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I turn over to face him. There’s barely room for both of us to lie on our sides in the bed.

My back and bottom are pressed tightly against the wall.

“I did fail. I failed Burgundy. I failed Logan. I failed you after all the ways you’ve tried to teach me to defend myself.

” My voice breaks on the final admission.

He’s shaking his head emphatically, signing, No , over and over again.

“I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but I promise I can face the truth. Trisha was right. I have to be stronger. If I want to survive and protect my people, I have to be stronger than this.”

He’s still shaking his head. And now he signs out, You are strong. You’re strong here . He covers my heart with his hand. Strong is more than killing .

“Maybe it used to be,” I whisper. “But everything is different now.”

No. People are always the same. You are good. You are strong. You see people . His face contorts with emotions as he keeps signing. You see me .

Emotion spills out of me as I choke on a little sob and reach out for him. He hugs me again, and this time when I finally settle, I actually do feel better.

That evening during dinner, Logan announces that we’re going to pack up tomorrow and leave the day after.

It’s not a surprise, but it still casts a pall over the meal.

A couple of guys made a fire in the front yard, and most of us are sitting nearby either on the front porch or on the grass.

The sun is almost down, and no one has gotten up yet.

Maybe everyone is feeling like I am—that our respite here is at an end, and as soon as this evening is done, it will truly be over.

After a while, Micah disappears and comes back carrying an old guitar. There’s a murmur through the group as he sits on a porch step, propping the guitar on his knee and starting to strum.

Burgundy comes over to sit beside him. She leans over to say something to him, and his idle strumming becomes the opening bars to a song that’s vaguely familiar.

It’s a pop song I used to hear all the time before Impact. A love ballad. Burgundy starts singing it, and I’m surprised by how good her singing voice is.

Everyone listens, a few people joining in on the chorus. Billy, an older man I don’t know very well, pulls out a harmonica and adds accompaniment.

When the song is over, someone else suggests an old country song, and Micah takes the lead on that one.

He sings just as well as his sister. I know more of the words to this one, so I start singing with the others.

Deck gets up to grab an old wood planter, turning it over and tapping out the beat with his hands like a drum.

When the song is over, someone suggests another. And then another.

I’m sitting next to Deck on the grass, leaning against the side of the porch. And I’m filled with a sense of community I haven’t experienced in a really long time.

Like these really are my people. Like we’re connected. Like no matter how broken this world has become, Deck was right. Humans will always be human. We might not be very good—the best of us died a long time ago—but there are real ways we can share life with each other.

Maybe this recognition has been growing on me for the past two months, but it’s only crystalizing in my mind now.

Despite my failure earlier today.

Or maybe because of it.

After several songs, Burgundy leans over to give another suggestion to Micah. This time when he starts playing, the notes are slower, softer. Haunting and familiar both.

When Burgundy starts singing, the song comes back to me. I remember it from when my family occasionally went to church when Lance and I were kids. “Be Thou My Vision.”

Burgundy’s voice is pure and high and resonant in the night air, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

I don’t know the words to this one, but a lot of the others do. When Micah and some of the men join in, the music throbs in my chest even more deeply. It’s weird and moving and powerful.

In the break between two of the verses, Deck riffs on his makeshift drum, intensifying the beat as the next verse begins.

Be Thou my battle shield, sword for my fight,

Be Thou my dignity, Thou my delight,

Thou my soul’s shelter, Thou my high tower,

Raise Thou me heav’nward, O power of my power.

My throat is so tight I can barely breathe through it. I don’t know why the song is affecting me this way. I’ve never really been a music person before any more than I’ve been religious.

I meet Deck’s eyes, and he smiles at me, softening the tension in my chest.

Then I glance over to where Logan is seated on the porch. He hasn’t been singing, but he’s listening. He’s not distant. Maybe there’s something about this experience that he enjoys too.

He must feel my eyes on him. He glances over and holds my gaze. After a moment, he nods at me. A silent acknowledgment.

Of something.

Of me .

He was telling me the truth. What happened this afternoon is over in his mind. He’s not holding a grudge or still disappointed in me.

I’m one of his people now, and that’s what matters to him most .

So I let myself feel whatever this music—a hymn of faith at the end of the world—has brought into existence.

Maybe it will only last as long as the notes of this song, but I need it. Because Deck was more right than Logan was today. I know it for sure.

The world has to be about more than surviving if it’s worth fighting to survive at all.