Alex is warm. The warmth reminds her of her bed in Cheyenne Mountain. If only she were there now, curled up in her blankets while listening to the whirr of the air conditioning. She hears a sound from far off, a constant bass thrum, a heartbeat. The pain is gone. So is Washington. A voice echoes in the distance, slowly growing louder until she can make out words. Then agonizing screams demand her attention. She is moving, leaving the warmth, traveling down a tight canal. Brilliant light replaces her vision. Yet this is not the burning radiance she associates with Webb’s presence. The source is something else, an artificial light, not inside her head but external. She can just barely make it out, a circular array of white auras like the sun, held above her by a jointed metallic strut.

“My God.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” A woman’s voice, exhausted but alarmed.

“Take it away. Now.”

“No!” The woman again. “He’s mine! Let me see him!”

A woman’s face appears against the light. She has long dark hair tangled and drenched with sweat. Her face contorts in fright. She screams but these are not screams of pain. They are screams of horror. The hysterical shriek goes on-and-on, stopping only when the woman runs out of breath. Then she screams again.

The scene and the noise disappear into something new: an empty and sterile room. Padding covers the walls and floor and ceiling. There is a door with a small window. A security camera stares down from above. She hears footsteps. Two faces appear at the window. She stares at them. One is her father, General Henry Bedford. The other man is someone she has never seen before but his features are soft and gentle. Wrinkles line his forehead and underscore his eyes, which betray a deep sadness. Her father makes that same expression when he speaks of life before the outbreaks. He makes that same expression when he speaks about her mother. The man wears spectacles and a white lab coat. Both of them look in at her through the window.

“This could have happened to my daughter?” Her father says angrily. The words confuse her. She is his daughter. Then she looks down. She is not a woman, not even a girl. She is a young boy, a child dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. She touches her face. The contours are different. She has no hair, and as her hands come to the top of her skull, she feels something: the flexible, moist creases and ridges of her brain. She is not Alex but Aaron Webb.

“No, General.” The other man shakes his head and steps back. “No. Of course not. This was an earlier… test.”

Bedford glares at him. “How old is it?”

“Eight.”

“Destroy it.”

“G-General, this project is under the Committee’s jurisdiction. Y-You can’t. I w-won’t—”

“Fort Carson is my jurisdiction, Doctor Webb. I’ve read the reports. I know why you removed that… thing from the Reagan.”

“It won’t happen again,” Doctor Webb says in a pleading voice. “I promise. We can keep him sedated.”

“The resources we’ve had to sacrifice to repair the old men’s boat are resources the Directorate could have used to bring Peterson online. Something like that will not happen here. I’m not risking this base for that creature.”

“He’s a human—”

“You have my orders. Get rid of it by the end of the day. Tell the Committee that if Alexandra ever develops into anything like this…” His voice trails off as he looks again through the window. His face is full of disgust. He turns and walks out of sight.

Doctor Webb remains at the door. Tears fall from his eyes. He takes off his glasses and covers his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

The padded room disappears.

The boy is running through a gate at night. Someone is holding his hand. He looks up and sees Doctor Webb. His white lab coat is gone, replaced by a pair of jeans and a brown leather jacket. He is tall and lanky. Fog obscures his glasses, and sweat rolls down his face and neck. A gunshot sounds from behind them, and a puff of blood erupts from the doctor’s chest. His eyes bulge. He stumbles forward, loses his balance, and slams into the ground. His glasses fall from his face and crack apart.

“Run,” he says weakly. “Get away from here.” Blood leaks from his mouth. He coughs. Red droplets spray across the pavement.

The boy turns to see a dozen soldiers sprinting through the gate. All of them wear Directorate uniforms. They point their rifles at him. “Don’t move!”

“We’ve got orders to wax that thing! Just blow it away!”

“What? It’s just a kid.”

“That thing ain’t no kid. Look at those eyes.”

Doctor Webb reaches toward him. Two more gunshots. The doctor goes limp. An anguished howl erupts from the boy’s lips. He thrusts his arm out. The soldiers’ weapons explode. Rounds detonate in their magazines. Shrapnel tears the men apart. Those who survive fall to the ground and scream. The boy turns and flees.

He is in the woods sharpening a spear from a tree branch. He is throwing the spear, which strikes the belly of a deer. The animal runs. He chases after it, following the trail of blood. He finds it lying in a clearing. The deer stares at him as he approaches. The spear sticks out of its side. Blood stains its fur. He slits the animal’s throat with an old knife. The meat he consumes is raw. He does not know to cook the meat nor how to make a fire. At night, he is cold and scared. There are dreams. He sees Doctor Webb’s face and feels a sense of loss and sorrow. He sees the other man and feels hatred. He holds on to the name: General Bedford.

