By the time we reached downtown, we still had six hours of daylight left. We met up with Felipe, Margot, and Gabe. The latter honked once when we stopped by the intersection, and I realized they were driving back to the mansion. We trailed behind them, dropping the food in the mansion.

They didn't take the news, which made our plan to Albany trickier, especially with our plan about the armory. Clemons was the only man we could trust who would know where it was (and maybe, if I played my cards right, allow us to get some weapons). Mostly everything hinged on Clemons using his credentials to take us away from the area, but our escape got narrower. A drive to the border was equally dangerous compared to facing a full-on vector horde.

But like all hiccups, we had to improvise. Hell, most of my fucking plans since New York had been improvised, and it certainly worked out well for itself. If we had to find the armory, there was a high chance we would have to stay for the night.

A lot of people were not pleased with the plan. They thought about the vector horde moving north and how they could stumble upon us without warning. However, we were outgunned if we did get attacked, and that meant a bullet was all it took to save our asses, and West Point had everything we would need to keep our limbs intact.

No one argued after that.

We fleshed out the details when Miguel suggested it would not be enough to search the armory with only Logan, Luke, Yousef, and me. Two or three more people were needed, and Aria quickly volunteered, surprising Logan and me.

"The boys there hadn't had lunch yet," she said. "I made some food here. Bacon, waffles, and chicken tenders. Might as well give Luke and Yousef some."

I nodded, knowing that wasn't all why she wanted to go. I hid a smile, thinking if Aria really was smitten with Yousef. I wondered what the boy had done to impress her so much.

Miguel volunteered (and argued why he shouldn't be assigned to babysitting duty), and Gabe proposed to bring the boat out onto the middle of the water. Staying on land posed a high risk than staying in the water.

Two more volunteers stepped forward—Alfie and Steve. I was surprised that the old man offered himself for the job. He had done whatever he could for his granddaughter. Steve felt better that Gabe was in the boat to watch over her, and he wanted to help. Gabe was none too pleased, but I sensed that he couldn't argue his grandfather out of his decision.

In the end, we packed into the Jeep.

"Keep the boat's radio on channel 19. Wait for our word if the campus is clear once we find a CB radio," Logan told Gabe.

Gabe nodded. "Tomorrow morning, if I still don't get a word from either of you, I'll sail the boat to the south dock of campus at eight AM sharp. You won't miss it as it's at the bottom of the campus hill. Very easy to spot. I will wait for fifteen minutes there. If none of you show up—" he choked up when his eyes locked to his grandfather, "I will take the rest to Albany by boat. I will protect them."

Steve smiled from the backseat, leaned forward, and patted Gabe's hand by the open passenger seat's window. "Quit being fucking dramatic, Gabriel. I will drag these kids myself in body bags if I have to, so don't be so grim and ruin a perfectly sunny fucking day," Steve said with as much sincerity and tenderness that all Gabe could do was laugh.

—

Luke and Yousef planned to be in the southern area from campus, so we looked there. We took Thayer Road until we reached the West Point guard gate, but it sat empty. Logan drove through it. It took us a few seconds to spot the blue BMW with its shiny gleam, which stuck out in a row of dull colors.

The Thayer Hotel was a historic building made of granite and bricks, five stories high, with over 151 rooms reserved for tourists, weddings, and corporate-sponsored events. We were supposed to stay there with my dad when we visited the campus, but Major Clemons insisted that we stay at his house instead.

When I entered the premises, it was as if I stepped into the past, in the 19th century, with portrait paintings of past presidents and military leaders gracing the walls. It was not a surprise to find Luke and Yousef hovering around the bar.

Luke poured me a quarter amount of the most expensive-looking whiskey bottle I saw and handed the glass to me and the others. Steve and Alfie did not hesitate to gulp down the liquor as if fearing it was not real. And then they smiled at each other, sharing the burn. I accepted Luke's glass. I rarely drank before, only during parties, but I did not think it was a good idea to drink now when we had more pressing matters to do.

Logan did not hesitate when Luke poured him one.

