Clear skies and warm night air had replaced the snow and ice now an hour behind the team on Interstate 70. On both sides of the highway, main battle tanks dug in and facing east had torn up and flattened the overgrown grasslands. Alex spotted the fighting positions from the short beams of red or white light that blinked sporadically up and down the line. A storm front shrouded the horizon toward Topeka and Kansas City. Silent flashes of lightning lit the dark clouds. Alex found the sight strangely beautiful. Above, a tableau of stars and the full moon shone down across the interstate.

The team’s Stryker idled in the interstate’s grassy median. Alex stood just outside the vehicle. Trucks, Humvees, and APCs sped along the westbound lanes toward Colorado. Most of the evacuees had already passed the deserted city of Salina, Kansas where Brigadier General Park’s armored column had established a defensive line. Every supply truck and troop transport that passed by carried dozens of men and women packed together side-by-side. The headlights from the trailing vehicles illuminated their faces, their angry and confused expressions, an army questioning why they were fleeing into the night.

Inside the Stryker, Wilson and Murray sat examining a computer display showing a map of Kansas. Ziegler sat behind them irritably tapping another screen that flickered between black and wavy lines of green and red. Jarden lay asleep beneath his poncho with his head against his assault pack. O’Brian and Atkins tinkered with the team’s machinegun, wiping down the components with a dirty rag.

Shepherd stood alone on the shoulder of the westbound lanes. He had unhooked the clasp of his ballistic helmet to relieve pressure against his cheek. Ugly brownish-red stains stood out on the bandage covering his wound.

A nearby offramp led from the interstate toward a cluster of motels and restaurants north of the highway. Alex knew from the communications chatter that General Park’s command post was nearby. She had seen Park numerous times over the years: at formal dinners and functions at Peterson, in the corridors of Cheyenne Mountain, and at several of the team’s training exercises. He was well-known and respected for securing most of the Directorate’s territory west of Colorado.

Does he know about his son? He must. It’s been over a day.

Alex watched as a pair of Humvees approached from the motels. The vehicles paused at the bottom of the ramp while a convoy of trucks raced past. Then the Humvees proceeded onto the interstate and drove to the inner lane closest to Shepherd. Three soldiers disembarked from the first Humvee and planted themselves in security positions along the shoulder. Another man got out of the second Humvee. He walked to Shepherd, and the two exchanged a brief handshake. They started down toward the Stryker.

“Ms. Bedford,” the man said as he came to a stop. He was tall, several inches above Shepherd, and burly. His ballistic vest and helmet magnified the effect. “I’m Captain Andreski. Glad to see you made it out of Topeka in one piece.”

Alex nodded.

“I’ll be taking you to our TOC. General Park wants to see you before you leave.”

More questions about Kansas City. Why else would General Park want to see me in the middle of all this?

Andreski looked back at Shepherd, “I need your team to get that Stryker to our refit point. We’ll put it to good use. Location should be on your trackers, but it’s just past those hotels at the gas station. Can’t miss it.” Andreski pointed to the north at the buildings just off the interstate. “Once you’ve got everything offloaded, we’ll find your men a dry place to stay until the bird gets here.”

“Do you have an ETA on the Osprey?”

“Last I heard, it was delayed at Peterson. Come with us to the TOC. I’ll check on it and get back to you. Shouldn’t be too much longer. Head over when you’re ready.”

Andreski went back toward the Humvees.

Wilson glanced at Shepherd from inside the Stryker. “You heard?” Shepherd said.

“Refit point,” Wilson said. “Got it.”

Alex and Shepherd started up the embankment. Thunder sounded from far off to the east as they reached the second Humvee and got inside. As the soldiers from the first Humvee collapsed back from their security positions, the Stryker rumbled to life and lumbered up onto the interstate. The two Humvees followed the Stryker onto the ramp. The command area, hidden from the interstate by a three-story hotel, revealed itself as they approached. The hasty arrangement of tents sat clustered around a Humvee with a mounted radar dish almost twice the vehicle’s height. Further down the road, the Stryker pulled into a dilapidated gas station. The Humvees maneuvered into the parking lot of the hotel. The driver stopped at the entrance, and Alex, Shepherd, and Andreski got out.

