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Trevor was alone in the dark again, his incestuous sin committed.
 

Despite his shame, a few extra minutes in the bathroom were required.
 

He left the bathroom, sure that at any moment Lila and his mother would wake and see what he’d done, clear on his face like a brand. But they didn’t stir.
 

He wouldn’t be able to sleep, so without pausing at the cot, he crossed to the door.
 

He’d find his Vellum in the front room then come back and read by its internal light. In time, he’d have read enough to forget. But soon enough he’d remember what he’d seen of Piper — before he willingly recalled the memory — and would feel that conflict again.
 

He found the light on in the kitchen. Vincent, Terrence, and Raj were sleeping where he’d expected them, but Christopher was at the kitchen table, reading a paper book by the overhead light.
 

He looked up. “Can’t sleep, bro?”
 

“No.”
 

“Then have a seat, my friend, and let’s have ourselves a midnight jam.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

They set out just before first light, as planned.
 

Piper was more nervous than she’d expected. She’d been living in a vaguely apocalyptic world for over three months now (a calm apocalypse; as far as she could tell, if humanity had been able to ignore the ships and waning abductions, life could have gone on the same as ever), but she’d spent it mostly in a bunker.
 

New York felt a lifetime ago, and the Chicago freeway melee years distant. Even their fight to take over Meyer’s Axis Mundi seemed to be someone else’s memory. The bunker was Piper’s reality. Safe. Comfortable. They couldn’t go outside, but so what? Ignore the missing father figure, and it’s another mixed family living out the American dream underground.
 

The thought of opening the door and leaving willingly chilled her blood. She almost called the whole thing off. Piper had barely slept and rose hours early, finding Cameron eating his predawn breakfast. She’d joined him with a hushed good morning, and they’d eaten in silence. She’d had to bite her lip several times to trap her cowardly change of mind. It would be so easy. But if she let Cameron go off alone, he might never return. That thought barred the words from her lips. If she could make at least half of the trip (the outbound half), she’d learn what the others knew about Meyer. If one or both of them were killed on the return trip, at least she’d die knowing what there was to know.
 

Cameron stole glances at her through the meal. He, too, seemed to be holding something back. Perhaps he was going to suggest she stay where it was safe to await his return. Thank God, he didn’t. Piper might have stayed.

She
had
to go, for everyone’s sake. Cameron knew that. His protests were gallantry. He was a thoughtful, perhaps overly polite man — opposite Meyer in many of his failings but very like her husband when it came to his strengths. Both wanted to protect them and would do as they promised, or die trying. But Cameron also wanted to do the right thing. To apologize. To ask for permission. And to keep ladies from heading out into the wild, wild West.
 

But he knew the truth. Meyer’s tax receipts and email and memos to employees wouldn’t paint a complete picture. So much of what made Meyer unique was holistic, not recorded in any document. Piper knew Meyer could be sweet, though he never let the world see that side. You’d think, seeing Meyer own so many magazines covers through the years, that he enjoyed publicity. And he did when it advanced his business. But Meyer himself was (
is
, Piper corrected herself) a private, almost shy person. When his ambition and reserve butted heads, ambition always won. Without her there to guide the Moab facility’s investigation, the people there might never find their answer. And if Cameron was to be believed, the world might need it.

There was another reason Piper held her tongue. She was a vital, irreplaceable “Meyer data” archive, yes — but she was also alone. Lila had Raj, Trevor had Lila, Heather had Lila and Trevor. Piper was a mother in name, but at the end of the world, children clung more firmly to blood. Lila’s connection to Heather had deepened since she’d announced her pregnancy, and that was something Piper (try as she might) couldn’t relate to. And Trevor? She’d hoped confinement would heal whatever had broken between them, but it had only seemed to make things worse. He looked at her in the strangest ways and avoided her even more fervently than during the cross-country trip. The looks could have meant anything, but to Piper, they seemed to say,
You aren
’
t needed anymore.

It broke her heart.
 

And now that Cameron’s men were here, she
really
wasn’t needed. She’d kept the bunker running, but now Terrence had it handled. She’d done the dirty chores, but the men with their disciplined military backgrounds were happy to help. The men pulled their weight so well, in fact, that they pulled the slack left by the others. There was now officially more help than chores required. She was just another body. A loose end without a purpose and without the man she loved, taking up space.
 

And there was more.
 

She’d thought a lot about the life she’d ended. Garth had been a threat, no question. She had to stop him, no doubt. But couldn’t she have hit him with something? Couldn’t she have shot him in his arm or leg? But Meyer’s admonition had been loud in her ears:
Don
’
t hesitate.
She hadn’t, and it had all worked out fine. But Meyer hadn’t warned her about the nightmares. About the second-guessing and the questions. And it’s not like anyone wanted to talk to her about it. To them, Garth had been another of the bad guys — same as the bad guys Meyer himself had dispatched. Did anyone even really remember that Piper had pulled the trigger last? Or had they grouped the incident into a collection in their minds, attributed to the man of the house?
 

She was a murderer.
For better or worse, justified or not, Piper was a killer. If she had to stay in the bunker as a useless murderer (and she’d thought this in a logical, calculating way, not in despair), she might just kill herself.
 

Better to go with Cameron, who — due to his playacting with Morgan and the journey he’d made — was maybe a murderer too. Piper lifted right out.
 