Fuck it—liquid courage.

I emptied the content. I wasn't a lightweight, and maybe I could stomach eight shot glasses for the night before I went down, so the tiny amount Luke gave me was barely an inconvenience. It still burned, my first time drinking whiskey, and I learned then that it was not my taste. I wasn't a fan.

Aria refused the drink. Even at parties, I had never seen her drink. She was always that sober person in the group while Natalie was the complete opposite, the permanent designated driver of the clique. Maybe it was still ingrained in her. But Carson and Natalie were both gone, and I was tempted to tell her that. I held my tongue. Maybe she just didn't have a taste for liquor. She happily gave Luke and Yousef a Tupperware filled with bacon, waffles, and chicken tenders, and the two gladly picked them apart.

"You, my friends, just drank a four hundred dollar bottle of whiskey!" Luke exclaimed.

"But not a fan," I said, clearing my throat. Logan handed me a Sprite can from the refrigerator underneath the counter. I opened the can and drank it, washing off the taste of whiskey from my tongue.

"How long have you two been drinking?" I asked. Luke and Yousef didn't look drunk.

"Just right now. We waited for you to share the bottle. I thought the BMW would give away our location, so we waited," Luke said.

"And I've been eyeing these beauties for a long, long time," Yousef beckoned to the shelves and shelves of liquor, mixing with the more expensive brands like trophies. "But I had enough restraint to wait for you all. Plus, it's a bad idea to get drunk at this moment." He locked eyes with Aria, and his cheeks turned a tad pale pink. "That would be so freaking embarrassing if I were."

I gave them a small smile, pleased that they had the common sense not to chug an entire bottle.

"Plus, this was more of a celebratory drink," Luke said.

"Did something happen?" Miguel asked.

Luke grinned. "Most definitely. The campus is empty. We walked there ourselves."

"I specifically said to only scout the outer perimeters."

"I know we waited for you. We really did. But I thought maybe you got caught up in something, so we took a closer look, then a hundred meters turned to a hundred more, and we realized we were passing by Grant Hall. Then, I was on the campus itself."

"And please let it be known that I tried to prevent this idiot from doing so," Yousef added, nodding his head at me. I realized he was probably scared that I would blow up on them from anger. That was farther from the truth. I was impressed they took the initiative.

"So they did evacuate the school," Logan said.

My stomach sank a little. I wasn't going to see Pete again after all. And worse, Major Clemons was not here.

Luke nodded to Logan. "As I thought. Five thousand cadets are five thousand soldiers strong. No one is stupid enough to pass that up, even the governor."

"Bunch of pricks," Steve groaned. "They couldn't be bothered to evacuate my town and my friends. You say this only happen two days ago, Bren?"

I nodded.

"Yeah. I stand by that. A bunch of pussies and pricks. These prepubescent fuckers could have the chance of warning even just one of us what might happen, and it could have saved lives." Steve said, shaking his head. He strode toward the bar and poured himself a tiny amount of whiskey. "The last one is for my arthritis," he said, turning to me.

I shook my head a little and smiled. At least Steve and I shared an opinion on how the government fucked up in this crisis. Had they thought that all these countless sacrifices might not matter in the end? Maybe they did, and they probably patted themselves on the back, deluding themselves that they were saving the lives of many.

It was one of those rare things where I wished to be proven wrong.

"An empty campus isn't something to celebrate since we've already gathered that," I said. "There's something else, isn't it?"

Luke grinned. "You should see what they left behind."

—

I entered the main campus and saw abandoned green pavilions and tents, some with the Red Cross symbols to indicate a medic center, and there was trash littered around the large field. I saw the same military buses parked at the side, the identical vehicles used to shuttle the residents of Highland Falls. Now I knew where they were sent to. I realized some of the trash was luggage from the residents who brought it there.

In the middle of the field were various indentations of helicopters that might have touched down there; the mid-length grass spread out from the blades forcing the air downward. Some were larger than others, which gave me the impression that the residents were transferred to the aircraft, shuttling them again to somewhere unknown. Tire tracks were evident on the pavement; some were thicker than the others, possibly from trucks or something heavy-duty.

