenheim's office.

"Maybe we're only gaining a few more hours," the director continued. "But maybe, just maybe, we're giving him time to cool off and think. He's only got two choices: does he want support staff, or a bunch of terrified slaves?"

"Three choices," Ross reminded him. "He could simply leave us because we've offended him. Please, sir. Don't do this. Let me talk to him. Let me explain."

"You wouldn't be talking to him," Jessie said sharply. "You'd be talking at him, and he'd ignore you like ninety-nine percent of the time you speak."

"Goddammit," Philips cursed himself as he guided Vera along ahead of them. "I was so excited we finally had someone who could fight back, I didn't consider that he just enjoys killing and humans aren't enough of a challenge. I thought he was here to help."

"He is here to help," Ross insisted, digging his heels into the carpeting that led to Oppenheim's office. Something about the blade was lessening Ross's fear. "Why else would he protect Denver all this time?"

Oppenheim shoved Ross in the back to keep him moving. "Walk, Friedmann."

"Cities mean resources," Martin said from his place at Vera's side. "Resources are what he's after. Not co-workers. Maybe we're coming to the end of our usefulness. The Slipgate is almost finished. Maybe he'll just leave. And maybe he'll take out the trash first."

"Guys, come on. He doesn't think we're trash."

As a group they managed to get the struggling Ross and elderly Vera across Oppenheim's office to a place where Hao pressed his hand against the blank wall. It slid open seamlessly to reveal an elevator. "Going down," the private said cheerfully as the group walked and/or were half-carried inside.

The elevator dropped so quickly that Ross's stomach did a few flips. The doors opened on a surprisingly fancy bomb shelter with soft lighting.

Darren whistled. "Nice digs, Doc."

"Get comfortable," the director replied. "We could be here a while."

"Are these real Oriental rugs?" Philips asked, poking one with his toe as if it were going to do something.

"Yes. Keep your drinks away from them." After last week, Philips was only allowed to work at waterproof consoles.

Now that Jessie and Darren weren't restraining him, Ross went to the director and tried again.

"Sir –"

Oppenheim cut him off, tapping rapidly on a large command console and flipping sliders this way and that. "I have a lot to do and very little time to do it in. Hold your arguments for later, Mr. Friedmann."

Dejected, Ross finally backed off.

"Yes, sir."

Oppenheim began directing the removal of civilians from an ever-widening ring around the ARC. Video from security drones showed Denver's populace "evacuating" in a leisurely stroll toward underground bunkers.

"They get bonus currency for completing evacuation drills," Oppenheim explained. "Plenty will ignore the instructions, but a good chunk of Denver will be out of sight when The Slayer gets back. That's the best we can hope for without causing mass hysteria."

It might seem callous to leave stragglers to their fate, but Ross understood the director's logic. During the first attack on Denver, more human beings had been killed by stampedes, medical conditions and friendly fire than by demons. Half a million people had died from sheer panic.

"Fire up that other console and see what's happening at NORAD."

"Yes, sir."

Although Darren was not controlling the camo-painted drones any longer, they were hovering where he'd left them and would continue to do so until they ran out of power. One had a view from forty feet off the ground, out of range if an Imp hurled a fireball straight up. The other was close to the human corpse, blending in with the camo-painted Humvee. The deceased Elite Guard took up the right third of the screen. The other two thirds showed the battle from knee-high.

The Slayer forced a Mecha Zombie's weapon arm under its chin, and it shot its own head off. Then he cracked open a Prowler's chest like someone shelling a lobster.

"Still at it," Darren commented unnecessarily as he settled Vera onto one of the dozen full-size beds that lined both walls.

Oppenheim pointed to the video with the hand that was not directing evacuations.

"Friedmann, you're the analyst. Analyze that."

Ross pulled up a chair and split the huge screen into six rectangles: the live feeds from the NORAD camera and both drones, each with a thirty-second delay of its own images underneath so Ross could make time-stamped notes on the footage.

Vera fell asleep immediately and the rest of the staff drifted to the kitchenette at the back of the bunker. They spoke in hushed voices and only took quick glimpses of the disturbing images, as if staring too long would curse them like in one of those old horror movies.

After fifteen minutes, Ross couldn't stand any more whispering. He spun his chair around.

"Come on, guys, give him a break. Maybe all the human suffering is finally getting to him. Happens to everybody at some point."

Catherine looked over like she was going to say something, but her sentence turned into an alarmed squeak when she spied something on the screen behind him.

He closed his eyes. 'Slayer, you have terrible timing.'

"Ross," Philips said, "he is beating a Pinky to death with its own tail."