They followed Andreski into the lobby. Lanterns and the faint glow from laptop computer screens granted the hotel’s interior a dim illumination. The hissing propane heater near the door and the hum of several diesel generators competed with the murmur from the soldiers seated at the computers. The water stains on the ceiling and walls and the smell of mildew reminded Alex of the bus terminal in New York. There could still be bodies in these rooms, she thought and then immediately shook away the idea.

She glanced at the laptop screens, which displayed satellite and topographical overlays, battle tracking maps with the positions of Directorate units, and black and white thermal imaging views from the tanks on the perimeter. No signs of the NEA.

Andreski led them behind the reception desk and into an office lit by a propane lantern. The room was barely larger than a cubical with only an empty desk and two rusty folding chairs.

“General Park will be here shortly,” Andreski said. “If you’d like, you can wait here or in the lobby. Is there anything I can get for either of you?”

“I’ll be all right,” Alex said.

Shepherd shook his head.

Andreski left and half shut the door. Alex sat and looked at Shepherd. He had barely spoken since their departure from Topeka. They regarded each other in silence before Shepherd turned toward the door.

“Wait,” she said.

Shepherd hesitated.

“Can I ask you something?”

Shepherd put his hand on the door handle. Alex thought that he was going to leave without answering. Then he shut the door and sat in the other chair. “All right.”

“Back in Topeka. After… those workers. Nicole said something.”

Shepherd was silent for a long moment. “You… don’t know about Dodge, do you?”

“It’s where we get most of our beef, right?”

“Do you remember the strike three years ago?”

“The workers tried to take over the ranches and the processing plants, so we sent in troops to get everything back under control. My dad said the NEA was behind it.”

“Maybe.” Shepherd shrugged. “When it happened, I was in charge of an infantry platoon out of Carson. As soon as the strike began, my company deployed over to Dodge. We had orders to keep the peace while our negotiators settled things. Then on the second day, the negotiators pulled out. My platoon was sent to one of the factories. My CO told me to take the building without damaging any of the equipment. He didn’t say anything about the hundred and fifty workers holed up inside.”

Shepherd paused and looked down at the floor. “You’ve really never heard about this?”

“No,” Alex said. “What happened?”

Lieutenant Ryan Shepherd raised his ballistic goggles and wiped the sweat from his brow. The temperature was sweltering, somewhere between ninety and a hundred degrees. The skies were clear and blue, allowing the sun to shine unimpeded on Dodge City. The platoon stood in the middle of a field full of haystacks. The National Beef meat processing facility stood just to the north across a dusty two-lane street. A labyrinth of overturned cars, dumpsters, and welded sheet metal filled the parking lot. Fifty to sixty people waited behind the barricades with another hundred or so inside the facility’s two hundred thousand square meters.

“LT!” Shepherd turned to see Sergeant First Class Daniel Cupper approaching from one of the two Humvees parked along the road. Cupper was short and heavy but he could carry almost double his weight in equipment and run with it longer than anyone in the platoon.

“Yeah?” Shepherd said, again wiping away sweat before lowering his goggles back into place.

“Captain Barrera called in. Second Platoon secured the power plant. They’re shutting down the electricity.”

“Did they have any trouble?”

“Negative. The workers gave up once the assault kicked off.”

“Maybe we’ll have it that easy.”

“You think cutting the air conditioning will force them to give up?”

“I doubt it. But if we have to be out here in the sun, they can sure as hell suffer, too.”

“I hear you.”

Shepherd glanced back at his platoon. There were thirty-eight of them altogether, including himself and Cupper, three squads of twelve men each. The men wore Kevlar helmets and ballistic plate carriers. Most of them held the Directorate’s standard-issue M4 carbines or the longer-barreled M16 rifles. The platoon’s two heavy machine gunners lay in wait near the platoon’s flanks alongside the road. In-between were five lighter M249 machine guns and two automatic grenade launchers mounted to the top of the Humvees. Altogether, the platoon was an impressive force.

Machineguns against bolt-action rifles and shotguns, Shepherd mused.

“It’s about time, isn’t it?” Cupper said, looking down at his watch.