Soon, he leaves the woods and forests and walks through open plains and highways littered with rusting cars. He moves through silent, dead cities overgrown with weeds and vines. He is getting older, stronger, and taller. He comes across people, some alone and some in groups. They see his face, scream, and run. In an old building, he finds a pistol. He has seen others use similar weapons. He has had weapons like it fired at him. The pistol is loaded and feels heavy in his hand. He brings the gun to his skull and presses the barrel against his temple. He is trembling. Then he drops the weapon on the ground and leaves. He continues along the empty highway.

Years pass. Always, he is alone, walking, fighting survivors who try to kill him on sight or watching them flee when they see what he looks like without his tinted sunglasses and baseball cap. The summer sky is clear and the air is warm. He is walking down the middle of a four-lane road toward a gathering of men with rifles and machineguns. They watch him approach. He no longer cares if they level their weapons and fire. He will stand still, let the rounds strike him and tear through his chest. He is tired.

“Stop!” one of the men yells.

He stops.

Two of them approach. He has on his cap and sunglasses. They cannot see the exposed ridges of his cerebral cortex or the worm-like stalks in place of eyes. He has seen those eyes in mirrors, stared at them for hours. He cannot understand why he is so different. Often he wonders if it has to do with his strange powers. When he becomes angry, he can do things, things no one else seems able to accomplish. He can manipulate objects without touching them: he can raise them into the air, throw them at amazing speeds, or tear them apart and reduce them to dust.

“Who are you?”

He shakes his head. Men and women have asked him this before, but he does not know the answer. He understands people have names, but he does not have one. Even Doctor Webb never gave him a name.

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“This is Springfield. Massachusetts. New England Alliance territory. Where are your parents?”

Again, he shakes his head. He has heard there was an outbreak of disease many years ago. Perhaps his father and mother died during those times. He does not know. Even if they are still alive, he has never seen them.

“How old are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Take off your shades, kid. Let me see your face.”

He knew this was coming. He reaches up and removes the glasses. One of the men gasps and takes a step back. But none of them raise their weapons.

“What… What the hell?”

“Someone call HQ! I think Colonel Martin’s going to want to see this!”

Sometime later, he is in an old beaten down jeep. The men are driving him into Springfield. Hundreds of men and women are hard at work clearing houses and other abandoned structures. They are wearing gas masks and removing decayed bodies from the buildings. The jeep arrives at a parking lot full of soldiers and military tents. The driver escorts him into one of the tents. A man stands inside wearing a polished silver mask and a black trench coat.

“Hello.”

The boy does not reply. The man’s appearance scares him.

“My name is Colonel John Martin. Do you have a name?”

The boy shakes his head.

“Do you have a home?”

“No.”

“Would you like one?”

Slowly, the boy nods.

Time passes. He stays with Martin. The colonel, soon a general, teaches him to read and write. The boy takes a name: Aaron. And he takes another, Webb, after the old doctor who saved him from the Directorate. He learns. He reads books, lots of them, as many as he can find. When Martin comes home at night, they talk for hours about what he has read. Eventually, he shows Martin the strange abilities that have kept him alive on his own for so many years. He learns to control those abilities with Martin’s help. He is given a birthday – “It helps with the paperwork,” Martin explains – and when he turns eighteen, he is given a uniform and a commission as an officer into the New England Alliance military. A few years later, he stands on a stage in front of a crowd. Martin is there with him. They are both wearing immaculate dress blue uniforms. Martin removes the silver oak leaves from Webb’s epaulets and replaces them with eagles. The crowd stands up and cheers. If he could cry, there would be tears on his cheeks.

The world distorts as the cheering continues. There is an auditorium filled with officers and senior NCOs of the New England Alliance and a smaller room filled with those from the Directorate. The two realities are attempting to join. The images slide together, then blur, break apart, and attempt to merge again. The men and women clapping their hands do not seem to notice.

Alex is suddenly aware of herself. She is back in her own body wearing her dress blue uniform. She is standing on a stage just like the one Webb was on a moment earlier. Except this is inside Cheyenne Mountain, during the ceremony where her father announced she would be joining Captain Shepherd’s team. This is one of her proudest moments. She looks over and sees Webb there, too. He seems confused, just as she is. The men and women of the Directorate and the NEA disappear. Empty, blurry chairs are all that remain. Alex and Webb look at one another. The world shatters.