"Is he supposed to kill them humanely? It isn't like there's a Society for the Ethical Treatment of Hellspawn." Ross stood and pointed to the Dread Knight currently getting its ass handed to it by The Slayer. "You want him to politely euthanize each one and then light a candle for them at evening Mass? These things eat babies."

He found himself pacing back and forth in front of the images. Philips stepped forward with his hands up. "Hey. Hey, buddy. You look a little –"

"I went to Starbucks!" Ross shouted. It felt like a dam had burst inside him, and the words poured out like filthy water. "I went to goddamned Starbucks!"

"What?" his best friend asked quietly. "What about Starbucks?"

Ross saw Oppenheim watching him, but he couldn't stop the flood of confession.

"I wen– I went to Starbucks." He couldn't make his breathing regular. Something was wrong with his lungs. "A couple weeks ago."

"What happened at Starbucks?"

"The helicopter was flying back from White Sands, and we saw an ATV, and there was a dad and his little girl riding it."

Jessie and Darren joined Philips, all of them trying to make soothing motions.

"We put the hammer down. 267 miles per hour, as fast as we could go, but they got to them before we did."

"Ross, I'm so –"

He realized he was shouting when Vera was startled awake, but he couldn't stop.

"They ate her! They pulled them off the ATV and they broke the dad's legs so he couldn't run and the Hell Knight ate her!"

"Ross, buddy, you're crying."

"A Prowler dragged him toward the portal and I could see he was screaming for her, reaching out, and the Knight picked the little girl up and ate her while she was still alive." His lashes were flicking specks of his tears onto the inside of his glasses, so he tossed the eyewear away and blotted his face with his sleeves. "They rip your hair off first." He was hyperventilating now, struggling to make himself understandable because he had to get this out, they had to know. "They grab you by the hair and –" Ross made a tugging motion at his own shaved scalp. "They don't w-wait until you're dead." He was quivering so violently that his teeth chattered together.

Jessie put her arms around him, but he shoved her away even though she was usually stronger than him.

"They broke his legs and they murdered his baby right in front of him and I flew home and went to Starbucks. I got off the helicopter and you asked me if I felt like coffee and I said, 'Sure, I could go for a cappuccino,' and I went to fucking STARBUCKS! A little girl got skinned alive and thirty minutes later I had fancy coffee with my friends!"

"Ross, it's not your –"

"I know that! I know it's not my fault and there was nothing we could do. We couldn't even keep them from escaping. And I know for a fact that it wasn't even the first time that same day those demons had ripped apart a terrified little kid." He flung an arm out to point at the screen. "The demons don't deserve to die," he snarled. "They deserve to suffer. So, yeah, you bet your ass I'll cheer him on when he chainsaws those fuckers straight down the middle!"

Their heads turned to look as The Slayer ran his power saw through a Baron's knee joint. When the huge demon fell onto its back, he chopped the snaggle-toothed weapon down between its jaws and leaned hard on the handle. Right before the vicious blades chewed through its brain stem, there was a flash of terror in the thing's glowing green eyes.

Ross wiped his nose on the cuff of his jacket. He tried to say, "Hell yeah," but it came out as more of a sob than anything else.

Vera tottered over to him, pushing his friends aside. "All right," she said in a grandmotherly tone. "All right. Okay. I think that's enough for now, pumpkin. Let's have a sit-down and relax." She took him by the arm and pulled him toward the farthest bunk from the screens. Ross wanted to throw off her hand, but he couldn't twist free without hurting an old lady, so he let her guide him away from the silent mayhem on the display.

Oppenheim followed them. "I've been putting too much on your shoulders, Ross." He was polishing Ross's augmented reality glasses with an old-fashioned handkerchief. "I shouldn't have sent a civilian scientist into an active combat zone. That's my fault."

Ross looked up at him in alarm. "Please don't kick me off this project. It's the most important thing I've ever done."

"Don't you worry about that," the director assured him. "We'll find another way for you to be present with The Slayer. Maybe a hologram suit. Your friend Sandeep will have several ideas, I'm sure."

Oppenheim pointed to the communications button on the AR glasses when he handed them back to Ross. "Give your parents a call after you get some sleep. Trust me, it will help."


"Ross! Ross, wake up." Philips was patting his shoulder.

"Hmm?" He sat up on the bunk and ran a hand over his stubbled scalp. Time for another shave soon. He hated the "dandelion'' look of his hair when it got too long.

"He's back," Philips said.

Ross was immediately energized. "So soon?" he asked with excitement.

"You've been asleep for six hours, buddy. The Slayer finally ran out of steam two hours ago and ran back here. He scaled the south wall a few minutes ago." They'd installed harpoon-able surfaces into the Wall to encourage The Slayer to stop punching holes in Denver's first line of defense. Sometimes he even used them.

