JONAH I studied the map one final time, committing the shapes of the land to memory. We were moving into new territory, and I had to know where the high ground was, where the gullies ran. Using the land right was the difference between an easy advance and a hard fight. We had to get to the next meeting point clean. My eyes, tired from the screen's glow, drifted from our planned route. They settled on a different grid coordinate, a place that held no tactical value for the mission. My chest tightened at the sight of it. That was the direction of my old neighborhood. A single, clear thought pushed into my mind, quiet but persistent. With this enhanced armor and its systems, I could be there before the sun went down.The team would not try to stop me. They had their orders, and my deviation wasn't part of them. If they did attempt to intervene, I knew I could evade them. They were all first lifers, good soldiers but bound by a different rhythm. If someone with my years and training got caught by them, then I would deserve whatever came next, arrest or worse for desertion. No, I was certain of that much. I could reach the house without being stopped. But the certainty ended there. What then? They would not be there. I had trained them too well for that. Elena understood risk. Lucas was smart beyond his years. They both knew that when the world started to break, staying in the city was a death sentence. They must have gotten out. I had to believe they got out in time. Their best chance was the cabin, the place we had prepared for a storm that never seemed to come. But that safe place was several hundred miles to the north. And just like with the empty house, I had no way to know. I could not be sure the two of them had made it that far. They were survivors. They would adapt. They would find shelter, maybe with others. Perhaps they managed to reach a local military base before the full lockdown orders sealed everything shut. But one thing was absolute. They definitely would not be sitting at home waiting. The house would be empty. So I did what I had done a hundred times since the collapse. I pushed a command and the map zoomed in, the display focusing on that meaningless grid square.I looked at the streets I could no longer see and told myself the same story. Elena and Lucas were fine. They were smart, they were capable. Once we finished here, once we secured the high-value assets the colonel wanted, then I could ask. Then I could use the resources of the entire Marine Expeditionary Unit. Ships, scouts, drones, signals intelligence from our NSA partners. That was how I would find them. The colonel was a family man too. He would want his grandchildren safe. He would not stand in my way. I pushed the thought down, burying it under the weight of my immediate duty. The practical truth was my best chance to find my family in this godforsaken chaos was with the help of thousands of marines. It was a net cast wide. If I went alone now, I was just one man in a continent of ruins. And if Colonel Kellen refused when the time came? Then I would leave.I would pick a moment and slip away into the landscape without a word. They would not notice until it was too late to recall me. It wasn't the choice I wanted to make. I had worn this uniform for most of my life. But the entire point of that service, the long years and the missed birthdays, was to build a better, safer world for them. What was the point of the uniform if it stopped me from protecting them when they needed it most? I pressed the transmit button on my radio. One click to acknowledge my squad leaders. Then I turned and began to move, pushing through the thick brush toward our objective. The reconnaissance platoon shifted behind me, a quiet rustle of gear and careful footsteps. Most of the unit was with me. I knew the lieutenant was at the very rear, managing our trail. The sergeant, though, was already far ahead, a shadow scouting the path we would take. A soft chime in my helmet announced an incoming data stream. A video share request from Sergeant Nantz. I accepted, and a new window opened on my display, showing me the feed from his point of view. “We have arrived at the rendezvous coordinates,” his voice was a calm, professional murmur in my ear. “The primary target is not visible. But we have identified something of interest on site.” The camera panned slowly, showing a grim and quiet place. It was a cemetery, rows of headstones standing in silent lines. The view tracked away from the graves, over a low stone wall, and settled on the roadside. A family sedan was parked there, its doors closed.Next to it, a simple camping tent was set up on the grass. Painted across the curve of the tent’s rainfly was a single word in bold, black letters: ‘Blackreach’. I felt my jaw tighten. That was the recognition code. But it was supposed to be given verbally, by a man whose retinal scan and physical description matched Ronan Ashcroft. This was not the protocol. This was a signal left in the open. It complicated everything. Where was Ashcroft? Was he hiding, or was he unable to come himself? What condition was he in? “I am scanning from my position,” Nantz continued, his tone unchanged. “I am not detecting any heat signatures from the vehicle or the tent structure. I cannot confirm if either is currently occupied.” I took a slow, steadying breath, the air cool inside my helmet. “Understood,” I said, my own voice flat and clear. “Hold your position. Do not approach. My element is two minutes from your location.”