Alex’s consciousness returned to the roof of the Executive Residence. Webb’s hand remained against her forehead. They were kneeling in front of each other, their faces almost touching. The fiery cityscape behind Webb continued belching smoke into the sky. Barely any time had passed – a few seconds perhaps, or a minute at most. Everything was quiet as if she had gone deaf or the air had burnt out of the atmosphere, leaving a silent vacuum.

What just happened? That wasn’t a dream. Those were memories. His memories. Why did I see them? Did he see mine, too?

Webb came out of his trance. His hand dropped from Alex’s forehead. The connection broke. Sound returned. The noise was overwhelming at first: the crackling of fire, the roar of burning and collapsing buildings, and distant screams from down in the streets. She closed her eyes and waited. The noises gradually receded into the background. The cold and hunger were gone. The black lines on her hands and wrists were no longer prominent and ugly but they persisted beneath her skin.

The wound below her right knee had stopped bleeding. She tugged away Webb’s makeshift bandage. A dark scab had formed over the gash. The black fluid from the cut was drying to her leg. She reached down and felt it. Her hand came away with a thick smear. She brought it up to her nose, smelled it, examined it, and then wiped her hands together to clear it away. To her surprise, the substance crumbled like dirt before blowing away as dust in the breeze.

Webb groaned and held the side of his face where she had struck him with her handgun. He began to wobble on his knees and tip over. Alex took hold of his shoulders to steady him. Then she realized what she was doing and recoiled with such force that she fell backward.

Her left hand came to rest near the body of Specialist Fleming. A submachine gun lay next to his corpse. She lunged for the weapon and picked it up. She found the gun’s charging handle, yanked it to the rear and then released it. Alex pointed the weapon at Webb.

“What did you do to me? What was that?”

Webb took a moment to regain his bearings. “So, you saw it, too.” He did not seem worried by the submachine gun. He did not even look at it.

“What did you see?”

“You,” he replied cryptically.

“Tell me what you saw!” She had not meant to shout but she was angry. The idea he had been inside of her head was revolting. She felt violated. There were memories that were hers alone, things she did not want anyone else to see, thoughts and feelings that gave her strength, that made her sad, and that held intense emotional value. They were private… or had been before his invasion.

“I saw… your mother,” Webb said. “She died. I saw you growing up in Cheyenne Mountain. I saw a baseball game where you smashed a kid’s face with a ball. You demolished an aircraft at Peterson. Someone named Agent Ellzey asked you to join Captain Shepherd’s team. You trained for it. You made it. You were up on a stage with your father. After that everything fell apart.”

“Is that all? That’s all you saw?”

“There were other things. Flashes. Nothing important.”

“Tell me,” she said, raising the gun to reinforce her demand. She knew it was a ridiculous gesture. Webb could tear the weapon out of her hand if he wanted, and there was nothing she would be able to do to stop him.

“Like I said, I saw you… growing up.” To Alex’s surprise, he seemed embarrassed.

God. What did he see? My first period? The ‘chat’ with Dad a few days later?

She lowered the gun.

“And what did you see?” Webb said.

She was hesitant to reply. The memories were disturbing: the image of disgust on her father’s face, the callous way he had ordered Webb’s death, and the execution of the old doctor. She shook her head. “I… I know what you did. You don’t fool me. You… made up all of it somehow. It’s all lies just like everything else.”

Webb chuckled. “You saw your father, didn’t you? You saw what he did. You call me a monster, but you should investigate how many people are dead because of him. You asked me once why I hate the Directorate. Now you have your answer.” He gestured around them at the burning city. “As if this wasn’t enough.”

Metal groaned within the demolished east side of the Executive Residence. The building shook. Then the groan became a roar as something collapsed, breaking through the lower floors and releasing dust and soot to join the smoke. Martin and Resnick were down there somewhere in a bunker. And what about Shepherd? Webb had told her he was somewhere in the city, somewhere out in the ruins of what had once been the capital of the United States. For all she knew, he could be trapped in one of the burning structures, locked in a cell and forgotten as the building came down around him.

Why did we do this? Who ordered this? Harrison? The Committee? Did they find out I got captured? Did they do this to get me back? But why attack Washington? Even if it is their capital… We’re trying to rebuilding the country, not… not this.

She pictured the New England Alliance’s invasion force, now bolstered by General Park’s 2nd Armored Brigade. The Directorate had lost fifteen percent of its active-duty combat personnel at Kansas City, but they had also lost their tanks, their APCs, and their aircraft. The men and equipment at Colorado Springs weren’t nearly enough to repel an invasion. As soon as the soldiers of the NEA found out about the attack on Washington, they would want to level Cheyenne Mountain, raze Colorado Springs, and wipe out all traces of the Directorate. It was exactly what she had wanted to do to the NEA.