Shepherd nodded. “Get first squad lined up between the Mark 19s. I want second and third to the left. Remember, this is just a show of force.”

“And if this all goes south?”

“You know the drill. First squad lays down a base of fire while the rest of us hit the west entrances. Do all the squad leaders have the building’s layout?”

“We’re good to go.”

“Then let’s form up.”

Cupper turned back toward the platoon and gestured to each of the squad leaders. The three men came running. “Get your teams into position. Garcia, your squad is going right there between the Humvees. McKay, you’re next just down the line. Gray, you’re taking the end. Keep spacing at about three meters. Questions?”

The men shook their heads.

“Then let’s get moving. The faster we get this done, the faster we can get out of this damn heat.”

The squad leaders jogged back to their men, and moments later, the platoon started to move into position. Shepherd went to the leftmost Humvee and set his weapon on the hood. He took the radio handset from inside the vehicle and pressed the transmit button, “Rock 6, this is Rock 1-6. Over.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m assembling my platoon along East Trail Street just outside the packing facility. I count about sixty workers holding outside. Unconfirmed number inside.”

“Understood. Get that plant cleared and report back. Rock 6, out.”

“He makes it sound so easy,” Cupper said.

“With any luck, it will be.” Shepherd removed a pair of binoculars from his vest and scanned the facility. The building stood two stories high with corrugated metal walls. The main entrance waited just beyond the parking lot behind the crowd of workers. A line of windows overlooked the parking lot from the second story. Faces peeked through the glass. Outside, most of the crowd knelt behind the barricades. A few people stood out in the open. Some held hunting rifles and shotguns but no one was aiming at the platoon.

Shepherd set the radio back inside the Humvee and picked up his weapon. The platoon had formed a line roughly one hundred and fifty meters long, presenting an intimidating base of fire. The men were crouched on the grass just at the edge of the sidewalk. Those with grenade launchers attached to their rifles began chambering tear gas canisters.

“Sergeant,” Shepherd said, “you want to throw me the bullhorn?”

Cupper reached into the Humvee and retrieved a white megaphone. He tossed it over.

“Here goes nothing,” Shepherd said.

He stepped out from behind the Humvee and raised the megaphone. “This is Lieutenant Ryan Shepherd of the Directorate.” His voice boomed out toward the factory. Some of the workers stood up from the barricades to look. “Your actions are in direct violation of—”

The explosion temporarily blinded Shepherd. His feet left the ground. Then his back smacked hard into the grass. As his vision blurred in and out of focus, he looked at his hand and saw the megaphone was gone. A jagged tear had appeared in the front of his vest along with a dent in the ballistic plate beneath the fabric. His goggles were cracked. Blood seeped from cuts in his arms and legs. Someone grabbed the back of his vest and pulled him behind the Humvee. It was Cupper.

Shepherd got up and looked around. Dust and smoke obscured the street. He heard screaming and saw a group of men from second squad sprawled on the ground bleeding. The rest of the squad members were dragging their teammates away from the road and trying to administer first aid. Shepherd turned to the turret gunner of the Humvee in time to see a jet of blood explode from the gunner’s neck.

“Return fire!” Shepherd shouted. “Engage!”

Machineguns and assault rifles opened up on the processing plant. Automatic fire tore through the building. To the right, the gunner of the other Humvee swung his automatic grenade launcher in a wide arc across the plant. The explosions tore the wall apart and brought the roof collapsing down into the parking lot.

“Get down!” Cupper grabbed Shepherd and pulled him down behind the cover of the Humvee.

“What the hell happened?” Shepherd said.

“Goddam IED!” Cupper yelled. “Must have been hidden in that trash in the parking lot!”

Shepherd looked to his left and right. The smoke from the explosion began to clear. He saw first and third squad firing wildly across the street. Isolated gunshots answered from the factory. One of the men from second squad lay torn in half from the explosion. Another man’s leg had disappeared below the knee. Shepherd looked around and spotted the burnt foot and ankle in the grass. He almost ran for the leg but then he saw the black hole where the man’s face should have been. The screams from the survivors pierced through the gunfire. He kept staring at the scene, unsure of how to react. He wanted to stay hidden behind the Humvee. He wanted to run and let Cupper deal with the situation. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“LT?” Cupper said.

