The weight of the coming destruction drove Dolan past the ghosts following the routine of death. The dead seemed so solid now that he thought they might feel warm to the touch. Resisting the urge to pass a hand against one of the dead, Dolan hurried north to the woman. He could feel her fear as she hid, the emotion drawing him as efficiently as the ghosts had done earlier when they played out the tragedy for him.

Running was a habit for the big man, a part of staying sane in a strange world where thoughts could chase him from a room. He guessed he had left the family only a few minutes ago, but it was a small valley, only a few miles long and just over a mile to the far end. His legs ate up the distance rapidly, while Dolan’s breathing rose minimally. It felt good to be actively pursuing the end of this adventure, even if he was certain it was far too late to get out of the valley alive. At least the woman would not face the end alone.

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Dodging the dead and forcing his mass through thick air, he caught sight of the houses where she found tentative shelter. The wooden homes tucked behind one of the huge factories that were intently producing ammunition.

The colorful form of an ATV sat outside a factory. Dolan hoped Brock had found Paulie and Anthony.