We ran. There was a loud bang like an explosion behind us, followed by a volley of gunfire. Seemed like it was all around us. But I had my daughter Sarah’s hand in mine. And Jimmy was carryin’ the kid. So we didn’t think. We just ran.

Almost buried in the weeds and high grass, I saw the tracks that had once carried the camp’s supply train. We followed them and within minutes we were in the woods at the edge of the property. We stopped to catch our breath beside a sign readin’, “Now leaving Camp Cypress.” Somebody’d crossed out the name in spray paint and replaced it with “Andersonville.”

“Where are we going?” Sarah asked. We.

Another explosion rattled the metal sign on its post. I looked back the way we’d come and saw Pam coming through the trees, crossing the tracks. She stopped still as a deer when she saw me.

“It’s done,” she said. “I blew up the control shed. Triggered the vault’s decon protocols.”

I nodded.

“I ordered a full evacuation. It’s done.” She drew in a deep breath and then the tears came. “It’s all gone.”

“Your evacuees have a rendez-vous point?” I asked.

She pointed in the direction in which she had been walking, then she looked back toward the camp. “I should have died with the others,” she said. “I was supposed to die. I would rather we…” She trailed off.

“Come with us,” I said.

But she wouldn’t. She stood there on the tracks, not taking another step forward, not taking another step back.

I had my daughter’s hand in mine and we walked.