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Grav watched Laurel leap from the bed and race out of the chamber. She returned about ten minutes later in a coat and boots, her ever-present accessory strapped to her hip.

“It stopped raining.” She tossed some power bars onto the table and refilled his water. “I’m going out. Don’t wait up.” She whirled for the exit.

“Laurel, wait! I need to tell you something.”

He’d thought about it all night long and decided to tell her the whole truth.

He would be committing treason, but what did it matter at this point? He doubted there was a tribunal left to convict him. The conquest of Earth had destroyed Progg-Res, if not the entire empire.

“Later.” She disappeared into the passage.

“The invasion is over!”

He didn’t think she’d heard, but she reentered. “What did you say?”

“The General Ministry called off the invasion. There will be no more air assaults. The ships have returned to Progg-Res.”

She blinked slowly, her body otherwise still. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I got left behind.”

“Just you?”

He shook his head. “I assume others got left behind, too, but officially the conquest is over. There will be no more air assaults, no more cleansing of small towns by ground troops.”

“Why are you telling me this? How can I believe you?”

Because? Because, on some gut level, it seemed like the right thing to do. The truth would be his parting gift to her. Knowing the campaign had been called off couldn’t bring back her family or anyone else who died, but it would give her more personal freedom and perhaps greater peace of mind. “Because time will prove it. The GM pulled out and left standing orders to avoid the towns and not approach any humans. However, individuals you encounter still pose a threat. If you see any, steer clear.”

Her brow furrowed with confusion while her face darkened with anger. “Why?” She shook her head. “Why halt the invasion? You were winning.”

“No, we lost.” His throat clogged up. Allegiance was so ingrained he struggled to reveal a vulnerability to the “enemy.”

“When Admiral Drek fell ill and shuttled to the command vessel, he infected the entire crew. Before they realized the severity, some of them had left for our home planet where they spread the disease. My last communique from the home world reported millions had died, and millions more had sickened.”

“You’re saying we caused a pandemic?”

“Yes. It devastated our world. I don’t know if those of us left here will ever be able to go home. I was informed I would be extracted when it was safe to do so, but I’m beginning to doubt that will happen. I haven’t received any communication in months—and whoever shot me took my communication device. I may not have a home world to return to. There are other planets in our galactic empire, but I suspect the GM—or what remains of it—will wish to avoid any possibility of infecting those worlds.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” She folded her arms.

“Because I didn’t trust you—”

“But you trust me now?” She arched her eyebrows.

“More than before anyway.” She hadn’t killed or tortured him. She’d fed him. “I can’t undo the past, but I can ease your future. I had received orders to avoid humans, if possible. I assume others received the same orders. That’s why I camped in the woods instead of in the town where I would have been more comfortable.

“But they will have to enter towns at some point to find food,” he warned. “The likelihood of an encounter is drastically reduced, but not zero. If you do encounter someone, fearing the plague and retribution, he will shoot you on the spot.”

“Lovely. How is that any different than before?”

“Because there won’t be regiments storming the towns, seeking out survivors. There will be no more air assaults.”

“So, when I found you in the woods, if you hadn’t been half dead, you would have killed me?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never killed anyone before,” he admitted. If his life had been threatened and he’d had the means to defend himself, he might have killed her.

“So, it’s over—except that it’s not.” She pivoted and left.

He waited until he was reasonably certain she wasn’t coming back and then, with an aching heart, he lifted the mattress to get the ladder rung.

It wasn’t there.

* * * *

Her feet sank into spongy ground as she marched through the woods.

Could the invasion really be over? Could survivors come out of hiding? Reoccupy the towns? If the Progg had orders to avoid humans, wouldn’t they steer clear of reinhabited towns? Grav said he trusted her—“more than before”—but could she trust him? What if his revelation was a ruse to get humans to show themselves?

A wet branch snapped in her face. Pay attention! Loss of vigilance was exactly what she needed to be careful of. The threat, although greatly reduced, wasn’t over.

Gut instinct said Grav was telling the truth. It jived with what she’d suspected when he’d first mentioned a “plague” had killed the admiral—that maybe the commander had spread his illness to others.

But if she trusted him, and he was lying, it could be fatal.

But to be able to relax a little…to let go of the heavy weight of fear…

She exhaled a shaky breath.

The irony. They had defeated the invasion not with missiles but with sniffles. It was possible a runny-nosed toddler had vanquished the enemy.

Her feet took her to the spot where she’d first found Grav. If I had killed him, I wouldn’t have found out Earth had won. Some win. Billions had perished .

How many people are left? she wondered. Had any major cities escaped vaporization? Medium-sized ones? Were there enough people with the skills to get systems and services running again? How long ago had the invasion been called off? She should have asked him.

Perhaps some people had figured out the danger had passed or decided to risk moving into the towns and had reestablished communities. Some may have met their own helpful alien who’d given them the news. Or caught one and tortured the truth out of him. Were posses roaming the country searching for the invaders?

Something would have to be done with the aliens. As Grav had admitted, they were still a threat, and justice must be served! Those billions of deaths needed to be avenged. Just because Earth had sent the enemy home with a deadly little parting gift didn’t even the score. She’d dispatch every last Progg straight to hell.

