Here is the ghost town, the abandoned military base crumbling into the flat, sunburned waste. Scrub brush, bare trees reaching. Here is the base’s center, the single intersection: the PX, a gas station, a small office building.

Here is the squat brick school, its front doors knocked from their hinges. Someone has painted CLEAR DAY across the remaining windows, a single letter on each intact pane. Overhead the sky is wide and flat, reddening with the spill of sunset to the west.

They had parked the car outside the front gate and now walked through what remained of the base. Jess felt like she was in a warped version of Alex’s photos. The remembered structures were still here, the crossroads, but it was all disfigured. Tire tracks gouged the ground, low mounds of trash surrounded the buildings. And every wall was marked, claimed with paint.

Zero, zero, zero.

You are on sacred ground.

This was what her grief over Alex had become.

What little Jess had eaten over the last few hours rose into her throat. But Martha was right behind her, and Jess tried to imagine the strength it took for Martha to return to this place. Maybe she could draw from some of that courage. Maybe it would be enough for both of them.

They turned the corner in front of the school to find a brown pickup parked in the middle of the road.

Martha said, “They’re here.”

Martha carried her purse on her shoulder, its weight brushing her hip as she walked. She remembered the man at the shooting range back in Vegas, his body too close, his voice in her ear. Plant your feet; hold your breath. She repeated the phrase in her head, a chant to clear away the fear and doubt.

With each sound of a bird or lizard in the brush, Jess turned, sure someone was rushing toward them. Martha didn’t seem spooked at all. She walked steadily, focused on the trail north, so Jess tried to follow her certainty. She felt someone here, though, just off-frame. Alex leaning over Jess’s shoulder back in her apartment, looking at the photos, asking her to give the place a name. She remembered speaking the words for the first time, those twin z’s like bees between her teeth.

Martha stopped and Jess came alongside. There was another high fence up ahead, with a hole torn into its side. And through the hole the low cinder-block room, Zero Zone, standing silent, waiting.

The room was prepared. Tanner tried to stay patient. It wasn’t easy. He felt his composure fraying, its threads loose, hanging in the air.

The sunset filled the space, a deep, smoky red. Isabella sat against the north wall, staring toward the center, where Emmett’s device waited, blinking like a blood spot, there and gone.

Emmett fidgeted in a corner, an annoyance now. Tanner ignored him, refocusing on Isabella. Soon he would see that bright, beautiful moment in her face. She would walk toward Emmett’s device, toward the new sun. Tanner would join her, and they would finally pass through.

He heard footsteps outside and moved to the western opening, expecting the police. Instead, two women approached on the trail. Tanner couldn’t believe who it was. But then he felt the room shift around him, moving into place, like a lock turning open. They had been unbalanced all along. He’d never realized.

One of them had always been missing, but now they were complete.

The long, thin opening in the wall was dark, but Jess felt eyes watching her from within the room.

Martha passed her, walking doggedly around the outside of Zero Zone toward the doorway on the opposite end. Then she stopped, taken aback, looking up at the southern wall. Jess joined her to find an enormous date spray-painted across the room’s exterior. Each number had to be seven feet high. Jess felt dizzy, dwarfed by that memorialized moment. It hadn’t passed, though. The date was a signal. The moment was still there, caught in the dusk. Jess saw the siege happening all around her, spotlights searching the walls, police storming the room. Spots and floaters streaked her vision in the same way Zack’s news footage had crackled with static. Martha took Jess’s hand, and they moved through the flickering chaos to the doorway. Jess looked down, sure she would see Danny Aguado’s body. They would have to step over him to enter the room. It seemed as if Martha saw him, too, or some other horror, because she squeezed Jess’s hand. For support, maybe, or to make sure Jess didn’t run. Jess wanted to run. She had no idea what she would do or say once they were inside.

There was no body in the doorway, but Jess still stepped over as they entered, leaving the last of the day’s light.

Izzy felt nothing. She and Tanner and Emmett had been here an hour, waiting for sunset. This was always the time of day when the rupture appeared, but now she only saw Emmett’s device, blinking in the growing dark. Tanner was going to use it, one way or the other, convinced it would push them through.

She wiped her cheeks. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried. Yes, she could. It was here, back when she felt she was so close to the new sun, when the police burst in, when Danny died. She tried to focus. She was so tired. She wanted this—she had always wanted this, to leave her body. But now she couldn’t stop thinking of the world outside this place, of Martha and Vince, so she continued wiping the tears that blurred her vision, turning the room into a swirl of gold and red.

When Martha appeared, Izzy thought she was seeing things. For a moment she felt such relief. Even if this was a dream it was a beautiful one. Martha had come to take her home. Then Emmett’s device blinked and Izzy woke again. She had to get Martha out of here. She started to call out, to shout for Martha to leave but lost her voice when Jess Shepard came through the doorway.