“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,” Alex murmured.

She had to get out of Washington. She had to make it back to Colorado before the battle started. If she didn’t, the war would destroy everything, and it would be more than just burning buildings and ruined infrastructure. It would be the soldiers, too, those on both sides, and any civilians caught in-between.

A plan began to manifest in her thoughts. She considered the courses of action, the logistics, the obstacles, and the pros and cons. Shepherd did the same when he planned their missions. Except this was not something she could do alone. At Fort Riley, she had shrugged off bullets and had walked through enemy lines without a scratch. Here, she had fought back the Committee’s drones and had prevented the annihilation of Washington. But she had lost control. She had given up her restraint of that hunger, that desire. Only one thing had saved the city’s inhabitants: Colonel Aaron Webb.

She had vowed to find Webb and kill him for what he had done. Nicole’s injury provided even more reason to carry out that vow. And here he was, right in front of her. The submachine gun was still in her hands. She could catch him by surprise, raise the gun, and pull the trigger.

But you can’t. Not anymore. Not if you want to end all this. Not unless you want to risk losing control again. And you can’t. You can’t take that risk. You need him. If something goes wrong, there has to be someone that can intervene, that can shut you off if it comes to that.

“Can you take me to General Martin?” she said.

“Why?”

“You said Captain Shepherd is here in Washington. Is that true?”

“Yes, although I can hardly guarantee his condition at this point.”

“I want you to release him. I want you to get me a flight back to Colorado.”

Webb studied her for a moment. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“I just saved this city.” However, as she looked out at the burning skyline, she realized the hollowness of her statement.

“So what do you propose? That we hand you back to the Directorate? I hope your leadership is ready for quite the prisoner exchange.” She knew he was only humoring her request. His lips curved in a slight smile. Somehow, Webb’s demeanor had changed since the exchange of memories.

No! the voice inside argued. It wasn’t an exchange. He forced it on you. He took things that were yours and all he gave back were lies. Except her instincts told her it had happened just as she had seen it. The memories were real. That brief moment, which had seemed at the time like hours, days, or perhaps years, had been something intimate and beyond their control. It was something she would have hesitated to share even with Shepherd or her father. The experience did not erase what Webb had done but it was difficult now to see him as a monster or a freak.

“Listen to me,” Alex said. “I have to get to Peterson. I’m tired of all this – this stupid war. It’s going to end. Now. And if you don’t help me, I’ll… I’ll…” She tried to grasp for some threat that would force Webb to help. Then, she said simply, “Please.”

Webb stared at her in surprise.

The willpower it had taken Alex to say that single word was almost enough to cause physical pain. But it was easier the second time. “Please.”

“Fine,” Webb said. “Let’s go find General Martin.”

An oppressive heat caused perspiration to break out across Alex’s forehead as she stepped out of the Humvee and onto the tarmac of Andrews Air Force Base. Burning helicopters and cargo planes spewed black smoke along the flight line. The drones had demolished the installation during their attack. Washington burned ten miles to the west. Curtains of soot and ash obscured the city.

Webb followed Alex out of the vehicle and then went to the front to help Martin. Alex looked around, shielding her face from the eye-watering gusts of hot, smoky air. She spotted an old rundown C-130, the only intact aircraft anywhere along the apron. And standing next to the ramp was Captain Ryan Shepherd.

Alex ran from Humvee toward the cargo plane. Shepherd’s eyes widened with surprise. She collided with his chest and embraced him. He returned the hug. Then she brought her mouth to his and closed her eyes. They kissed. She smelled his sweat and body odor, the unwashed uniform, the dirt and grime. But it was not unpleasant. She let herself forget where she was, who was watching, and what might be ahead in Colorado. She focused only on the feeling of their lips pressed together and Shepherd’s arms around her body. When the kiss ended, she opened her eyes. Shepherd smiled. For the first time, his scream did not echo in her mind when she looked at his face and saw the scar. She wanted more, wanted to be somewhere alone with him, anywhere but on the tarmac. The feeling was familiar. It was how she had felt in Kansas City, at Fort Riley, and just an hour ago on the roof of the White House. Then she heard Martin and Webb approaching. She let go of Shepherd and stepped back.

“Alex,” Shepherd began, “why are you here? How did you…?”

That’s a long story, she thought but then said, “I came for you.”