Minus one.

Grav.

He had given her hope.

She did believe him. She did trust him— more than before , the same as he felt about her.

After the shock of the revelation wore off, her first reaction had been anger. You couldn’t have told me this a week ago?

But she quickly realized she wouldn’t have believed him, would have assumed it was a trick. Even now, it seemed incredible, and a tiny vestige of doubt remained.

But, in tending to him, she felt she’d gotten to know him, understood him a little. He might have snowed her big-time, in which case, she’d have to applaud and say, “Bravo, superb performance,” because he’d succeeded in undermining her hatred. He got me to see him as a person, to like him.

I have to let him go. If he’s not a threat to me, I have to release him.

She’d cut him loose, send him on his way with some food. Then she’d pack up the SUV and go find other people.

With a pang, she realized she would miss him when they parted.

I hope nothing bad happens to him.

* * * *

Tramping through the wet woods had soaked her pants up to the knees and dampened her upper half. She decided to delay showering but don dry clothes before going to town .

At her parents’ house, she left her mud-caked boots in the garage before going inside. She tested the kitchen faucet. As expected, the water in the hot water tank had gone cold since she’d showered several days ago.

After refueling the generator, she rolled it outside to ventilate and then plugged the cord into the circuit breaker panel and powered up the house. Electricity from the generator could heat the water while she went to town. Then she’d enjoy another hot shower.

In the meantime, she could do a load of laundry. She always washed clothes in cold water anyway. She hung her wet jacket to dry and then changed into jeans and a sweatshirt of her mom’s, before dumping her wet things and the dirty clothes she’d brought with her into the washer. The machine filled and began chugging away, normalcy in action.

Could there be a happier, more hopeful sound?

Her heart ached with grief as she emptied her parents’ suitcases onto their bed. She’d deal with their clothes later but needed the bags. She donned a jacket of her mom’s, grabbed the empty suitcases, put on her shoes, and drove away.

The creek had risen but was still passable, and the SUV splashed through the low-water crossings with no trouble. Everything is going my way. Lady Luck is with me.

Driving along, she jotted mental notes of what to collect. More clothes, winter and summer, sentimental personal items, drugs, and medical supplies. She’d go to her apartment first then the hospital.

Feeling much more confident and unafraid, she cruised every street of Big Creek, honking the car horn. But either no one lived there anymore, or they feared showing themselves. Her happy mood dipped a little. Not every town will be like this. She gave herself a pep talk.

There were close to 20,000 cities, towns, and villages in the country, many of them tiny little burgs of a few thousand or a few hundred that would have been low priority on the hit list. There had to be other survivors—especially since she now knew the invasion had been called off before it had been completed. Besides, whoever had shot Grav had come from somewhere.

She wiped her feet on the mat in the foyer of her apartment building then went up to her unit where she filled one suitcase with clothing, reserving the other for medical supplies. She also dug up a tote bag to bring to the hospital.

Through the wide public entrance, she entered a desolate lobby. A wave of homesickness and loss swept over her. Her nursing career had been such a major part of her life and identity; her coworkers had been her friends. Her squeaking shoes sounded loud in the silence as she walked the familiar path to the nurses’ station.

She could picture the people she’d worked with and the memorable patients who’d passed through. She grieved for two nurses in particular, both former high school classmates. She remembered with fondness the capable but ditzy Nurse Ding-a-ling, whose not-so-nice nickname had been bestowed upon her by Dr. Pompous Ass. He was an excellent physician but a jerk of a human being. She thought of the housekeeping staff and janitors, the aides, the dietician, and the medical social worker. The hospital had been an employment mainstay for the entire area.

Trying to envision what she might need, she filled the suitcase with boxes of rubber gloves, a couple of blood pressure monitors, several thermometers, syringes, gauze, tape, a stethoscope, shears and scissors, alcohol wipes, and splints. With the bag nearly full, she zipped it up and wheeled it down the hall toward the drug supply closet. I hope I can open it.

The cabinet opened with an electronic lock that recorded who accessed it. As a control, every nurse had a unique passcode. It had a backup battery, but a year had passed. How long would the battery last?

Upon reaching the drug supply closet, she saw accessing the cabinet wasn’t going to be a problem.

The door had been pried open. Boxes and vials lay scattered across the floor. Somebody had gotten here first. “Well, shit!”

She sorted through the detritus and quickly identified what was missing—narcotic painkillers. “Addiction lives on in the apocalypse.” Most likely, the little pharmacy in town had been hit, too. How long ago had this happened? If it had been raided months ago, that was one thing. But if the theft had just occurred, the person could still be in town or even in the hospital.

Just my luck, the first person I meet is a strung-out junkie.

She listened for footsteps as she hurriedly scooped up antibiotics, antivirals, nonsteroidal anti-inflammatories—the thief hadn’t been interested in ibuprofen-type pain relievers—antinausea medications, decongestants, cough suppressants, and antihistamines and shoved them into the tote. She could only guess at what kind of help the survivors might need.