Ross settled the AR glasses on his face and hurried to join the others.

The Slayer raised his foot to kick in the hangar bay doors, but they opened rapidly to allow him entrance. He slowly lowered his boot, and waited.

"What's he doing?" Catherine asked.

"He expected the doors to be sealed," Ross answered.

Finally entering the large space, The Slayer passed the grounded Ospreys and circled the stealth helicopter as if he were looking for Garcia. The lieutenant was never far from the aircraft during his waking hours. UAC cultists had tried to hijack it once, and now he was paranoid about letting it out of his sight.

Finding no helicopter pilot, he stood still and panned his gaze around the hangar.

"Does his helmet have ground-penetrating radar?" Oppenheim asked.

"No. He needs line-of-sight to perceive objects."

The Slayer examined the hangar floor. The White Diamond shelter containing Hao, Thompson, Garcia and Sandeep was thirty meters beneath the helipad.

"Are you sure?"

"... Mostly."

The director gave him a suspicious look.

"Whenever he's looking for things at White Sands, he has to actually enter the rooms and search around in containers. If he could see through solid objects, he'd never open a container that had the wrong thing in it."

"Hmm," Oppenheim grunted.

The Slayer left the hangar and strode purposefully toward the control room.

The others were huddled at the back of the bunker again, except for Oppenheim, and Philips who was gripping Ross's shoulder for moral support. Support for whom, it was hard to say.

The Slayer was an opponent they couldn't fight even with all the weapons and armor at the ARC's disposal. They could come at him with a fully armed mega-mech and he'd simply pick the damn thing up and toss it.

'And,' Ross realized with a chill, 'he has VEGA.'

Oppenheim seemed to remember that as well. He gave Ross an almost worried glance when the screens displayed The Slayer stomping into the empty control room.

The big man halted in the middle of the abandoned room and took in the scene: data slates dropped on the floor, chairs in haphazard positions, every console security-locked.

Ross felt like a kid hiding under the floorboards in some gruesome fairy tale. He almost expected to hear creaking overhead wood and have bits of dust drift down from the ceiling as The Slayer walked.

He went to the same console Ross had been using. The red lettering still said Lockdown Initiated. He placed his palm against the console.

System Lock Engaged…

Initializing…

Syncing…

System Lock Disengaged…

Access Granted.

"Shit," said Oppenheim.

VEGA had hacked the ARC mainframe.

Martin repeated, "We're all gonna die."

Human-shaped holograms appeared at the exit doors, and Ross realized VEGA was showing The Slayer what had happened in the control room before they evacuated.

"Oh, shit," Darren said when they heard Ross's tinny voice through the speakers say, "Please, sir. Don't do this. Let me talk to him. Let me explain."

The holograms rewound to the part where they saw him toss the shipping container.

Ross looked over his shoulder and saw each person turn pale as the most damning part of their comments came faintly through the speakers.

"I gotta get out of here. Somewhere safer. Like Massachusetts."

"He'd be safer somewhere with an enemy we can actually fight. Which that is not."

"He's not our enemy right now. What about tomorrow? What about next week?"

"Your jogging buddy The Guy Who Could Kill You At Any Moment?"

"I think I just peed a little."

"We're all gonna die."

"I won't send two soldiers and a stealth helicopter to get shot down by an out-of-control Slayer."

"He likes stabbing people, idiot."

"Does he want support staff or a bunch of terrified slaves?"

"Please, sir. Don't do this. Let me talk to him. Let me explain."

The Slayer stalked toward the doors.

Oppenheim said cautiously, "Moment of truth."

The unstoppable superhuman paused at Martin's desk. There was a paper bag next to his coffee mug. More delicately than should be possible with such big hands, The Slayer unfolded the top and looked inside. Then he grabbed the bag and strode out. The doors closed silently.

No one spoke. The cameras showed him leaving the building, then making his way up and over the Wall again.

Martin broke the eerie silence.

"The Slayer stole my cheese danish."


The quiet ding-dong of the entrance alarm woke Lizzie from her awkward nap on the chair in front of Vincent's security equipment. Her chest warmed inside when she saw Ayers on the external camera.

It was late, so she held a finger to her lips when she let him through the internal doors.

"They're sleeping."

He nodded and turned like he was going to leave. She jumped in front of him.

"Uh-uh. You're not leaving until I'm sure you're okay."

He hesitated only a moment before walking over to the picnic table to set down his helmet.

Ayers had two paper bags with him. He gave her one and put the other on the table as she took out the first item.

She tilted her head.

"You brought me a jar of dirt."

He took back the container and unscrewed the lid, then handed it to her again with a small but pleased smile.

She looked inside.

