The woman was incoherent. She lay on the stone floor, humming a nursery rhyme. How long they sat near her Dolan did not know and no longer cared. They had survived the explosion; the evidence of tragedy played out in force.

There was nothing left to fear, no ghosts to worry about. He could sense nothing in the valley beyond the stunned relief of the survivors.

Still, the events of the night made little sense; leaving with a feeling of frustration, of incomplete understanding. Why did ghosts simply want to reenact their deaths?

He leaned forward, claimed the woman’s light and shone it about the tunnel. It was more a recess in the valley that was enlarged and smoothed until it looked like a room carved from the rock.

The floor tilted away from the door to ramp a few feet down to a level chamber with a floor that was treated with concrete to give it a smooth surface.

Centered in the room was a huge bomb, so large it was almost as tall as Dolan, though it lay on its side. Lying against the bomb was a bundle of rags.

Standing, he walked to the bomb and saw it was damaged in the destruction of the valley years ago. The casing split on one side, revealing a core of wires and odd equipment. The rags held bones.

The officer must have taken shelter in this room and died.

Dolan reached out a hand to touch the casing.

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“Don’t,” Anthony watched Dolan. “Back away from it.”

It was too bad the mother had lost her equipment pack. Anthony stood and walked to Dolan, wishing he had the woman’s Geiger counter. He was tired, the death of Chris Korman symbolic of all his people who probably did not make it out of the valley. The danger lying only a few yards away did not make him panic or run from the shelter; it was just more of the hate that filled this valley to overflow tonight. The bomb made sense in a perverse sort of way. He had never actually seen an actual weapon like this unless he counted pictures from history books.

It was possible the bomb was still dangerous, certainly it kept a radioactive count, and the Geiger counter would have confirmed the danger level. At the very least, they would have to visit a hospital.

“We need to get out of here,” Anthony said evenly, his emotions worn out by the events in the valley.

“What is it?” Dolan asked as he looked at Anthony.

The Englishman walked up the ramp to the door and pushed it open, knowing the ghosts only wanted them to see what was in the vault, not trap them in here.

Coming to Anthony’s aid, Dolan pushed against the door, and it opened slowly. “What is it?” he grunted as they worked.

“I wondered why they had so much security in this valley. What else would you do if you were storing an atomic bomb?” Anthony asked in reply, then smiled. “I think they lost one.”

Looking back at the bomb, Dolan nodded in silent understanding; maybe the ghosts were tired of guarding the damn thing.

Televisions across the country followed the men as they opened the door, picked up the woman, then walked out of the vault. The picture faded, then a man’s face came in to focus. He seemed to watch the audience, but a woman sitting on the floor of her home with a picture of the man in her hands knew he was looking at her.

The picture faded and a test pattern replaced the show.

After a pause, people changed the channel and glance at the clock while wondering when the local news would come on the air.

They sat with their backs to the tower as the paramedics readied the stretcher to take Cynthia from the valley. Cal held Bryon’s and Bob’s hands, knowing the worst was over.