For the first time since the invasion, she’d found a sense of purpose. She could resume nursing and help the survivors. Some of them would need medical care.

If she was really lucky, she’d encounter a physician. They could team up. She could learn a lot. In the new normal, she’d be able to do more than just nursing, advance to an unofficial physician’s assistant.

She hooked the tote over the handle of the suitcase and unholstered her gun.

Don’t ever pull a gun on anybody unless you’re prepared to use it, her dad’s warning echoed in her ears as she walked quietly and quickly down the hall. Although she hadn’t been able to shoot Grav when he lay helpless on the ground, she wouldn’t hesitate to defend her life against an imminent threat. But hopefully, the sight of a weapon would deter an attacker.

With a sigh of relief, she got to her vehicle unscathed, loaded in the supplies, and drove away.

* * * *

Laurel left the medical supplies in the SUV but brought in the suitcase with her clothing. She was anxious to change. Wearing her mom’s garments smelling of her, resurrected too many painful memories.

The washing had finished, so she transferred the laundry to the dryer. As soon as it was done, she’d head back to release her prisoner.

Funny, she’d been in such a quandary over what to do, and now the answer had resolved itself. Letting him go was the right thing. She had no fears he posed a threat to anybody. More likely, he’d be the one at risk from humans seeking vengeance.

She envisioned bitter battles between survivors and stranded aliens. Intellectually, she knew hatred was a weapon with the barrel pointed at the individual holding it. Hatred corroded from within, doing more damage to the person clinging to the animosity than the object of it. Festering resentments had fueled centuries of injurious tribal conflict.

But how did you forgive the unforgivable?

She’d absolved Grav of blame because she believed he personally had not committed any atrocities. He’d told her the truth about the end of the invasion. But she could not foresee ever forgiving those who’d massacred innocent people.

But if a lone woman and a Progg who had distrusted and feared each other could reach a détente, then maybe a glimmer of hope remained.

You’re too trusting, too idealistic, her brother’s gentle criticism rang in her ears.

Not anymore, brother dear.

Leaving the clothes to tumble, she strode across the house to the bath. As the shower warmed up, she unbuckled her holster and set the gun on the sink vanity, and undressed, dropping her clothes on the floor. Steam probably wasn’t the best for the weapon, but once wouldn’t hurt it.

She stepped into the hot shower. It was as glorious as before. Smiling, she lifted her face to the spray, feeling like an actor in a shampoo commercial. They always looked so happy while water shot in their faces—she’d tended to grimace a bit. Not today. This could be a million-dollar shower for the way she was grinning.

Shampooing her head, she shivered at a sudden draft and turned into the hot spray.

She could have stayed until the water ran cold, but she had a prisoner waiting to be released, although he didn’t know it yet.

With a sigh, she shut off the water. While drying herself, she realized she’d left the suitcase with clean clothes in the laundry room. She donned the robe hanging on the bathroom door hook and wrapped a towel around her head. She grabbed her mom’s clothes from the floor. They were still mostly clean, but she’d put them in the laundry room to wash later.

About to enter the living room, she sniffed. What do I smell?

Her gaze riveted on muddy footprints . I took off my shoes.

Her blood ran cold. My gun was on the bathroom counter, wasn’t it?

“Achoo!”

She whirled around and stared down the barrel of her own gun. The man behind it wiped his nose with the back of his free hand. Stringy, greasy hair hung from his mostly bald head while a long, dirty beard obscured most of his acne-scarred face. She caught sight of a neck tattoo under an open filthy fatigue jacket.

“What do you want? Food? Clothes? A car? I’ll give you whatever you want.” She managed to keep her voice steady, but her legs wobbled. Don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.

Wouldn’t that be tragically ironic—to survive the invasion only to be murdered by a human? And if he killed her , he’d get a two-for-one special. Grav would starve to death. She had to stay alive for both their sakes.

“Sure, I’ll take all that since you’re offerin’ so nicely—but I’ll start with you. Let’s you and me go in the other room,” he said in a nasally voice.

“No, don’t. Please, don’t.” She shook her head. “You don’t need to do this.”

His laugh turned into a coughing fit. The hand holding the gun shook and dipped.

She swung out her right arm and knocked the gun from his hand. It went flying across the hall. She threw the clothes in his face and ran.

She didn’t get more than a few steps before he tackled her, his weight slamming her to the hardwood floor. “Fucking bitch!” He grabbed her hair and slammed her forehead against the floor, but the towel that had fallen off her head cushioned the blow.

Laurel screamed.

“Scream all you want, bitch. There’s nobody to hear you.” He yanked up her robe. She felt cold air against her naked buttocks.

She screamed and thrashed, trying to throw him off. A hard blow to her temple rocked her head on her neck. He’s going to kill me.

She felt him fumbling. He was unzipping his pants.

No. No. She bucked. Oh god, oh god. Tears sprang to her eyes.

Crack!

Her ears rang with the sound of a gunshot, and wetness splattered over her. Red rain. Blood. Her assailant collapsed.

The weight lifted, and the assailant’s body sailed across the room and slammed into the wall. Collecting her robe around her, Laurel rolled over.

Grav stood there.