"You brought me a jar of dirt with bugs in it."

He rolled his eyes slightly and traced an upside-down triangle on his forehead. For a moment that didn't make sense, and then she got it.

"Oh! This is for the skunks." Eastern Spotteds had an upside-down white triangle in the middle of their darling little foreheads, and the babies were old enough now that they needed to learn foraging skills.

He gave her a slow blink that said, You need to go back to school.

"Well, it's not as if people walk up and hand me jars of dirt all the time."

The corners of his eyes crinkled. I'm teasing you.

Lizzie tisked. "Vincent's a bad influence. Now there are two people who think making me blush is a fun and interesting hobby."

Ayers smiled. Well, it is.

He handed her the second paper bag. She put the container of worms and grubs on the picnic table and took the bag from him.

"If this is more bugs, you can turn right around and go back the way you came."

The corners of his eyes crinkled again. Just open it.

"A cheese danish? Whoa! Where did you even get one of these? There are only three pastry shops left in Denver and none are anywhere near the East Gate."

He shrugged. It was on my way.

Lizzie had the amusing mental image of a gore-soaked Ayers waiting patiently in line at Goldberg's Authentic Jewish Deli with a little paper ticket in his hand.

"Where did you get the extra currency?" Real, fresh pastries were practically worth their weight in gold.

He rubbed the fingers of his gauntlet together in the ante-up signal. Won it in a poker game.

"Oh, yeah? Did you learn how to fold?"

No.

"At this point I'd be more surprised if you did."

So would I.

"Harry is going to love this." The danish was quite large and could easily be breakfast for three regular-sized people or one Ayers-sized mercenary. "Would you like some?"

No.

"Delta gave you more provisions?"

Yes.

It must cost the mercenary company a small fortune to supply enough calories for two dozen people as big as Ayers. He said Delta limited their roster of hired guns to 22, the owner's lucky number. Being so selective meant that they were the best and most expensive professionals on the market, but a good bit of their employer's operating budget probably went to feeding them, which would further inflate the cost.

Lizzie would never have been able to afford a bodyguard like Ayers. He was … also worth his weight in gold.

"I'll put this in the kitchen. Be right back."

When she returned with tall glasses of iced tea, he was sitting backward on the picnic bench, turning his helmet over and over in his hands like a worry stone. She got the feeling there was more to his melancholy than what had happened to her hand.

She put down the drinks and hopped up to sit on the tabletop with her feet on the bench. She wasn't sure she could resist putting her head on his shoulder if she sat next to him.

"You feelin' okay?" she asked with a light touch on his arm. "I thought maybe my horrific maiming scared you off." She wiggled the fingers of her bandaged hand.

He grimaced, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"I couldn't let you get hurt," she said.

That seemed to disturb him more, not less. He scowled at his scarred face in the helmet's blue-gray visor. The high-tech material gave his reflection a translucent golden cast.

"Listen, this might not be comforting, but it was a regular household accident. It didn't have anything to do with the war, or with you being there. Things just happen. I've been hurt worse at work when nobody was even around." She avoided the subject of the car accident.

They sat there for a bit, listening to the quiet hum and hiss of the bunker's air circulation system.

"I take it back," she declared. "I'd totally let you get hurt."

His brows lifted skeptically. Oh, yeah?

"Yeah. The first pool of piranhas we come across, I'm pushing you in." She shoved the air in front of her.

That drew a huff of air from him.

"Sharks? You're going in."

The ghost of a smile touched his mouth.

"Killer whales: in. Bad-tempered stingrays: in. Swordfish that are already angry about the next Star Wars: I'll push you right in there. No earplugs, no mercy."

His eyes crinkled now, but she could still feel an undercurrent of concern.

"As long as you stay away from the aquarium, you'll be fine."

He nodded.

"You're always welcome here. You know that, right?"

He nodded again.

"And I'm sure Delta-22 takes good care of their people, but if you ever need anything …"

He frowned at his gilded image.

"Like if they ever run out of hot chocolate …" She leaned over so they were both reflected in his visor. "Toothpaste … sewing thread … an unusually wide variety of hot sauces …"

He gave their twin images a forced smile.

"Come on over. Vincent will have it around here somewhere." She sat back, leaning on her hands. "Honestly, he's super happy to finally be using all this stuff. He spent so much time and effort making a fifty-year bomb shelter, and now fo- uh, three people are actually living in it. We might as well share because we'll never get to use it all."

Ayers was quiet.

"I could have phrased that better. I mean we won't have to live down here forever."

She bumped his arm with her knee. He looked up at her warily.

"Don't give up, Ayers. We can make it. I don't know how that will happen yet, but I feel it in my bones. There's still hope."

This time his smile was real.