“I’ll never stop.”
He reached out to press his hand against her stomach to staunch the bleeding.
“It’s too late for me.” She shook her head. “Let me die with dignity.”
Slowly, he pulled his hand away.
“Reed, I need you to promise me,” she said.
“Anything. Just tell me what.”
“Run for president. Preserve our… democracy. Protect this country.” She coughed. “The country and the world are going to need you.”
Beckham hesitated, but he couldn’t deny his president her dying wish.
“I will,” he said. “You have my word.”
A slight smile passed across her face, and a final sigh rushed out of her nose.
“Godspeed, Madam President,” he whispered. He blinked away the tears and bent down to kiss her on the forehead.
Scattered gunshots rang out, drawing closer.
Horn looked away from the wall toward Ringgold. “Is she…?”
“She’s gone,” Beckham said.
For a moment, Horn was quiet and bowed his head. “I’m sorry, but there’s not time to mourn. We have to get to the shelters.”
Beckham nodded. “Help me with the general.”
Horn bent down and slowly lifted Cornelius, preparing to hoist him into a fireman’s carry despite his injuries. The general’s eyes opened slowly, roving across the platform, and Horn helped him lean against the wall instead of picking him up.
“No,” Cornelius muttered, Horn offering him his shoulder. “Is she…”
“She’s gone, sir,” Horn said. “Let me help you. We have to move.”
Horn and Beckham bent down, but Cornelius pushed himself up on his own.
“What about Command?” Cornelius asked. “Is Festa still alive?”
“I’m not sure,” Horn said.
Cornelius picked up a rifle, wincing in pain from the wound in his shoulder.
“You good?” Beckham asked.
“I’ll make it,” he said.
They both looked at Ringgold one last time before proceeding to the stairs and heading down.
As they made it to the lobby of the hotel, Variants looked up from their meals between the scattered desks and snarled. Horn took one out with his rifle, and then fired bursts at the others, sending the thin beasts sprawling in pools of their own blood.
Beckham held an M9, but his wrist hurt so bad, he wasn’t sure he could pull the trigger. Feeling helpless, he stumbled along toward the street. Cornelius limped along slowly, struggling to keep his own weapon up.
Despite the beating Horn had taken, the injuries didn’t seem to slow the big man down.
He took point, firing calculated shots in the Thrall Variants they encountered on the street. Gunfire exploded in waves across Galveston, and Beckham feared, even if they made it to shelter, it wouldn’t be long before the beasts found them again, finishing the job the Prophet had started.
After eliminating another pack of monsters, Beckham finally saw the concrete bunker with its thick steel doors where their kids were hiding. Corpses of humans and monsters lay all around it, but the doors still appeared secured, locked from the inside. They approached cautiously, walking through smoke drifting away from a burning truck.
A distant rumble sounded, forcing them to stop and crouch behind the truck. As the noise grew louder, they turned to the east. Black dots flew across the sky, getting larger as they approached.
“Are they ours?” Cornelius asked.
Horn scoped the sky, and then lowered the weapon with a smile. “Must be the reinforcements our allies promised. Just in time to clean this place up.”
Beckham kept moving to the shelter as the aircraft closed in on Galveston.
The noise of their engines enveloped the island, and parachutes bloomed in long lines behind them, troops descending toward this now sacred patch of Texas.
Beckham tapped on the steel door with the pistol in his injured hand. “Captain Reed Beckham, open up!”
The door clicked, unlocked, and opened a hair. Connor, the Secret Service agent, assigned to protect his family, looked out.
“Oh, thank God,” Connor said, opening the door. “Kate just radioed in asking where you were.”
“She’s okay?” Beckham asked.
Connor nodded, locking the door to the shelter behind them. “Safe as of ten minutes ago.”
He let Cornelius wrap an arm around his shoulder, then guided him to a seat near the entry. Muffled gunfire and shrieks exploded above them, and the lights to the shelter sizzled on and off over the frightened faces.
“Dad!” shouted a young voice.
Beckham and Horn both rushed over to greet their kids. Javier hugged Beckham, and Tasha and Jenny both embraced their father. A few booms rumbled through the shelter full of civilians, and Beckham tightened his arms around his son.
“Dad, you’re hurt,” Jenny said.
“I’ll be okay. Are you girls fine?”
Tasha loosened her grip. “Timothy is okay, right?”
“I think so,” Horn said. “He’s with Kate.”
A radio positioned near the shelter’s door came to life. “Lieutenant Festa calling all shelters. General Vance and Hernandez of the Canadian and Mexican militaries have confirmed the arrival of their reinforcements. They are helping our troops retake the streets. I repeat, we are retaking Galveston! The enemy is falling back!”
“I guess this might not be the Alamo after all,” Horn said. “We’re actually going to win this thing.”
Beckham wanted to smile, but not everyone had gotten the ending they deserved.
“Where’s the president?” Connor asked.
“She died protecting the country she loved,” Beckham said. “And in the end, she saved us all.”
— Epilogue —
Fitz wandered down the beach with Rico by his side. His blades sank into the yellow sand with each step, forcing him to walk slowly. That worked better for Rico anyway.
Bruises covered her skin, and she walked with a limp from the vines that had nearly torn her apart.
They strolled along the parts of the beach that met Galveston. The debris had mostly been cleared, allowing them to get close to the sun-glinted waves rolling in from the Gulf.
“Warm sunlight, seagulls, sand,” Rico said. “I could get used to this, Fitzie.”
“Yeah… me too.”
They sat and stared for a while, taking in the view before wandering back toward the city to meet their friends. Horn and Ruckley were already at a picnic table with Beckham and Kate. Sammy was there too, standing
