She’d thought someone might join her in her RV for lunch, but no one came, probably because she’d been barking orders at them all day long. Instead she ate alone, digging ravioli from a can of Chef Boyardee while sitting in the driver’s seat and worrying over the radio for any signs of Red’s progress. It was a curious place to find one’s self at the end of the world; a curious feeling to find one’s self caring deeply again for another human being. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about the others—indeed, she had been likened to the Shambhala’s den mother more than once—it was just that, in truth, she had kept them at a distance on purpose, for she knew that any one of them could be killed, or worse, simply vanished, at any time. Except, of course, Sean (and look how that had turned out), who