It was impossible to cover as much ground as we could in half a day if we're grouped together, which meant we had to split up. I ensured that each group had a member who carried a gun, which meant having to split the group into four.

Miguel, Luke, Logan, and I were the ones with the experience, and so each of us would have to lead. Yousef trusted Luke to keep Aria safe, so Aria went with the latter, albeit hesitating. Yousef went with Logan. Steve chose to go with Miguel. The old man seemed not too worried about everything and struck a conversation about the best grilling methods for various meats when he found out Miguel was a cook. Alfie went with me.

Fortunately, it looked like the soldiers left in a hurry, which meant they would leave a trail where the armory was located. They might have cleaned it out already, or they might not. If it was the former, our mission was drastically reduced in time, and we would use the trucks and what was left of the uniforms to disguise ourselves toward Albany—but without the weapons. If it was the latter, then the only difference was that we were packing heat instead of sitting ducks.

I didn't send them out just to look for the armory, though. I made sure that they would take note of anything unusual they might find. We planned to meet up at the George Washington Monument in front of Washington Hall. We would then report what we saw, including where the food was (if there's any left), what vehicles worked, and any vectors wandering nearby (and maybe other survivors that got left behind). From that, we were on our own for two hours.

Alfie tested his spiked baseball bat. Gabe had given back the hatchet to him, which now hung snugly on his hip, tethered by his belt. He fiddled with his NY Giants baseball cap and nodded to me. We walked toward the north of campus.

Alfie cleared his throat. "I've meant to ask, but how old are you, Bren?"

"I'm seventeen."

His mouth hung open for a moment, but he quickly caught it. "I, uh, that's very surprising."

"What did you think my age was?"

"Twenty-one, I think. You look older for your age."

"A week in a hell-hole will do that to you."

It took him a few seconds to get what I was saying. Then he nodded, probably thinking he'd look worse once this was all over too.

"How old are you then?" I asked.

"Twenty-two."

"You look older than that. Maybe because of that beard."

Alfie smiled. "I thought you were a police officer. It seems that way whenever you order them around," Alfie said softly.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not their leader."

Alfie did not say anything, leaving me with silence. I thought he was going to disagree, but he held his tongue.

"Does that make you feel better or worse?" I asked.

"Oddly, it doesn't matter. You can kill them, can't you? That's what I heard from Yousef. You took more of those things than the rest of them, heard how easy it was for you to use that shotgun." He pointed at my weapon. "Now that I think of it, I feel a little better."

"I...I hardly count those kinds of things. It's either them or me, you know? No contest."

Alfie frowned. "I had only killed three: my roommate and a couple of my neighbors. The rest I swung to get away with but not killed outright. Maybe that's why Bethany died because I thought I was hurting sick, innocent people who can be cured. Maybe if I had your thinking, she would still be alive, and I could have saved her."

I turned around and softened my voice. "It's alright, Alfie. People react to horrifying events differently. I won't judge you for that. All you got to do now is pick yourself up and deal with what will come next."

Alfie chuckled. "Now you sound like my therapist."

We spent our time in silence, looking around and taking mental notes of anything suspicious. We saw more of the same things: abandoned luggage, evacuation flyers, unoccupied tents, and maybe a few canned foods left. I found an extra magazine, but the bullets were only good for the rifle, which I did not have. Still, I put it in my bag so I could give it to Logan later.

After a few minutes of walking down Ruger road, I noticed that Alfie stopped following me.

I turned around and saw him staring at the vast parking lot in front of the Eisenhower Hall Theatre. There were not many cars on the lot, filled only by a few abandoned tents and more triage and medical pavilions than usual. I jogged back to where Alfie was.

"Saw something?" I asked.

"Yeah, I think," Alfie said, unsure. He didn't let his eyes stray away from the parking lot.

"What was it?"

"A man. He saw us and ran back toward that building." Alfie pointed to the theater.

So, not a vector then, I thought. Normal vectors, the adults, would not stop until someone's dead. If it were a child, it'd be a different matter.