Martha couldn’t breathe. The room was filled with stifling red light. She gripped her purse and Jess’s hand. Tanner stood by the southern opening, that fucking smile on his face. The other man, Emmett, sat in a far corner, his legs straight out in front of him. Izzy was by the north wall, her face turned to Martha and Jess in the doorway. She looked scared and confused.

Martha knew she should do it right now, before Tanner said a word. Reach into her purse and do it, grab Izzy and go. But then Emmett said, “What are they doing here?” and Tanner said, “They’ve come to pass through.”

Just his voice in the room. All the coiled energy drained from Martha’s limbs, her courage and anger pooling on the floor. She let go of Jess’s hand and then her purse, her foolish plan, dropping everything.

Jess’s eyes wouldn’t adjust. The light was almost tangible, a deep red fog. She had never imagined it could be this intense. Tanner walked toward them, appearing and disappearing in its folds.

“Miss Shepard,” he said. “Jess. Welcome home.”

She couldn’t pull her attention from his face. It wasn’t the growths or tumors; it was his presence, his voice. Warm, confident, generous. Not the monster she had expected.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to meet you,” Tanner said. He smiled at Jess. He looked like a child, full of uncomplicated joy. “But of course you’ve come. You need to be here, too.”

Izzy didn’t understand. She never thought she’d see Jess Shepard again. This woman must be so angry about what Izzy had done. Izzy shrank from the memory. Slashing Jess with that wand, the wet red gash opening on her cheek.

Jess didn’t seem angry, though. She seemed stunned, overcome by the room. Izzy wanted to go to her and apologize, ask for forgiveness. But she wasn’t brave enough. Not yet. She hoped to be stronger on the other side.

Jess knew she should be afraid but couldn’t get any safeguards to take hold. It was like striking matches that refused to ignite. The light was overwhelming. She felt its heat on her face and hands, in her chest. Breathing it in. She remembered the color, the weight of the color, from Alex’s studio, that first discovery, painting and replacing his darkroom bulbs furnace red. That color had remained here, in Zero Zone, waiting, growing. She tried to speak, to recall what she had come to say, but her body was heavy with the light, like water in her lungs.

She saw Isabella against the wall, another man sitting in the corner. Figures from a dream. They looked like prisoners, trapped in the room she had made.

“I’m sorry,” Jess said. She remembered now. She was here to apologize for the pain she’d caused. They were all suffering, and in her own selfish despair she had created a place that amplified their anguish.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Tanner said. His voice seemed part of the room, another fold of the light. “I know about your work. You understand the sickness of this world. Your whole life you’ve tried to find a way out. And you finally did.”

She wanted him to stop talking but was having trouble speaking again. The pain here was physical. It came off each of them in waves, as if it was the source of the light. Jess couldn’t think clearly. She needed to shake herself from this fog, concentrate on the tangible space, the art piece she had made, the measurements and material: rebar, concrete, paint. But she couldn’t hold on to the facts. They dissolved in the light. This place no longer made sense in those terms. It wasn’t hers anymore. It was something new.

She closed her eyes, hoping for relief. And for the first time since the attack, she found she wasn’t afraid of this darkness. There was something else here, below the pain, or past it. Another glistening, deeper in. The truth swirling in the room. She’d chased it her whole life, but always pulled back, never giving herself over completely. She made her art and walked away, watching from what she thought was a safe distance. Only Alex went all the way in. She felt him now, lifting his camera to his eye. He was so close. What would it take to join him in that moment?

“You’ve given us this beautiful gift,” Tanner said. “The exit. We’re almost free.”

She had passed a test, returning here to the heart of her fear and doubt. She had never imagined this grace waiting inside.

Someone gripped her arms then, and Jess opened her eyes to a riot of floaters swarming in the bloodshot fog. Tanner was there, close, his hands wrapped above her elbows as if she were a prized possession. Beside her, Martha whispered, “No,” speaking to herself, or maybe to Jess, trying to summon courage or clarity. Her voice came like an alarm from outside the fog, muffled but urgent. Jess tightened at Tanner’s touch and a new storm of spots rose in her vision, obscuring his face. For once she welcomed the confusion they created, making space between her and the room, an inch in which to breathe.

She tried to pull free, but Tanner squeezed her arms, holding her in place. The pressure from his hands pulsed, and the light throbbed along with it, narrowing to a small red point in the center of the room.

“What’s that?” Martha said, her voice shot through with fear, merging with Jess’s own, a cold wind blowing a hole in the fog.

“That’s the final piece,” Tanner said. He let go of Jess’s arms and walked toward the blinking light. “Our beautiful little machine. Like a rocket.” The way he said the word made him a boy again, reverent, exhilarated.

The other man stirred, standing in his corner. Jess had forgotten he was there. He moved to where Tanner stood before the dark rectangle, that small box veined with wires.