Shepherd looked at him. “Get me third squad and alpha team from first. We’re assaulting the building. Leave our machine gunners here to keep up the fire. Put Garcia in control. Have McKay get us a medevac bird. They can land in the field southeast of here.”

Cupper sprinted toward Herbert Garcia, the leader of first squad. After a moment, Cupper ran back down the line toward third. One-by-one, half of the members of first squad picked up from their positions and hugged the ground as they moved to the cover of the Humvee. Shepherd gestured for the men to follow and then ran after Cupper. When he reached the platoon’s leftmost limit, he shouted, “We’re going to move west and flank to the side of the factory! First squad, alpha team, you’re with me. We’re going straight for the front. I’ll call off our gunners when we get close. Third squad, I want you to secure the north and east side of the building. Report if you make contact.”

They set off across a dirt field to the south with Shepherd in the lead. A row of shipping containers and a grove of trees shielded them from the road. Shepherd stopped at the corner of an empty house that stood alone at the northwest corner of the field. Across the street, an empty parking lot ran the western length of the processing plant.

On Shepherd’s signal, the men began to traverse the road, sprinting from the corner of the house to the edge of the factory. Down the street, the withering fire from the platoon’s machine gunners continued.

Shepherd and the five men from first squad stacked up along the right side of a door leading into the facility’s loading and offloading center. They were all back-to-back, with their weapons resting against the man in front of them. Cupper and third squad continued further down, positioning themselves at two more entrances into the facility. The first man in Shepherd’s stack, Specialist Herbert Shelley, gently turned the door handle. “It’s unlocked,” he said.

“Go,” Shepherd said.

Shelley rocked back, pushing the man behind him, then Shepherd, then the two men at the rear of the stack in turn. Finally, Private Burt Adams at the end returned the push, which moved like a wave back up to Shelley. As soon as he received the bump, Shelley kicked the door open. Shelley rushed through and went straight left along the inner wall. The next man went right, and then Shepherd alternated left. As soon as he was inside, he heard a gunshot. Shelley fell back against the wall. Shepherd looked for the shooter. They were inside a warehouse. The electricity was out but the sunlight through the ceiling windows lit the interior. Rows of pallets lined the walls, and dozens of shelves stacked high with cardboard boxes formed narrow aisles across the floor space. A catwalk ran the perimeter of the second level.

Shepherd spotted a man with a rifle in an open doorway along the catwalk. Shepherd began to raise his carbine. Three rapid sounded and a zigzag of red explosions tore apart the worker’s chest. The man toppled backward out of sight through the door. Shepherd saw it was Adams who had made the shot. Nearby, Shelley picked himself up from the ground.

“I’m all right!” Shelley said. “Jesus, that stings!”

“Maybe now you won’t bitch so much about that vest!” one of the men shouted.

From the other end of the warehouse, there were four gunshots and then mixed shouts. Shepherd thought he could hear Cupper amidst the chaos. In the background, the roar of the machineguns from the front of the facility was beginning to drop off.

“Clear this place!” Shepherd said. “Everyone forward! Watch your sectors!”

The men started down the aisles. Shepherd kept his carbine raised with his cheek pressed to the stock. He stared through the optical sight, moving the hovering red dot back in forth in a slow arc between areas of potential danger. Sweat rolled down his chest and brow. He felt the cuts from the bomb shrapnel. His left arm was red with blood.

He came to the end of the aisle and looked left and right across the warehouse. No movement. The other men were still several meters behind in their own aisles. Ahead, a door stood half-opened. He went to the wall and edged close to the opening. Shelley appeared from one of the nearby aisles and spotted Shepherd. He moved to the opposite side of the door. Shepherd first pointed to himself and gestured right then at Shelley and pointed left. Shelley nodded and took a step back.

Shepherd shoved through the doorway, using his weight to push it fully open. The room was an office. In the light seeping through the door, he saw a desk shielding three crouched and huddled figures. He swung his weapon to the right and spotted another figure covered by the shadows: a woman standing in the corner of the room, partially hidden by two filing cabinets. He pressed his thumb to the tail cap of his combat light, and the corner turned a brilliant white. The woman held a double-barreled hunting shotgun. She trembled but held her ground and tried to see through the blinding light. She kept the shotgun pointed halfway between Shepherd and the ground.

