stealing the boat, the countless treks across ruined, sweltering land. She’d been there with him through it all. With Alec. Lana. Darnell and the others.
And here, at the end of the fight, Trina was in his arms.
Monstrous noise and quaking took over the world, but he still heard what she whispered into his ear before the Berg came crashing into the building.
“Mark.”
EPILOGUE
A single lightbulb hung from the apartment’s drab ceiling, buzzing every ten seconds or so. Somehow, it seemed to represent what the world had become. Lonely, noisy, dying. Barely holding on.
The woman sat in her chair, trying desperately not to cry.
She’d known the knock was coming far before it happened. And she wanted to be strong for her son. Make the boy think that the new life that awaited him was a good thing. A hopeful thing. She had to be strong. When her son-her only child-was gone, then she’d let it out. Then she’d cry a river’s worth until the madness made her forget.
The boy sat next to her, quiet. Unmoving. Only a child, and yet it seemed he understood that his life would never be the same. He had a small bag packed, though the woman assumed its contents would be discarded before her son reached his final destination. And so they waited.
Their visitors tapped the door three times. There was no anger behind it, or force. Just tap, tap, tap, like the gentle pecking of a bird.
“Come in,” she said, so loud it startled her. Nerves. She was on the edge.
The door opened. Two men and one woman stepped inside the small apartment, dressed in black suits, protective masks covering their mouths and noses.
The lady seemed in charge.
“I can see you’re ready,” she said, her voice muffled, as she walked forward and stood before the woman and her son. “We appreciate your willingness to make such a sacrifice. I don’t need to tell you how much this means to future generations. We’re on the cusp of a very great thing. We will find the cure, ma’am. I give you my word.”
The woman could only nod. If she tried to speak, it would all come out: Her pain, her fear. Her anger. Her tears. And then her efforts to be strong for the boy would have been for naught. So she kept it in, a dam against a raging river.
The lady was all business. “Come,” she said, extending a hand.
The boy looked up at his mother. He had no reason to hold back the tears, and he didn’t. They flowed down his face freely. He jumped to his feet and hugged her, shattering her heart a million times over. She squeezed him back.
“You’re going to do great things for this world,” she whispered, somehow keeping herself under control. “You’re going to make me so proud. I love you, sweet boy. I love you so much and don’t you ever forget it.”
His only response was to sob into her shoulder. And that said everything.
Finally it had to end.
“I’m very sorry,” the lady in the dark suit and mask said. “But we have a tight schedule. Truly, I’m sorry.”
“Go on now,” the mother said to her son. “Go on, and be brave.”
He pulled back, his face wet, his eyes red. A strength seemed to come over him and he nodded, helping her believe he’d be okay in the end. He was strong, this one.
The boy turned away, never to look at her again. He walked to the door and went through it with no hesitation. No glance back, no complaints.
“Thank you again,” the visiting lady said. She followed the boy out.
One of the men looked up at the dangling, buzzing lightbulb, then turned to his partner. “You know who invented those things, right? Maybe we should call this one Thomas.” And then they left.
When the door closed, the woman curled up into a ball and finally let her tears come.
