"That's certainly going to make for an interesting reunion," Bradford guffaws when he hears of Dad's plans to mount a search party for the man whose identity he stole over twenty years ago.

The governor arrived soon after nightfall with extra trucks to take people back to base, and while surprised by the discovery of the coded message, his abrupt amusement doesn't hinder his support. Having actually gotten his hands on a ferry and with volunteers at the ready, he easily authorizes our request to find the real Darren Scott and hopefully, the needed radioactive matter. I'm fairly certain he's not sorry to have me, Ellen and our father go because he considers us to be disposable, but he does need a ferry pilot, so he keeps Ray back in O-town. Naturally, Nelly can't be held back from going after her own dad, and Jed joins us to make sure she stays safe.

Although Bradford gives us a six seat, solar operated minivan, water and a few weapons, he can't spare extra food, especially with the unexpected arrivals from Vanguard. He tells us that we'll have to find our own supplies on the road, and Dad immediately agrees to those conditions.

Thegovernor's two-day deadline for our return is another matter. Threatening tostrip Vanguard of its nuclear fueland leave its occupants behind so he could move his people North with the ferryif we don't make it back within forty-eight hours, he willingly puts the biggest obstaclein our path. Dad ultimately manages to negotiate up by another day, but we all fear thatstill won't be enough.

With Jed driving and Nelly riding shotgun, Dad and Ellen seated in the middle row, and me in the rear jump seat next to our meager supplies, we head off.

"How far away is this place? That nuclear plant?" I ask soon thereafter.

"Roughly a hundred miles due south," Nelly says over her shoulder. "Why?"

"Well, you said that it took your dad and his team days to get down there, but at the speed I'm guessing we're going, it should take us a couple of hours at the most," I say, watching the scenery pass by as Jed navigates out of the city. He only slows to turn onto another road leading to something marked as I-95S.

"The weather two months ago was worse down here," Nelly says. "It was much more overcast, which would have been good for travelling during the day if their batteries didn't need the sun to recharge them. The three of them were also on motorbikes, so their max speed was way less than ours."

"Why didn't they just bring one of these vehicles?" I ask, remembering a small fleet of similar cars back at the O-town garages.

As if irony was dead, we begin to slow while Jed points ahead. "That's why."

We've been on this four-lane road for less than a mile, but up until now, it had been just as empty as all the other streets leading out of Port Canaveral. I hadn't even given the lack of abandoned cars any thought, and now I see why I'd been remiss not to.

The prior emptiness clearly wasn't organic. It had been deliberately engineered with traffic deterrents in either direction. Going north, it forced cars off the highway before they could enter the city, while in the southern direction, it made them exit this major road before they could leave it. On the other side of the horizontal roadblocks, cars are lined up more or less in a solid mass as far as the eye can see.

"Oh," I whisper, better understanding both why the original group chose motorcycles and why our trip is expected to take more than just a few hours. But I still have a question. "I guess another way wasn't an option because . . .?"

Neither of them replies, which makes me think they're either already getting tired of me or the answer is obvious. I guess it doesn't make a difference, especially since I'm not the one at the controls. In any case, there's a single car-sized gap in the barricade, so it's obvious that someone has gone this way in the last twenty years. Jed drives through it without hesitation and immediately yanks the steering wheel to the right to avoid a previously hidden crack in the road before heading to the very edge of the far right lane. It's comforting that this isn't his first time on this route because as confident as I tried to appear earlier when volunteering for this mission, I'm feeling more and more out of my element.

We make our way at half the previous pace along the narrow strip that likely wasn't even made for traffic. Only occasionally does Jed have to zig-zag through the other lanes when the remnants of an old car blocks our way. The further we go, the more clearly I see that this route has been cleared just enough for such a purpose, making me wonder if it was done by Bradford's people or some other group. I'm actually afraid to ask, especially as I recall Nelly's earlier warning about roving survivors who didn't even have a place like O-town to keep them safe.

The mood inside the car continues to be somber, as we all sit quietly with our own thoughts. Ellen has a lot to think about with her recent revelation involving Dad's identity, so I don't blame her for being spaced out. While she outwardly took the news well and even immediately defended him for doing what he needed to do to keep his family safe, her reaction felt out of character. I think—and hope—that she'll reconsider giving him so much benefit of the doubt after she's considered how Nelly's future has been impacted.

And speaking of the real Scott daughter, while Nelly hadn't quite become buddy-buddy with my sister, she's even more distanced from Ellen now than before. I definitely can't blame her for that, but it's just adding to the icy feel within the cramped vehicle.