“Drop it!” Shepherd said.

The woman said nothing. A whimper of fear came from one of the workers in the corner of the room.

“I’ve got these three covered!” Shelley said. “Alpha, get the hell in here!”

Shepherd took his thumb off the combat light. The illumination died. He could still see the woman’s eyes, dilated and now staring straight at him. She could not have been more than twenty years old. She raised the shotgun.

Shepherd squeezed the trigger. Three yellow flashes lit the room. One round caught the woman at the base of her neck between her collarbones. The other round shattered her right shoulder and spun her backward. A spray of red spattered against the wall. As the woman slumped down, her face slammed against the side of the filing cabinet. The shotgun clattered to the floor and came to rest in the stream of blood pouring from the woman’s neck. She stared at Shepherd unblinking before she made a wet gurgle and her body went still.

The rest of the team clattered into the room. Shepherd lowered his carbine and then let go, allowing the weapon to swing free on its sling across his chest. He smelled the blood and gunpowder.

“What do you want us to do with these three?” Shelley gesturing at the workers with his rifle.

“Just… Just get them out of here,” Shepherd said as he turned away toward the door. “Secure them and hold them outside.”

He left the room and went to the end of one of the aisles. The machinegun fire from outside the building had ceased. He leaned against a box and then lifted his goggles. He removed his helmet and set it aside before running a hand across his face. His palm came away soaked in sweat and blood. He felt his forehead and scalp, but there we no cuts. He realized the blood belonged to the woman.

“LT?” Cupper’s voice sounded from the radio attached to his vest. “Do you copy?”

He detached the radio and pressed the transmit button. “This is Shepherd, go ahead.”

“There’s something you need to see. I’m at the main entrance with Garcia. They decided to assault the front. Third squad’s clearing the rest of the building.”

“I’m on my way.”

From the office door, the team stepped out escorting the three workers. “Shelley, Adams, you’re with me,” Shepherd said. He pointed at the workers and continued, “The rest of you, get them to the trucks. We’ll use that as our collection point.”

The other three men on the team disappeared down one of the other aisles with the workers. Shepherd stood and replaced his helmet. “Let’s go,” he said.

“You all right, sir?” Shelley said.

“I’m fine. Keep an eye out until we know this place is clear.”

They moved through a series of dark corridors leading them east toward the front of the processing plant. Soon, they arrived at an open set of double doors. Shepherd saw Cupper, Garcia, and some of the other members of the platoon just beyond. The smell made him hesitate. The stink of burnt carbon and spilled blood. And something else as well. He stepped through the doors.

The space resembled the warehouse on the western side of the building. However, there were no aisles of stacked boxes or shipping pallets; the floor space was clear. The barrage of grenades had demolished the wall facing the street. The only exit was a shattered doorframe partially obstructed by a fallen rafter. Burn marks and shallow craters covered the concrete floor while bullet holes stitched across the walls and ceiling. And scattered everywhere were bodies. It was impossible to tell how many workers lay dead. A pair of burnt limbs and a decapitated torso sat just to the right of the door.

Cupper spotted Shepherd. “W-What is this?” Shepherd said. “Who did this?”

“Us,” Cupper answered solemnly. “Some of the forty mike-mike rounds must have shot through the windows. Looks even worse outside. Those barricades barely stopped anything.”

“How many dead?”

“I’d say at least seventy in here. Maybe a few more. Outside, about fifty-five.”

Shepherd felt nauseated. “What about our people? Second squad?”

“Four KIA right now. The bird will be here in five. No one on the assault got anything more than a scratch.”

Shepherd took a deep breath, trying to avoid breathing through his nose. “All right. Once third squad finishes with their sweep, I want everyone to assemble in the western lot. We still have the east wing to clear. I want to make sure we didn’t miss anyone in the other wings. The prisoner collection point is at the trucks.”

“I’ll get the word out,” Cupper said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m all right.”

“You look pale.”

“It’s the heat.”

