The day is sunny and hot, a mild breeze just enough to keep her forehead from dotting with sweat. Lacy swipes her water bottle from the basket on the front of her bicycle – one of the two they retrieved from the shed in the backyard at Eva’s grandmother’s house – and takes a long gulp. She twists the cap back on and returns it to the basket. The beach is sparsely populated at this hour, and as she peers out toward the crashing waves, she watches what must be one of the last biplanes meandering along, towing an advertisement for a happy hour special at Barney’s Bar and Grill. The plane is red, but in the fading evening light, the sun’s glow causes it to appear rusty.

“Ha!” she laughs, pointing to Eva. “It’s not even happy hour anymore. That was like, two hours ago.”

Eva smiles, then frowns. “How do you even know what happy hour is? You’re seventeen!”

“So.” The breeze tosses a few strands of hair into Lacy’s face and she tucks them behind her left ear. “I’ve been to a happy hour and even got served.”

Eva frowns again. “Bullshit.”

“It’s true. My sister gave me her old ID and it got me in. I even got hit on by some guy who was like, thirty.”

“Some pervert.”

“Yeah,” said Lacy. Both girls break out in laughter.

They’d been standing on the boardwalk, their bikes parked beside them, for the better half of an hour. People were milling about, buying popcorn, cotton candy, soda, all in preparation for the big show. It’s the fourth of July and Eva and Lacy, at the boardwalk railing, have staked claim to the best seats for the fireworks.

“He told you he’d be here, right?” asks Lacy.

“That’s what he said,” confirms Eva.

Laughing, Lacy says, “I can’t believe you asked him right there in line at the register. His face was so red. Talk about being on the hot seat!”

“My plan all along. Ask him on the spot, get him into an awkward situation. More liable to say yes.”

“Oh please! He was saying yes, no matter what. He was drooling over you.”

“Stop it,” cried Eva, chuckling. “He’s not that kind of guy…he’s nice. And cute.”

As if suddenly remembering something she’d forgotten, Eva turns to Lacy. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t ask if he had a friend.”

Lacy waves her off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine being a third wheel for my friend. I’ll just sneak away, get lost in the crowd,” she adds, sarcastically.

“Stop! You’re making me feel worse than I already do.”

Lacy looks past Eva. “Actually…looks like I’ll be a fifth wheel.”

Eva’s forehead wrinkles, then she spins around. “Hey, Alex!” she cries.

The guy she’d met earlier at Womack’s grocery store walks up wearing a goofy grin, his eyebrows raised, as if to say, “Oh, shucks.” He’s holding hands with two toddlers.

“Hey!” he says. “I’m really sorry, but I have to watch my brother and sister. My mom got hung up at work and has to stay late.” He shrugs. “Maybe we can hang out another time?”

“Hi!” Eva says to the children, not seeming to pay Alex any attention. Then then turns to him. “Or…” says Eva slyly, “…maybe I can help you watch them. That way we can still be together.”

Alex beams. “Really? You’re okay with that?”

Scowling, Eva chirps, “Sure – it’s no big deal.”

As Alex introduces his siblings, Henry and Annabelle, Eva takes the girl in her arms and props her up onto the boardwalk railing. The girl giggles.

Wow, what a way to ruin a first date, thinks Lacy. She smiles, imagining being caught off guard like Eva just was. I wouldn’t be able to handle it as well. I wouldn’t be able to hide my disappointment.

Then she thinks that Eva probably isn’t disappointed at all. She actually seems to be enjoying the kids being here. She must really like this guy. Weird. She just met him today.

“Oh,” says Eva. “This is my friend, Lacy.” Alex waves and says hello.

“Hi Alex, nice to meet…all of you.”

“Yeah, sorry if I ruined your night,” he says. Eva shoots her a disapproving glare.

“No, don’t be silly,” replies Lacy. She realizes it doesn’t sound all that sincere but smiles at him anyway. Then Lacy sees Alex’s eyes light up, as if with a wave of relief. They move away from hers. He’s looking at something beyond her. Eva follows his stare.

“Oh, this is my buddy,” says Alex.

Lacy turns and watches a stocky – well, chubby is more like it – guy walking toward them. He’s wearing a white tee shirt, khaki shorts and sneakers. He has red hair. There’s something about his walk that instantly appeals to Lacy. Something in the way he carries himself. Like he doesn’t take shit from anyone. He stops beside her.

“Hi,” he says, offering his hand. As she reaches to take it, Lacy worries his grip might disappoint; her being a girl possibly causing him to overcompensate and become limp wristed. However, she is pleased to find his grip is firm. He smiles, and Lacy is drawn to its warmth. “I’m Massimo,” he adds, “but you can call me Mo.”

*********

She sits in a dark corridor, starring at her hands, flat on her lap. She looks up and sees others seated near her; maybe less than ten. They seem to be underground, in a tunnel. Lacy senses they are waiting for something to happen.