"Oh, shit!" Jed exclaims out of the blue before slamming on the brakes.

After recovering from the unexpected yank of the seat belt, I lean forward and look up through the center of the car as much as the others' curious heads allow. Illuminated by the faint glow of our one working headlight, we see a large vehicle with a cylindrically shaped attachment bearing the weathered words "LUCKY OIL" on its side sitting across most of the available lanes.

"I don't remember this being here," Nelly says, the apprehension in her voice clear.

Jed shakes his head. "Naw, you're right. This is new," he says before turning to us. "Heads up. This could be a trap. Keep your eyes open, and be ready to duck when I say."

Trap? Duck? What? It takes me a second to realize he means that we can expect an attack, and by then, my heart is beating out of my chest. Jed, however, looks cool and composed as he stops the car and pulls out his weapon, loading a bullet into the chamber before exiting the vehicle. Nelly also has her gun out, resting it in her lap as she canvases the surrounding area with her eyes.

Feeling more helpless as ever, I just watch Jed inspect the rig in the road as he first slowly walks around it and then climbs into the cab. The whole thing is sitting so perfectly in the middle that it's now obvious that it had to be deliberately moved there, leaving a half car sized space on either end. Jed, however, seems to do something to make it move without any sound or effort because pretty quickly after he gets behind its wheel, the thing begins to slowly roll backward. After it comes to a stop against the side guardrail, Jed gets out and returns to our car.

"I have no idea what that was about, but let's not stick around to find out," he says, slamming the minivan back into "drive" and driving through the now big enough gap at the previous obstacle's front.

It takes my nerves a while to calm down, but we don't talk about what just happened—or what could have, but didn't happen. Although I had often wished for a more eventful life than what I had for eighteen years on board Vanguard, I'm quickly realizing that perhaps I didn't want excitement as much as I thought I did if it involves coming as close to real danger as this on a daily basis.

That feeling is solidified when we're forced to slow again. This time, though, it's not merely because of an inanimate object cluttering the road. Now, behind a three foot high, modular wall going across the lanes are a row of masked people. Worse yet, they're all holding weapons aimed straight for us.

"Who are they?" asks Dad, tapping Jed on the shoulder.

"Trouble," he replies, doing his best to keep a distance from the blockade without totally coming to a standstill. But there's no way out other than from where we came, and when I look back out through the rear window, I see other armed people entering from both sides to cover our retreat.

"How did they know we'd be here?" Ellen asks, showing her usual strategic thinking.

"That truck earlier," Nelly says bitterly. "It wasn't a trap, but it probably triggered some type of early warning system. And we totally fell for it."

"How do we get out of here?" Dad asks while looking frantically from front to back, and I totally agree with his increasing worry. We're practically surrounded, outnumbered, and outgunned.

Jed slams on the brakes, changes gears, and yells, "Duck!"

I'm slower than usual to react, but as he slams on the gas and the car reverses direction, the force pushes my torso forward. The tires screech and gunshots ring out, popping off the car's metal exterior. I instinctively squeeze my eyes shut as a bullet takes out the back window next to me, sending its pieces flying. The car runs into something with a loud thump against the back before the wheels go bump-bump as they roll over it. In the shadows of the headlight, I see a body lying in the road among the unlucky bastard's scattered, but still standing companions.

When we're far enough away, Jed does a really bad-ass maneuver to right out driving direction without really slowing. The tires screech again and he goes against the usual flow of traffic, dodging immobile cars more carelessly than before to make it back to the nearest off-ramp. Once he exits the highway, everyone in the car seemingly let out a collective sigh of relief.

Ellen begins to giggle nervously and she hugs Dad, who appears just as happy to see that she's unhurt. Jed taps Nelly on the knee and gives her a wink, while she takes his hand and kisses his knuckles.

My ears are ringing and my lap is covered in glass shards, but I feel fine even if there's no one at arm's length to share my happiness with at still being alive. So I'm kind of taken off guard when Nelly turns around and her expression changes from composure to shock.

"Will! Have you been shot?" she asks—or at least I think she does from the snippets I hear mixed with reading her lips—as she hangs halfway out of her seat while looking back. Dad and Ellen also turn around, their faces bordering on surprise and fear.

Although I'm struggling to catch my breath, that's just from the intensity of what just happened, so I try to smile and shake my head. "No, I'm good," I say even as my vision blurs.

"Then why are you bleeding?" she screams right before I lose consciousness.