Shepherd left the warehouse as Cupper got on the radio. He found an empty office and went inside. A small window allowed sunlight to filter into the room. Burnt flesh and blood permeated the air. He went to a desk, sat, and closed his eyes. Instead of darkness, he saw the dilated pupils of the woman he had killed. Silently, her lips formed the question: Why? He bent over and threw up.

Alex remained quiet, leaning forward in her chair and watching Shepherd. He had barely looked at her while telling the story. He sat hunched down and appeared tired and sick as if the memories were causing physical trauma. She wanted to go to his side, to kneel next to him and lay her hand on him. Then he straightened and said calmly, “So, that’s what happened.”

“Was that your first mission?”

“No. But it was the first time my unit took fire. It was the first time I killed someone.”

“Is it still that bad?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you still see her? Her face?”

Shepherd’s gaze made her feel uneasy. Did he see that young woman’s face in her own features? He replied simply, “Yes.”

“Did you get blamed for what happened?”

“When we got back home, I thought my career was over. The final body count was a hundred and forty-three workers. Not to mention we destroyed a quarter of the processing plant and its equipment. Then at the debriefing, when our CO finally showed up, he came in and handed me a little square box. It was exactly like the one you gave General Harrison. They promoted me.”

“Then they must have thought you did the right thing,” Alex said. “If anything, it was the NEA’s fault. There must have been agitators there. I’ll bet they helped build that IED.”

“There weren’t any agitators at Topeka,” Shepherd said.

“But Nicole fired first. I know it wasn’t the right thing for her to do, but we had to help her and General Harrison.”

“Can I ask you something?”

She nodded.

“Were you given a choice to join my team?”

“No one forced me.”

“Really?”

She thought back to the meeting with Ellzey, her father, and General Lunde. Ellzey had asked her if she wanted to use her abilities to help the Directorate. She had answered yes without hesitation. Of course, she had no idea what would have happened if she had refused.

“Yes,” she said.

“So why did you choose this? Why did you want to be a part of a military unit? You’re General Bedford’s daughter. You could be at Cheyenne Mountain or Peterson right now. Warm, safe, and secure. Is this really what you wanted to do?”

“I wanted to help the Directorate. I thought I could use my abilities to do… something. I didn’t want to just sit in the mountain for the rest of my life being useless.”

“And what about now? After everything that’s happened? New York and Kansas City?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if I can trust myself to use my abilities. After what happened… General Harrison said we lost two thousand people. If it was me that did that…”

“It was Ellzey, not you,” Shepherd said firmly. “You were fine until that kid slit his throat. I shouldn’t have let him follow us. I knew he was planning something. He wouldn’t have been there just to observe.”

“It wasn’t just Ellzey. I was still inside. I knew what was happening. When I hurt you, when I was killing those NEA soldiers, part of me liked it.”

“Do you remember attacking any of our soldiers?”

“No, but… I don’t know. After a while, all I saw were faces. There was just too much. I couldn’t see their uniforms. I just… I just killed them.”

Shepherd was silent. Alex wished they were sitting side-by-side instead of across the room from each other. She wanted to hold his hand or lean over and rest against his shoulder, to have any contact. She felt his touch could provide some kind of reassurance – reassurance that she wasn’t a monster, that she hadn’t killed all those men in women in cold blood, that she hadn’t enjoyed it.

“What should I do? Do you think I should quit?”

“After Dodge City, I asked myself that. Even after they promoted me. There were all those people… But I convinced myself to stay, that I could make up for it somehow.”

“How?”

Shepherd was quiet for a long moment. Then without looking at her, he said softly, “I don’t know.”

A knock came from the door. They both looked over. “Come in,” Shepherd said.

Captain Andreski entered the room. General Park followed close behind him. Park was short, looking almost like a dwarf beside Andreski. The thick and dusty lenses of his wire-frame glasses magnified the dark circles beneath his brown eyes. His black hair blended with the shadows. The friendly smile she had seen in the past was now a worn frown. Park and his son shared – or had shared, she thought sadly – a close family resemblance.

“Hello, Alexandra.”

Shepherd stood as Park entered the room.

Alex got up as well. “Hello, General.”

