Chapter 31
The wagon hit another rut, sending pain through Charlotte’s ribs.
She opened her eyes to the sky above her, pale in the late afternoon light, and for a moment that was all she could process.
Her right hand was still closed around her father’s watch.
The crystal pressed into her palm through blistered skin, and the torn band wrapped around her knuckles.
A face appeared at the edge of the wagon bed, the same woman who had spoken to her earlier. “You’re back with us,” the woman said. “That’s good. We were getting worried.”
Charlotte tried to speak and produced a wheeze. Her throat burned, and when she coughed, the woman lifted a water bottle to her lips. The water was warm, but it let Charlotte form words. “My family,” Charlotte said.
The two words cost her more than they should have. The woman’s expression shifted in a way Charlotte had seen before, on doctors and police officers delivering news that couldn’t be softened.
“I’m Ellen,” she said. “The man pulling is my husband, Robert. The woman on the other side is Melissa. We’re heading to the community center on Ridge Road. About three miles from here.”
“We found you at the crash site,” Robert said from the front of the wagon. “You were the only one still breathing on that whole street.”
“The power’s out everywhere,” Ellen continued. “Atlantic City first, then Tuckerton, then places north along the coast. Phones, internet, traffic signals…anything on the grid. It’s not just your town.”
“People are saying it’s the SNA,” Melissa said. “Cyber first to take down infrastructure, then gas to hit the population centers. The military aircraft we saw…they must have known.”
“Nobody knew,” Robert said. “Not in time. The alerts were too vague. By the time anyone understood what the gas was, it had already reached the shore.”
Charlotte listened. Each piece of information settled beside what she already knew: the dying plants, the empty streets, the aircraft moving through darkness, the plane falling from a sky that had turned against it. The scale of it was still too large to hold at once.
“They’re evacuating the coastal counties,” Ellen said. “Anyone who can get out is heading inland. The gas hit hardest near the water, so that’s where we’re going.”
Charlotte turned her head and looked past the canvas cover.
They were on a country road bordered by dense trees, the late light striping the pavement.
The wagon moved at a walking pace, its wooden wheels creaking.
She saw no other vehicles or people, only an empty road, quiet woods, and three strangers pulling a wounded woman toward safety.
“You need medical attention,” Melissa said, walking beside the wagon. “Your lungs took a direct hit from that gas. I’m not a doctor, but I’ve seen enough today to know what that does to people. You’re coughing up blood, and that won’t get better on its own.”
Charlotte lifted her left hand. Blisters covered her palms and fingers, wrapped in a clean cloth that she didn’t remember anyone tying.
“The community center has supplies,” Ellen said. “Medicine, food, people who know first aid. It’s not a hospital, but it’s the closest thing we’ve got.”
The wagon hit another rut. Charlotte braced herself and felt the watch dig deeper into her palm.
Her father’s watch. She had found it in the ash and was still holding it.
The road climbed, and the wagon slowed. She watched the trees pass, their leaves still green, untouched by whatever had withered the gardens in Tuckerton.
“We’re about a mile from the community center,” Melissa said. “Once we get you settled, we can figure out the next steps. Some people are heading west. Others are waiting for an official response. The National Guard was supposed to be mobilizing, but we haven’t seen them.”
Charlotte pushed herself onto her elbows. The movement sent a wave of dizziness through her, but she held her position, one hand braced against the wagon bed and the other still closed around the watch.
“My daughter is sixteen,” she said. “Sophia. My parents were with her. Liam and Evelyn. The house had sealed windows and supplies in the basement. They were preparing.”
“Charlotte,” Ellen said gently, as though she’d already explained this. “The plane came down directly on your street. The house took the full impact. We searched that entire neighborhood, and you were the only survivor.”
“I found her phone,” Charlotte said. “Purple with white polka dots. She was there. The basement was intact. If they made it down?—”
“They didn’t,” Robert said. “I’m sorry, but they didn’t. We checked. The house was gone. Nothing was left standing.”
“I need to go back.”
The wagon stopped. Ellen and Melissa moved to the rear, flanking Robert, all three looking at Charlotte with concern edged by frustration.
“You can’t go back,” Melissa said. “You can barely sit up. Your lungs are damaged. The gas is still active, and the fires haven’t been contained. There’s nothing to go back to.”
“There’s my family,” Charlotte snapped.
“You don’t know that they’re alive,” Robert said.
“I don’t know that they’re dead, either.”
“Stay with us,” Melissa said. “Heal. When you’re stronger, if there’s still a reason to go back, we’ll help you, but right now, going back is suicide.”
Charlotte looked at the three strangers who had pulled her from the fire and offered her a chance at survival and felt the weight of their kindness. Then she looked down at her father’s watch and made her decision.
“I’m going back to Tuckerton,” she said.