AARON Marcus gave no reply. Pressure went down on the accelerator instead, steady and firm, engine climbing as the Mobile Hauler pushed straight into the black smoke and drove into the center of the intersection. Darkness dropped away all at once, like someone had shut it off by hand. The road returned without warning, hazy but solid, lines faint yet visible. Brakes screamed. My body slid forward in the recliner before the belt locked tight. Around the cabin, sharp movements followed. Hands grabbed for seat backs, armrests, edges of the dinette. Breath caught in several throats. No one spoke. Another checkpoint waited on the far side. Wrong feelings settled in immediately, heavy and unmistakable. Vehicles were crammed across the road and shoved halfway onto the sidewalks, bumpers nearly scraping brick and glass. Nothing matched. Civilian makes. Different colors. Different years. Some dented. Some missing lights. Few still had intact windows. Men and a few women stood behind them and on top of hoods and roofs. Weapons were already raised. Rifles. Shotguns. Pistols. Every barrel aimed one way. Toward us. Beyond them stretched several blocks of empty street, washed in thinning smoke. At the far end, barely visible but impossible to miss, rose the curved top of the Westhaven Unity Dome. Close enough to see its shape. Close enough to feel hope stir. Still far enough to feel unreachable. Someone broke away from the line and walked toward the Mobile Hauler. It looked like a woman. Shape suggested it, but certainty stayed out of reach. Her rifle rested against one arm, loose but controlled. Barrel angled just enough to send a message. The way she moved said this was not new to her. Nathan leaned down and lifted the rifle from near his feet, setting it carefully on the couch beside him. Movement stayed slow. No scraping sounds. No sudden shifts. Care taken with every inch. She reached the door and slammed her fist into it. Silence held for a beat. Another strike followed, louder, metal ringing through the cabin walls. “Ain’t got time for you to waste. Get your ass over here and open this door!” Marcus grunted and stood. Seraphina rose with him, close enough that shoulders nearly touched. Neither rushed. Neither hesitated. Steps were measured. A button clicked. The door pushed outward, then slid open with a dull mechanical sound. From the recliner, only part of her profile showed past Marcus’s shoulder. Dirty gray painter’s mask covered most of her face. Fabric stained and worn. Eyes stayed hidden. Voice carried clearly inside, sharp and confident. “You need to turn this bus around and head back the way you came.” “You local police?” Marcus asked. “Nope. We’re the ones with a shit load of guns.” Tone sounded light. Almost friendly. Meaning landed hard and cold. “We don’t want trouble,” Seraphina said. “Oh, you won’t be. Especially if you turn the fuck around right now.” One hand lifted as Marcus gestured toward the barricade, slow and controlled, palm open. “An emergency alert came through on our phones,” he started. She cut him off without missing a beat. “That thing’s been screaming for a damn day. No more room here. Turn your asses around or my boys and I add you to the pile across the street.” She turned away before anyone could answer and walked back toward the blockade, boots crunching softly against debris. Marcus stayed where he was. Fists clenched tight at his sides. Arms shaking just enough to notice if you knew him well. Seraphina jumped down the steps. Hand reached for her, worry sharp and sudden on Marcus’s face. Instead of following, she leaned out through the doorway and shouted toward the woman’s back. “How did they all die?” Reply came back, but distance swallowed most of it. Through the front window, the woman turned, shouted something sharp and short, then kept walking as if the question no longer mattered. Seraphina stepped back inside. Door slid shut. Locks engaged. Filters kicked in harder. Air shifted slowly as smoke thinned and circulation returned, carrying the smell with it. Every eye stayed on her. “Well?” Elliot snapped. “What did she say?” Gaze stayed fixed on the floor when the answer came. “They don’t know. Masks weren’t just for the smoke.” Silence settled in layers, thick and pressing. Elliot threw his hands up. “That’s just great. Armed assholes everywhere, killer machines hunting us, and now a damn virus too!” Breathing sped up fast. Chest rose and fell hard. Eyes jumped from wall to wall. Smoke had burned red into the whites, making the panic harder to hide. He stood. “What the hell are we supposed to do now!” Mobile Hauler lurched. Balance went. Elliot dropped hard onto the couch, cushions compressing under his weight. “What the hell?” Marcus already had the phone back in his hands. Focus locked in tight, jaw set, voice low and steady. Mobile Hauler reversed, turning right, swinging wide until the nose lined up with Holden Street, angled away from the dome and the guns and the waiting line. Then it surged forward, engine pulling them north. “What’s the plan?” Nathan asked. “Find a side street,” Marcus murmured. “Slip through.”