Shepherd looked at Webb and then at Martin who was lagging behind. Shepherd’s right arm twitched as if reaching for something on his hip that was no longer there. Alex noticed his attention focused squarely on Martin. The mission. Harrison sent the team to Fort Riley to kill Martin. Shepherd came around to Alex’s side, half positioning himself between her and the two men.

“If I was going to hurt your girlfriend, Captain,” Webb began with amusement, “I would have done it already.”

“You could try,” Alex said in a dry voice.

“What’s going on?” Shepherd said.

“We’re going back to Colorado,” she said.

“And you’re just letting us go?” Shepherd said to Martin.

Martin shrugged. “It’s becoming something of a habit, isn’t it?”

“You’re not going alone,” Webb said. “I’m coming with you.” Then he looked uncertainly at Martin. Alex thought back over the past hour. After the drones’ retreat, crowds of infantry had arrived in Humvees and lumbering CH-53 helicopters to surround the White House. They had found Martin and President Resnick emerging from the ruins of the East Wing. The rage in Resnick’s eye had put Alex on guard. He had ordered Webb to take Alex to a secure facility for lockdown. After that, he boarded one of the helicopters and departed. It was only then, away from the other soldiers, that she had spoken to Martin.

I’ll do what it takes to end this. Those drones will be back. They might not attack here, but they’re going to hit something. They might be headed to Colorado right now. I don’t want any more people to die. If you get me back home, I promise I’ll end this war.

Webb had said, Just how do you intend to do that?

I don’t know, she said. I’ll force both sides to end the fighting if I have to.

How do we know you’ll follow through? Webb said. You might find it… convenient to disable our entire invasion force and let your military clean us off the battlefield.

General, she said without looking at Webb, I’m not lying. I promise. In that church, you said you wanted my help. You took me to the White House so that I could see, didn’t you? The NEA isn’t going to end the war peacefully and neither is the Directorate. It wasn’t going to happen then and it’s definitely not going to happen now. That’s why you brought me here. You wanted me to force them to end it. You don’t want anyone else to get hurt, either. So give me the chance.

Martin had smiled with an expression of relief and perhaps even pride before saying, Colonel, I need you to contact Andrews. Get us a plane to Colorado.

Martin and Webb had argued during the drive out of Washington. Martin wanted to accompany them on the flight west. Webb was adamant that Martin should follow Resnick to Massachusetts. Neither of the men would budge. To Alex, it sounded more like an argument between father and son than a general officer and his subordinate.

“You’ll have my company as well,” Martin said to Shepherd. Webb shook his head but kept silent. “I need to be there on the ground if we’re going to end this.”

“End?” Shepherd said.

Alex took Shepherd’s hand. “When we were in Salina, when you told me about Dodge City, you said you didn’t quit because you wanted to try and make up for it. I… killed all those people in Kansas City. It was my fault. Ellzey might have started it but I kept it going. I don’t know if I can make up for that, but I’m going to try. I’m going to stop the fighting. No one else has to die.”

“General Anderson and General Park will hit Colorado Springs in a few hours,” Webb said. “It’s going to take us longer than that to fly there, and I have no idea where we’ll find a landing strip to put down.”

“Aaron’s right,” Martin said. “We don’t have much time. Although… I know where we can land.”

Alex nodded, let go of Shepherd’s hand, and started up the ramp of the C-130. The men hesitated but then followed her and sat once they were inside. All of them were looking at her: Martin, her biological father, the man she had once considered the Directorate’s greatest enemy; Webb, the man who had shot her dad, had shot her, and had almost killed her best friend; and Shepherd, who had been the leader of her team and was now something more. She looked at their expressions, their eyes, even Webb with his black membrane. All of them seemed to want guidance or reassurance from her that she knew what she was doing and that everything would work out. She felt she was suddenly in charge and directing the fate of the Directorate and the New England Alliance.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Shepherd whispered.

“What if I say no?” she said.

“I might decide to stick around here and see the sights. It’s been awful nice so far.”

She smiled. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“I do, but I’d sure like to know what you have planned.”

“I’ll tell you once I figure it out.”

The C-130’s cargo swung shut and the aircraft trembled as the blades of the massive turboprops spun and blurred together. Alex looked down and realized her hands were shaking. She took a breath to steady herself and then leaned against the cabin wall. Her conversation with Park lingered in her memories.

All I’ve done is hurt and kill people. Why give me these abilities if I can’t even use them to help my dad or Nicole or Captain Shepherd?

You choose how you use your abilities, not God. We all make our own decisions, and… it’s those decisions that we’ll be judged by.

Alex shut her eyes as the C-130 accelerated down the runway. If you really are up there, she thought. This would be the time to help.