After breakfast, before climbing the stairs, Cameron came up behind her with a long-sleeved T-shirt, dirty ripped jeans, and a baseball cap.

“Wear this.”

Piper looked at the clothing then up at Cameron.
 

“They’re mine. I don’t mean this as that male thing where I’m implying you’ll fit into man clothes, and I’ll ask you to please not comment on the fact that I can provide clothes to a lady.”
 

Piper looked at Cameron. He had a young face with longish hair parted in the middle. She’d never thought of him as small because his personality was so bold and confident, but he was barely bigger than she was, and slight of bones. He really would be able to vanish. Like a wily rodent hiding in debris rather than a clunky fat cat, like Vincent.
 

“Please.” He held the clothes out to Piper.
 

“Why?”
 

“You need to look like a boy.”
 

“I need to — ” But she stopped, understanding.

“We both look young. With any luck, we can come off like a couple of gutter punks.” He pointed to his filthy face. She’d assumed that packing made him dirty — scavenging in the burned generator room, perhaps — but his grime was apparently intentional. “But it won’t work unless you tie up your hair and wear something loose and unflattering.”
 

“‘Unflattering,’” she repeated.
 

He shrugged. “You’re too pretty. Do you think you can be uglier?”
 

The question was disarming, sarcastic, just the tension breaker she needed. “I’ll try. But … you know.” And she batted her long lashes.
 

“Do you have sunglasses?”
 

“I hear Terrence has a pair or two.”
 

“Yes, but they all look like he’s about to accept his Grammy.”
 

“I have a pair that have been rolling around in my purse without a case. They’re so scratched, they’re useless.”
 

“Perfect.”
 

Piper carried the clothes into her bedroom to change. On the way, Trevor — up early like the rest of them, to say goodbye — followed her with his eyes. Like he hated her and was glad she was leaving.
 

Piper emerged, and Cameron declared her transformed. She’d pinned her hair back, managing to squeeze the cap atop it in a way that didn’t look odd, though she did have to pin the hat in place, too. She’d put on her tightest sports bra then donned the shirt. The clothing was loose with a masculine cut that hid her gender. She had the sunglasses to bury her big, blue eyes and a pair of Meyer’s reading glasses for use when the sun wasn’t shining. When they were outside, she could roll in the dirt. And Cameron promised to give her a few “man tips,” because she still had a feminine gait.
 

But still, he smiled through his assessment, and for the first time in a long while Piper felt purpose. Uglying herself had been like a makeover in reverse, and it pleased Cameron plenty. Soon she might be able to help the cause against the aliens … if it turned out there was a reason to oppose their silent, still-mostly quiet presence around the planet.
 

And as thin as the hope felt, Piper might see her Meyer again.
 

They said their farewells, keeping them brief and choosing “see you soon” over “goodbye.” Cameron said it was about 250 miles to Moab. He joked that once they found a Corvette as their chariot, they could be there in three hours.
 

After the door had closed behind them and they’d made it to the trees without attracting undue notice, Piper told Cameron that she needed to pee. He made a joke about learning to pee like a man then gave her privacy. He told Piper to keep the gun in her hand, safety off.

Out of sight, she leaned against a tree and let herself cry.
 

Just for a few minutes.
 

Because Piper was a man now, and real men don’t cry.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

They ran into the roadblock an hour after sunset, and the dead cop sixty seconds later.
 

The roadblock had the look of something official — orange-and-white crowd-control barriers alongside a few big orange-and-white rain barrels. Stacked sandbags created a semipermanent blockage. There was a pair of cop cars behind them, parked opposite so the drivers’ windows would line up. But there were no cops in the cars. The officers, it turned out, were all in the ditch.
 

Cameron saw the first body a few seconds before Piper but didn’t try to hide it. He held hands up to stop her then put a finger in front of his lips and pointed. It was a disturbing/kind gesture that covered both
disturbing
and
kind
at once, like how a cat will bring its owners mouse organs as a gift. He was showing her bodies, yes — but he hadn’t insulted Piper by implying she couldn’t handle it. They were out in the real world now. No need to play coy.

Despite that, her first instinct was to gape. Not to scream, but gape. She held her lips shut. She’d seen this before. She’d even
done
this before, right down to dealing death.
 

Cameron patted the air, squatting in the ditch. Piper mimicked him, lowering her body and keeping her eyes on his. He pointed toward the barricade, now above their line of sight.
 

Piper shrugged, not understanding.
 

“There’s someone behind the car,” he whispered.
 

“I didn’t see anyone,” she whispered back.
 

“Just one person. Go ahead and look. Do it slowly.”
 

She looked at him for confirmation. Did he really want her to raise her head and look? Did he think she might not trust him? Meyer would never say such a thing if it were him with her instead of Cameron. Meyer loved and trusted Piper and wanted her to feel empowered, but in times of crisis he was in charge, and she — along with anyone else who came for the ride — needed to do as they were told, no questions asked.
 

After a moment, she rose slightly, very aware of her hat, thinking it might give her away before her eyes were high enough to see what was coming. Still, she saw nothing.
 

“Look at the wheels,” Cameron whispered.
 

Piper did. Under the car’s body, visible past exhaust pipes and struts and springs, she saw someone’s lower half, sitting on the road, back to the car. She squatted again.
 

“Did you see him?”
 

“How do you know it’s a man?” Piper asked.
 

“Okay, I don’t. Did you see
her?
”
 

In spite of the situation, Piper smiled. “I saw her.”