In just two days, Lincoln and Caroline reached the outskirts of Atlanta. Julian, Miles, and Jason were on their tail in the armored Humvee they'd taken from Fort Riley. Lincoln felt the hope that Caroline had created in him grow even stronger. He had assumed Julian was dead like all the rest when they had divided up before he'd accompanied Adam and Whitaker to Omaha. But Julian was immune. Ninety-five of a hundred people died, Julian had said, but still that was five men or women the virus hadn't been able to take down, for every ninety-five who crashed and bled out. That meant there were a hell of a lot of survivors out there they needed to find and help.
"We're close now," Lincoln said.
Caroline was watching the window, silent and focused. Ellie and Kirby and even the chickens were asleep. Last night, he and Caroline had slept without any bad dreams, knowing that others now watched over them.