Park turned to Shepherd. “Captain, the Osprey from Peterson will be here shortly. If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to Alexandra alone.”

“Yes, sir.” Shepherd left the room with Andreski.

Park moved to the now-empty chair and sat. Alex took her seat again. “You’ve heard?” she said after a moment. “About Ben?”

“Yes, I have.” Park’s face was impassive.

“He… He wanted me to tell you something.”

She found it difficult to look at General Park; his face reminded her too much of his son. The room blurred as tears formed in her eyes. She remembered how Park had hugged her in New York after Hensley’s death. She wished she had returned the embrace. Now he was gone. She wanted Shepherd back in the room. He would know what to say. However, she had been the last one to talk to Park, to touch him. He had asked her to deliver the message, not Shepherd or Murray or anyone else.

“What did he say?” Park’s voice was hoarse and dry.

“He wanted me to tell you that he was sorry.” She wiped at her eyes but some of the tears trickled down her face and collected along her chin. There were wet trails along Park’s cheeks as well.

“You were with him?”

“I was holding his hand. I was right there the whole time.”

“Was it fast?”

She tried to recall how long Park had survived after the ambush but it was a blur of memories with little regard for time: a vague impression of the bullets striking Park’s vest, him spinning to the ground, Jarden rushing out into the tracers to pull him to safety, and then Park holding her hand as blood poured from the hole in his abdomen.

“Yes,” she said finally, trying to keep the uncertainty out of her voice.

“Thank you for being with him.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I’m so sorry.”

“Was he happy on your team?”

“I think so. Everyone liked him. I wish I’d known him better.”

“He must have thought I was disappointed.” Park shook his head. “When he was almost eighteen, he told me he wanted to be an officer. I wouldn’t recommend him. I’d told him I would get him a deferment so he wouldn’t have to serve. He went anyway. The last time I talked to him was a week before your team went to New York. He was excited. He talked about you, mostly, and Captain Shepherd.”

“You didn’t want him to be in the military?”

“No. Neither did his mother. I don’t see why any parent would want…” His voice trailed off as he looked at her. Park took a moment to collect himself. The tears were gone from his eyes. Whatever emotions he felt over the loss of his son were now hidden.

Would it be like that with Dad? If I had died in New York, would he have been able to keep going as if nothing happened?

Park continued, “I prayed for you after… the incident in Cheyenne Mountain.”

Alex was surprised. She had never known Park was religious. “Thank you.”

“I was glad to hear when you recovered. And I know your father’s condition must be difficult for you.”

“He’ll be okay.”

“Of course.”

They sat in silence. Alex listened to the faint voices from the lobby. She thought of the maps with their tiny blue rectangular icons representing the Directorate’s forces and the red diamonds representing the NEA. Moreover, she thought about what had happened when those blue and red icons met in Kansas City. “Sir? What do you think of all this? The war?”

“I’ve been in the military for a long time. Since Desert Storm in the 90s. I’ve been involved in a lot of wars. And this one… this is the one I’ve had the most trouble justifying to myself.”

“Why? The NEA attacked us. We’re fighting because they forced us to fight.”

“All wars are civil wars because all men are brothers. I forget who said that. When I joined the military, I never imagined I would have to fight against the same men I served with. And that is who we are fighting. I know the commanders out there, the ones with the NEA. I worked with them in Iraq and Afghanistan. I trained with them here in the US. Now I’m fighting them.”

“They could have joined us instead of the NEA.”

“And how do you feel about the NEA?”

“I hate them. This is their fault. The war, my dad, everything.”

“Hate is a very strong word.”

“How can you not hate them? They’re the ones stopping us from making the country a better place. And after what they did to Ben…” Her voice trailed off.

“There was a Greek historian from the fifth century. Herodotus. He said that during peacetime, sons bury their fathers. And… during war, it’s the fathers who have to bury their sons.”

Alex looked away.

“Have you read the Bible?” Park asked.

“Some of it.”

“The Sermon on the Mount?”

“Maybe. It was a long time ago.”

