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started the engine.
    “Not sure, but it’s hard to imagine making up something like Bermuda.”
    “Isn’t that in the Caribbean?”
    “Can’t remember.”
    “Do you think we can trust them?” Jim pressed.
    “Trust them? Not yet, but I believe their story.”
    “Fair enough.”
    In the minivan, Andy was behind the wheel again, and after a few minutes, Charlie had fallen back asleep.
    “You sure you’re okay?” she asked Morgan. “Is it the food? Or the water, maybe?”
    “No, it’s not any of that,” Morgan shook her head. She looked down at her delicate hands. Her face crumpled and tears sprang from her eyes.
    Andy now understood. She reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered. “I’ll make sure everything’s okay.”
    Morgan wiped her eyes and nodded. “Just don’t say anything to Charlie? I don’t want him to know—not yet, anyway.”
    “Of course,” Andy replied, employing her bravest tone despite her own distress. What were the odds? One in a thousand? Ten thousand? A million? Part of her wanted to go back to Bermuda just to find those boys and put a bullet in each of them.
    They drove on in silence. Relieved of her secret, Morgan drifted off, leaving Andy alone with her thoughts. The sun disappeared over her left shoulder as the minivan continued along the Interstate. It was uncomfortably hot, and she felt like her skin couldn’t breathe. Even with windows rolled down, the rushing wind offered little relief.
    The events of the past few days replayed like a movie in her head. The rotting body in the car. The horrific state of the Washington Monument. Being shot at by faceless, nameless strangers, then killing some of them. Ben saying, There’s really no America anymore. What did that even mean? Did countries no longer exist because those who were once in power were now dead? And did anyone even care about such things anymore, or had daily survival consumed everyone’s thoughts that there was no longer room for anything else?
    In Bermuda, she and her friends had struggled to survive, but they still managed to fill their days with meaning: reading, learning, and teaching. Without this, they would have been little more than animals, fighting each day just to live to the next, and Andy couldn’t help thinking that this was the only future she had to look forward to.
    More tired than she could ever remember, she leaned against the open window with her elbow and cradled her head in her left hand. The temperature began to fall as the sun made its western descent, and the air coming through the window now was refreshing. For a few miles, her mind became mercifully blank. With both Charlie and Morgan now sound asleep, a welcome serenity enveloped her for a few peaceful moments.
    Then her mind drifted to the two young men inside of the truck she now followed. They seemed nice enough, but there was definitely something mysterious about them, especially Ben with his reticent demeanor. Andy presumed he often avoided personal questions and topics, preferring instead to throw the attention back on someone or something else. His cousin, Jim, seemed less guarded and friendlier.
    They didn’t look like cousins, or any blood relation for that matter. Both were handsome and about Andy’s age. Ben was at least six-one or six-two, and looked strong enough to lift twice her weight with ease. He reminded her of a younger, but rougher version of Clark Kent, with his dark brown hair and memorable blue eyes. A Superman in a worn T-shirt, tattered jeans, and dirt under his nails.
    Jim was just a tad shorter than Ben and leaner, though still sturdy. His sandy blond hair was cut short like a soldier’s, and his eyes were either green or hazel…Andy couldn’t recall. And despite their initial argument over the food, he had a boyish charm that made him instantly likeable.
    Her thoughts were interrupted by the minivan’s slow but steady decline in speed. After checking