AARON An eyebrow lifted as the trooper kept talking, his voice steady but worn thin. “Insurrectionists have been blowing up bridges south of Kingsport,” he said. “The Army set up there to protect the last bridge over the river so it wouldn’t be destroyed.” The words painted images I didn’t need help imagining. Smoke. Fire. Broken spans of concrete. Towns cut off and bleeding out. “Do you think they’re still there?” Nathan asked. Hope crept into his voice, thin, fragile, but real. The possibility of help for his brothers gave him something to hold on to. Something solid. For me, the thought sank deeper. Maybe the military wasn’t the enemy. Maybe they were still doing what they were meant to do.Protection. Order. A line holding in the chaos. “No idea. Things are changing fast,” the trooper said. “Not like it matters much.” His gaze slid back to the Mobile Hauler, eyes tracking its bulk. “If you want to reach Ravenport in this beast, there’s only one way.” “If you’re lucky, the Army kept that bridge standing.” “If not, you’re looking at a long detour north or south to find another crossing.” Each option carried weight. Time. Fuel. Exposure. The trooper glanced at his Compact Cruiser. Then he raised his hand and waved to the right, slow and deliberate, like every movement had consequences now. The cruiser eased off the center of the Interlink Highway and rolled toward the shoulder. The space it left behind felt like permission.A narrow path opened for the Mobile Hauler. “You’re free to use the road,” he said. “Just don’t try to get into this airport. Security will turn you away.” “We’re not setting up a shelter here.” “I can’t promise the road stays clear once you’re a few miles out.” The warning settled heavy. Clear roads were rare. Silence usually meant danger waiting ahead. Still, a small smile formed. Gratitude mattered. “We appreciate the help. Either way.” Nathan nodded, jaw tight. Words weren’t always needed. Survival had taught him that. As he reached to shut the door, the trooper stopped him. “Just do me a favor.” Nathan nodded again. “What do you need us to do?”“When you see people heading to Ravenport, tell them the military and the police aren’t the bad guys,” he said. “There’s a lot of garbage online and on the news right now. It’s fake.” His mouth tightened before he continued. “I lost friends because regular people started fighting us.” “I’ve done things I’ll never be proud of, if I even survive this.” The pause carried more weight than the words. “Spread the facts,” he said. “That’ll make us even.” The honesty cut deeper than any threat. “We will,” I said. “I promise.” He nodded once, sharp, final, then turned away. His boots carried him back to the cruiser. The door shut with a solid thud. The Mobile Hauler began to move.Tires rolled forward. The road stayed clear. Speed picked up, the engine humming stronger beneath our feet. As we passed the airport, planes moved along the runway. Small planes. Too small. With the Westhaven Unity Dome gone, a question settled in my mind. Where were the supplies from those planes going now? Another thought followed, darker and harder to ignore. No major container vehicles were visible. No long lines of trucks. No obvious movement of aid. Maybe local officials were using this place to evacuate themselves. Maybe relief was never the real plan. The idea tightened my chest, made each breath feel shallow. Guessing without proof had ruined lives before. It had ruined mine.Working as a staffer for the Senator taught me how fast lies spread. Fear moved quicker than facts. Rumors burned hotter than truth. That memory forced the thought back down. Fear-driven paranoia had no place here. I needed something useful. Something grounding. I pulled out my phone. The screen flared bright against the dim interior. My thumb hovered, then moved toward my contacts. Trying my in-laws again felt necessary, even if it led nowhere. The phone vibrated sharply in my hand. A harsh tone cut through the air. “This is the emergency broadcast system.” The voice was flat. Official. Unfeeling. “All citizens receiving this message are advised that Westhaven Unity Dome is now providing medical care, food, water, and security services.”“Anyone in need should proceed to this location.” “Directions are included.” The message ended. Silence rushed in to fill the space it left behind. I shut the phone off. Power went down. Every pair of eyes turned toward me. Expectation pressed in from all sides. Standing took effort. My legs felt heavy, burdened by thought and responsibility. I walked to Lucas and sat beside him. I wrapped my arms around my son and held him tight. Warmth. Breathing. Life. Nothing else mattered in that moment.