Overhead, wires run along the walls and every twenty feet there is a mounted light, providing meager visibility. Everything is charcoal gray; the ceiling, the floor, the walls. There appear to be bits of the grayness floating down, drifting in the air like dark, contaminated snow. She is wearing protective gear: a suit and helmet with a clear visor, although it is filmed with a fine coat of dust.

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Someone coughs nearby. She glances toward them, then spots a man approaching. Mo. She stands to greet him.

In protective gear of his own, she notices he’s hurrying. The tunnel rumbles, shaking loose more of the gray debris from the ceiling. The lights flicker, go out, then glow again, dimmer than before. Mo reaches her and takes her arm, swinging her around and they leave the others’ company, heading for the far end of the corridor.

“It’s time to move,” he says.

“What’s happening?” askes Lacy, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “Did they-”

Mo cuts her off. “No.”

“Oh Christ,” she mumbles.

“And the Sentries are almost here,” he adds, grimly.

The Sentries – towering, killing robots.

They enter through a heavy steel doorway which is immediately sealed behind them by Watley. The tunnel trembles again, this time much severer than any before. It sounds as though the corridor they just came from has given way and there is shouting. Gun fire.

“Hurry!” yells Mo. They sprint. At the end of this corridor is a large room, with a high ceiling. Gray is there, standing before the broad tangles of a withering vine. Dying leaves are spread wide, a bright sphere of light hovering inside them.

Mo stands before Lacy and hands her his rifle. His eyes are bright but filled with dread. He swallows hard. “This is it. You have to go, now.”

“Just come with me,” says Lacy, fighting the emotion trying to choke her words.

The sound of rending metal. Crumbling of wood and stone. Heavy pounding against the steel door.

“Oh, shit!” yells Watley, backing away from it, weapon raised.

“Not much time,” says Gray, his voice deep and solemn. He’s not looking at them, but Lacy can see his eyes are ghostly white, almost glowing. “They’re right outside.”

“I don’t know how much longer he can hold it open.” He’s hollering now; the sounds of imminent death so loud. “You have to go now!” cries Mo.

A bolt rockets free from the door, slamming into Gray’s lower leg and bouncing off. It sounds like a rock thrown against a heavy tree. He seems not to notice. Watley backs up some more.

“Now,” Gray says. The orb’s light grows brighter, larger. It pulses.

A tear finally spills down Lacy’s cheek. She slings the rifle over her shoulder. “You’ll go through. Meet me there, right?”

Mo nods. “Wherever there happens to be.”

Lacy touches her visor to Mo’s. “I love you.”

The steel door yields and crashes to the floor. Watley engages. Lacy dashes into the light.

*********

Taking in harsh light, Lacy’s eyes creaked open. The light was artificial, almost bluish-white and it caused her to squint. There was dull pain at the end of her left arm. She understood that she’d been medicated; otherwise, the fire throbbing in the wound would be intolerable. Raising her head, she saw the stump ending at her left elbow, blood-soaked gauze wrapped around it.

Mo was seated beside her on a metal folding chair. Lacy wondered if he was real or a figment of her imagination. Then she recalled him pressing the searing hot blade against her wound to cauterize it. That had certainly been real, the pain fresh in her mind.

Mo was turned away from her. Grant was seated to her left and likewise, was looking elsewhere. She followed their gaze and found a large, armed man who appeared to be holding them at gunpoint.

Mitchell.

Standing next to him was Isaac, then Charles and Wes. They were back at Community.

The men were engaged in conversation, but the flow of their words only trickled into her understanding, her mind still awakening.

“Hello?” she said, although she wasn’t sure her voice had produced any sound. She tried again and Mo snapped his head toward her. He leaned close.

“Lacy…how do you feel?”

It had been so long since she’d seen him that she didn’t at first speak. She just took him in; the red beard, speckled with gray whiskers, the wrinkles of time flaring out from his caring eyes, the gently receding hairline. He was ruggedly handsome. Shed of the youthful fat he’d once owned, he now possessed the streamlined body of someone who fought to survive.

Lacy licked her dry lips. “Like someone cut off my arm,” she replied.

Mo chuckled. “Your welcome.”

She smiled.

Then she noticed Grant, who’s expression suggested relief and joy. “Good to see you’re back,” he said. Lacy was taken aback by this. She didn’t believe she’d ever seen him smile until now. Isaac spoke and Grant’s grin faded.

“You’ll all have to remain in quarantine until we understand the implications of her contact,” he grumbled. It was then that Lacy first realized that a clear barrier existed between her, Mo and Grant and the others.

It sounded like it was raining, and Lacy’s head lolled to one side, gazing through the window. Dull, bleary light seeped in; the glass marred by streams of precipitation. Grayness…bleak…ash…

She thought of her dream – no, not a dream…it had happened – and going into the orb. Her eyes grew wide and her heart sped up as she remembered encountering the plant in the road. She bolted upright, wincing at the pain ignited in her stump.

“Where’s Gus!”