“You’re a terrible driver anyway.” Max kissed her forehead.

“You’ll pay for that later, but we’ve got more to worry about. Chuck?”

As Chuck handed the paper to Max, began to explain, Lana sat again, thought again. No risks, she decided. Whatever affected her, affected the baby.

And apparently vice versa.

Rachel poured out more sun tea. “Hydrate. And I want to know if you have more dizzy spells. If you have any unusual feelings, physical or otherwise. There’s no point stressing over what Chuck found. One fanatic, and a very big country.”

“That helps, but as we said, we have a handful right here who might, probably would, take up that call.”

“Most aren’t here.” Max reread the paper. “Mike and I went out to check on Rove. Just take a look. He’s pulled out, and so have the Mercers, along with Sharon Beamer, Brad Fitz, Denny Wertz.”

“That explains why we haven’t seen them around in the past few days.” Arlys nodded. “And they haven’t picked up any supplies or reported for any details. Well, it doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

“I’m glad they’re gone,” Lana said. “I’ll sleep easier knowing they are.”

“It also explains why we’re two trucks shy,” Max went on. “Twenty gallons of gas, food supplies. Weapons. That’s why we went out to check.” He ran an absent hand down Lana’s arm while he scanned the street. “Still, I imagine most would consider that loss a win against having them moving on.”

“Meanwhile, I’m going back down, see if I can find somebody else who’s back online.” Chuck pulled his fingers through his scraggly beard. “Hitting the downer button here, but figuring all the techs and hackers in the world before the Doom, and how I’m getting all but zilch on the surf?” His shoulders lifted and fell. “You gotta do the math, right? You gotta figure more than fifty percent—a lot more than fifty—wiped out in the Doom.

“Anyway.” He let that trail off, then wandered away.

“He’s right.” Max stroked his hand—comfort, reassurance—up and down Lana’s arm. “We can judge that by what we all saw getting here, and by the fact that the number of people coming in to stay or even to pass through has trickled down to nothing in the last two weeks or so.”

“It makes building and maintaining our own even more important,” Arlys put in. “Law, order, education, water, and food supplies.”

“Security,” Max added. “A big world, one fanatic,” he repeated. “But one with followers. Add Raiders, Dark Uncannys. Whatever outside laws and government might still exist doesn’t reach here. And whatever outside laws and government might exist? We don’t know who or what might be in charge of it. So we have to protect our own.”

“I agree. I agree with all that,” Rachel said, hands in her pockets, looking out at the street. At the peace. “We’ve made a lot of progress in a short amount of time. Even having the framework of a system of rules, of community responsibilities has given people a foundation. Maybe, having those who don’t want that foundation—like Rove—leaving adds to it. It is a big world, and we’ve got the chance to make this part of it safe and solid.”

“It has to be more than rules and responsibilities. We’re alive.” Lana laid a hand on her child as she stirred. “So many of us have been grieving, even while doing what has to be done.” She looked at Will. “So many of us lost pieces of ourselves. But we found pieces, too. Found things inside ourselves we didn’t know were there. We’re alive,” she repeated. “Maybe it’s time to celebrate that. It’s nearly the solstice.”

Max smiled at her. “The longest day. A time for celebrating.”

“Yes, and some of us will. I think it may be too soon—only a few days away—for a full community celebration. We need more time to plan that, and I think that’s just what we need.”

“Fourth of July was always my favorite holiday growing up.”

Arlys turned, smiled at Will. “I remember. Barbecue, marching bands, hot dogs, and fireworks.”

“My mom’s cherry pie.”

“I fondly remember your mom’s cherry pie.”

“A New Hope–style Independence Day. We’ve got like three weeks to set it up,” Will pointed out. “And the setting up will get people juiced up, right?”

“The all-American holiday.” Arlys cocked her head. “Food, games, crafts, music, dancing. I like it. I really like it.”

“We could start the day with a memorial for those we’ve lost.” Lana reached for Max’s hand. “To honor friends and family who aren’t with us. And end the day in celebration.”

“Now I like it even more. I’m going to work on a Bulletin,” Arlys decided. “I’ll get it out today.”

“I’ve got a couple of ideas on that,” Will told Arlys. “I’ll walk down with you. This is a good thing, Lana. It’s a good thing.”

“I’ll go give Jonah the heads-up. Will’s right.” Rachel tapped Lana’s arm. “This is a good thing.”

Alone on the porch with Lana, Max sat looking out on the town. “You’re happy here? It’s just us,” he said before she could answer.

“It’s not the life I ever imagined for us. And there are still times I wake up expecting to be in the loft. There’s a lot I miss. Just walking home in the noise and the crowds. I remember how we’d just started to talk about taking a couple of weeks and going to Italy or France. I remember, and I miss. But yes, I’m happy here. I’m with you, and in a few months, we’ll have a daughter. We’re alive, Max. You got us out of a nightmare and brought us here.

“Are you? Happy here?”

“It’s not the life I imagined, either, and there’s a lot I miss. But I’m with you. We’re having a child. We’re both able to do work that satisfies us, and have powers we’re both still learning to understand. There’s a purpose. We’re alive, and there’s a purpose. We’ll celebrate that.”

* * *

The day of the festival dawned soft and pink.

Lana spent the beginning of it, as she had the day before, in food prep with her kitchen team. She focused in on her area, leaving the decorations—with Fred leading that charge—to others.

She’d made countless patties of venison and wild turkey while listening to musicians practicing and hammers striking nails. In the hall outside the kitchen, Bryar and others worked with groups of children to make Chinese lanterns—red, white, and blue—and paper stars that bore the names of loved ones lost.

As the blue washed away the pink, Lana stepped outside, moved to see so many gathered while a newly formed choir sang “Amazing Grace.”

She watched Bill and Will Anderson hang their stars on the old oak at the edge of the green. How they stood with Arlys when she hung hers.

And so many others who stepped forward with those symbols until they crowded the lower branches.

It touched her to see Starr step forward to hang her own.

The lanterns the faeries would light as dusk circled the park. Garlands of flowers decked lampposts and newly constructed arbors. Grills formed a line in a designated cooking area.

By noon, musicians played in a gazebo volunteers had finished painting only the night before. Those grills smoked.

Crafts lined tables—all up for barter. Kids got their faces painted or took pony rides. Others played boccie or horseshoes.

The gardens offered a banquet—tomatoes, peppers, summer squash, summer corn (Rachel said the baby was as long as a healthy ear of corn now).

The weather, bright and hot, had many sprawled in the shade, drinking cups of the gallons and gallons of sun tea the community kitchen provided.

She heard talk of putting together a softball team, one for adults, one for kids, and using the Little League field half a mile outside the town proper.

More talk of expanding the farm, moving it to one of the farms a mile out.

Good talk, she thought, hopeful talk.

She danced with Max over the green grass in a summer dress that billowed over her belly. Basking in the sunlight, she gossiped with Arlys while Eddie jammed on his harmonica. On the swings, Fred and Katie swayed back and forth with babies on their laps.