She remembered the old, leather-bound Bible on a shelf in her father’s office. It had belonged to her mother. Alex had looked at it one day. Her mother’s name was written on a bookplate just inside the cover: Katherine Michelle. And in finer, darker ink: Bedford. It was the only time Alex had seen her mother’s script, the beautiful and clean cursive letters. She had started to read the book but her father had told her it was a waste of time.

“It’s where the Lord’s Prayer comes from. Jesus was preaching on the side of a mountain. There was a crowd. All of the disciples were there. He talked about turning the other cheek: ‘I tell you, don’t resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone sues you and wants to take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well.’ Do you remember that?”

“I’ve heard it before.”

“What do you think?”

“About what?” Alex felt confused. She didn’t understand how a story from the Bible could answer anything about the NEA or the war or all the people who had died. “Are you saying we should turn the other cheek and let the NEA overrun us? That’s crazy. They’d kill everyone. Everything we’ve worked for since the outbreaks would be gone.”

“You were captured by the NEA when you were in New York. General Martin didn’t have you killed.”

“General Martin is—” She stopped herself. She doubted Park knew the truth, and she wasn’t sure she should reveal it to him, either.

“Is what?” Park said

“He’s… different than the rest of them.”

“How do you know? How many people from the NEA have you met?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve seen the pictures and videos of what they’ve done. I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

“The idea isn’t that you can’t defend yourself. It’s a warning against seeking vengeance. ‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.’”

“Is that from the Bible, too?”

“No. Gandhi.”

“So what are you saying we should do?”

“Do you believe that it’s more important to win this war or rebuild the United States?”

“We can’t have one without the other.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“If the NEA wins, they won’t be rebuilding the United States. It will be something awful.”

“Sir?” Alex looked and saw Captain Andreski standing outside the room. “We’ve got the Osprey on the tracker. Five minutes out. I told Captain Shepherd to assemble his team at the LZ.”

“Good,” Park said. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

Andreski left, and Alex returned her attention to Park. “General, you believe in what we’re trying to do, don’t you?”

“I would like to see this country restored. I do want the United States back.”

“Me, too. So does my dad and General Lunde and everyone in the Directorate.”

“I only wonder if their vision of the United States differs from mine.” Park pushed himself up out of the chair and went to the door. He looked tired and disappointed. “Let’s not keep your team waiting.”

Alex followed Park from the room. She was still confused, but she was more concerned with getting home, seeing her father and General Lunde, and taking a long rest. The warm, stagnant air in the hotel reinforced her fatigue.

Andreski stood in the lobby. Shepherd was already gone. The three of them went outside and started toward an open field just beyond the gas station. When they got closer, she saw the members of the team gathered together just off the road. They were wearing all of their equipment and had their weapons slung over their shoulders. Murray and Wilson were conducting inspections. Shepherd, checking his own equipment, zipped up his assault pack and slung it over his shoulder as he saw them coming. He said something to Murray and then jogged toward General Park.

“Is your team ready?” Park said.

“Yes, sir,” Shepherd said. “We’re all up.”

“Good. The Osprey should be here in a minute.”

“Yes, sir,” Shepherd said. He hesitated and then added, “General, please accept my condolences. I’m sorry about Ben. He was one of the best men on my team. It was an honor to serve with him.”

Park remained silent. Then slowly, he nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Sir.” Shepherd saluted. Park absently returned the gesture, and Shepherd moved back toward the team.

Alex heard the distinct pulse of an Osprey’s turbines. She began to follow after Shepherd, but Park called out to her. “Alexandra?”

She turned. “Yes, General?”

“I won’t pretend to understand what happened in Kansas City, but… I want you to remember this: ‘from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.’ You’ve been giving something very special, and I know you want to use your abilities for the good of the Directorate. But your soul is yours alone, Alexandra. In the end, it won’t hold up to say that you were only following orders or that the ends justified the means. Please, don’t forget that.”

Alex was unsure of how to reply. Above them, the Osprey came into view and circled once before beginning its descent to the landing zone. Park held her gaze for a moment longer and then turned and walked back to the hotel.

“Alex!” Shepherd waved for her to join the team. “Let’s go!”

She looked back to try and see Park, but he was gone. Beyond the hotel and far off to the east, the clouds brightened with a display of lightning.

Alex turned and jogged to the Osprey.