"Maybe someone got left behind?"

"Or bitten."

"Did you get a good look at him?"

"He was wearing a military uniform."

My heart started to race. If the army were still here, I wouldn't stand a chance fighting them with just my shotgun and Alfie's baseball bat. "Just one?"

"One. He looks scared. We locked eyes, and then he ran away fast." Alfie pointed to the wide stairs leading up to the foyer where the entrance doors stood.

I looked at my clock. We've only been gone for half an hour, and I didn't know where the others could have gone. We were supposed to meet in an hour and a half, but that seemed like a long way. Right then, I wished we had a CB radio to communicate with each other. I thought of firing a shot to bring everyone to my location, but that meant that the soldiers (if there were some left on campus) would know where I am.

I walked down the slope toward the parking lot. Alfie stiffened behind me, but he soon followed close to my trail.

"What if he starts shooting?" Alfie asked.

"Then I'm going to shoot right back, and he's going to regret it."

We carefully walked through the parking lot, looking out that some soldiers might ambush us. I was shaking a little from the adrenaline pumping in me, and if Alfie noticed, he was kind enough not to mention it. He had his hatchet at the ready instead of the baseball bat. He probably thought that he didn't have any projectile, so that he would throw the hatchet instead.

Another part of me thought that the soldier might be Peter, and then my mind swam on all the possibilities he got left behind, whether it was voluntary or was he ordered to do it. And a part of me, the angry and bitter part, thought that Peter might have gone AWOL, and if he did, it would be the most cowardly thing Peter had ever done, just like how he abandoned me to the sharks in school after we were outed.

I felt guilty for feeling happy from that, standing on a higher ground than him. He never called, and he never consoled me, even when I tried to do the same for him. He thought of me as a disease rather than accepting it, and like any disease, he got rid of it. Ride or die, remember, huh, Peter? I thought.

I reached the first step.

"Stop right there! Drop your weapon!"

A voice—a man's voice—that was most definitely not Peter Gauthier ordered from behind the entrance door. I saw it moved a little, parting to reveal the muzzle of a rifle.

Alfie and I froze on the spot, raising our hands. I let the shotgun hanging around my neck in front of me.

"We're not infected!" I shouted.

"I said drop your weapon!" He said.

I looked at my police vest and had an idea.

Steadying my voice, I said, "I am Officer Brendan Watts of the NYPD, Midtown South Precinct. Badge number: one-three-three-five." I added the latter by random and raised my hand a little higher, giving him a full view of the vest I was carrying.

It just so happened I was wearing darker clothes that had long sleeves, so it looked like I was wearing a police uniform. However, the tan-colored pants were a different matter, clearly dressed appropriately for a formal event than a shootout. But given the vantage point he had up the stairs, he wouldn't be able to see that.

I added, "I am transporting dozens of survivors from the city to a safe zone. I am told this is one of those safe zones." The last part I had to guess, given what we've seen. The school had turned into a shelter, albeit temporarily.

A pause. "You're too young to be a police officer, Officer Watts."

"I'm an overachiever."

"And you are a long way from home. You're supposed to be under quarantine behind the line."

"You should have seen New York."

"No, thanks. Even with your badge, you do not have jurisdiction here."

"Listen, I'm not sure if you've heard, but the city's gone. They bombed it, or should I say, you boys did. We're just the lucky fuckers who got away."

"Then, I should kill you right now for breaking quarantine."

"Shouldn't you be arresting me first? Or did the governor ordered to kill civilians on sight now? That seems unconstitutional."

The soldier thought about that for a moment and said, "You could be one of them."

"So you've seen them then? The sick?"

Another pause. "Yes."

"Then you know they don't talk. If I were one of them, I wouldn't be talking to you right now. The moment you shouted at me, I would pounce on you in a heartbeat and eat you. But I'm not going to because I'm not sick."

"You could be bitten."

"Shall I strip for you then?"

The gun was still pointed directly at me, and his sights might be at my throat or my head. Either one would be fatal.