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even.
    “Jacob, his buddy’s obviously not coming back,” the man who’d walked up said, his voice louder now. “We need to let this one try. What other choice do we have?”
    “Come on! Where are you?” the man holding the rifle—Jacob—yelled.
    “Let’s just go,” the other man said. “He’s not coming. We’re wasting time.”
    Jacob grunted in frustration and then lowered his rifle. After twisting Pax around, another conversation ensued, again too low for Robert to hear. When it ended, Jacob shoved Pax toward the Albino Mer .
    The only time in his life Robert had felt more helpless was when he realized Dominic had contracted the Sage Flu. From his hiding spot, he watched as Jacob led Pax onto the boat, while the other four retrieved several suitcases from the bus and carried them to the ferry.
    As the two women untied the lines holding the boat to the pier, the engine kicked to life. For a few moments, the Albino Mer simply drifted in place. Finally, the rumble of the motor increased and the ferry pulled slowly away.
    Robert noticed activity along the opposite side of the boat. He couldn’t tell what was going on at first, but when the ferry cleared the end of the dock and turned to the northeast, he saw two of the kidnappers repositioning the speedboat he and Pax had arrived in so that it could be towed behind them.
    Robert waited until the ferry disappeared behind the cruise ships before stepping out from the building. If he didn’t already have proof the world had changed, he had it now.
    Pax’s kidnappers had made a serious mistake, though.
    They had taken the boat Robert needed to help his people.
    Perhaps old-world Robert—the one who had to worry only about himself—would have done nothing.
    But, like the changing world, he wasn’t the same anymore, either.

5
     
    SURVIVAL STATION, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
    FROM THE JOURNAL OF BELINDA RAMSEY
    ENTRY DATE—JANUARY 5, NOON CST
     
S INCE MY LAST entry yesterday evening, three more people have been added to our waiting area. This is the fewest new arrivals since I got here. I’m not sure if that means there’s just no one else alive or what. Still, three more adds to our strain. There are already too many survivors here for the bunks we’ve been given. Noah pointed this out to one of the guards, but they basically told him to shut up.
 
I don’t know how many additional arrivals may have been added to the other area. I tried to get a count, but since most everyone over there seems to be sick, they pretty much go straight inside their dormitory and only a few come back out. There were at least four, though. Could have been double that, I guess.
 
It’s strange listening to the new people. They’re all excited and relieved. They can’t believe they made it. I remember feeling that way just a few days ago. How quickly things change, huh?
 
The question they all ask is how long until they get vaccinated? They can’t believe it when we tell them that none of us has received the shot. They make up the same excuses we all have—that the vaccine hasn’t arrived at the station yet, or the supply is limited so the UN wants to make sure we’re healthy first to prevent wasting any on someone it won’t help.
 
I still want to believe it’s one of these things, but it’s becoming harder and harder. Those who have been here longer than me have completely given up hope.
 
This morning we had something new thrown into our usually dull days. As we were given our breakfast, we were each handed a packet. Inside were about twenty sheets of paper stapled together, a pencil, and a Scantron card like something one of my college professors would use for tests. Printed at the top of each page of the packet was SURVIVOR SURVEY , and below were several multiple-choice questions.
 
The questions seem to be aimed at finding out about our backgrounds and skills. The multiple-choice aspect makes it a bit limiting, though, not letting you explain or elaborate on