A bomb in the room.

Jess’s body rang with that alarm now, jarring her mind clear.

This wasn’t grace. This was obliteration.

“Don’t do this,” she said, panic taking over. “Please. Turn it off.”

“That’s just fear talking,” Tanner said. “Resist it. Let it go.”

When Tanner walked away, Martha was able to move again. She didn’t listen to Tanner’s voice. She refused to listen. Instead she crouched to the floor, feeling for her purse in the hideous light.

Izzy wanted Emmett to turn it off, too. But was that just more fear, like Tanner said? She was so sick of being afraid.

Jess turned to Isabella, standing frozen against the far wall.

“You don’t have to go through with this,” Jess said.

Martha crawled on the floor, breathing hard, her heart thrashing, fingers searching the rough concrete.

Isabella’s face looked swollen. She’d been crying or was crying now. It was so hard for Jess to see.

“Martha came for you,” Jess said. “Vince is on his way.”

“Vince?” Izzy asked.

“Stop.” Tanner’s voice cracked through, loud and sharp. A command.

Martha’s fingers brushed across sand or dirt, scraps of paper, little bits of broken glass that stuck into her skin. Then she found a single thin softness, a strand of leather fringe. She pulled it toward her.

“Izzy,” Jess said, the nickname she’d heard from Vince and Martha, so full of affection.

“I said stop.” Tanner turned to Jess. She felt the force of his anger, a blow from across the room.

“You don’t understand any of this, do you?” he said. “Isabella was right to cut you down. You have no idea what you’ve made.”

Martha stood, pulling the gun from her purse.

Jess saw movement to her left, another shadow, the other man rushing at her.

Izzy screamed, “Don’t touch her!”

Martha planted her feet. She held her breath. She squeezed the trigger and the gun bucked in her hand with a deafening crack. The room filled with the sound. Emmett dropped as if his legs were kicked out from under him.

Jess’s hands flew to her ears, reflexively, too late.

Emmett struggled to stand, stumbling, woozy. Martha pulled the trigger again. Another blast from the gun. Emmett toppled to his side. He coughed, twice, then lay motionless, like a heap of clothes on the floor.

Martha stared at him, what was left of him. She wanted to scream at what she’d done.

Tanner said, “Give me the gun.”

Martha pointed it at Tanner. He came and went in the shifting light. Those tiny pieces of glass pressed into her fingers.

“You won’t,” Tanner said. “I know you, Martha.”

The room smelled of the smoke seeping from the gun’s barrel. Martha wanted to drop it. She wanted Tanner to come and take the gun away.

Slowly, Izzy walked toward Martha. She saw Martha’s jaw flexing, the hand holding the gun trying to squeeze, but it was stunted movement. Martha couldn’t go any further. Izzy put one hand on Martha’s back, the other over the handle of the gun. Martha’s eyes were still on Tanner. Her nostrils flared as if she was going to scream or cry. Izzy eased the gun from her hand. Martha’s arm fell to her side.

Tanner said, “Bring it to me.”

Martha’s hair covered her face and Izzy brushed it back, gently, behind her ears. There were two dark spots on Martha’s neck. Izzy remembered Tanner’s hand there, back at Martha’s home, what Izzy thought might become her home until Tanner had arrived. He never should have touched Martha, never should have left those marks.

Tanner said, “Isabella.”

She turned to him and the air split open, a blinding line of light expanding, swelling, filling the room. Her breath caught in her chest.

Tanner said, “Is it here?”

The room fell away. She felt the new sun’s heat, stronger than ever, searing through every pore. That glorious, terrible beauty. Like crossing the school hallway, her feet leaving the floor, her body rising. Like stepping off the edge of the La Loma bridge, the flock of blue-winged birds rushing beneath. Like starving herself, day after day, pressing skin against bone, aching to be weightless and free.

It was here, finally, the fulfillment of all those promises.

Tanner moved toward the bomb.

To Jess, it looked like another loop of Laura Lehrer’s film, Izzy drawn to a presence only she could see. That unbearable longing. But Jess understood it now. She had been consumed by it since Alex’s death. It had led her to this place, this room. All this time Jess had been trapped here, too.

“Izzy,” Jess said. “We don’t need to stay here anymore. We’ve both been here too long.”

Jess’s voice splintered Izzy’s concentration, disturbing the sun, a fluttering around its edges.

Jess said, “Will you leave with me?”

That fluttering was another pull, a different opening. Something past what Izzy imagined was possible. Martha was here, and Jess said Vince was on his way. Izzy wanted to believe that was true. She thought of working in Martha’s garden—their garden. Those lovely, fragile afternoons when it seemed they healed a little more with each seed planted. She thought of driving with Vince, some day still to come, a camera to her eye, his face in the frame while she filmed. Maybe she could learn to live in those days, those possibilities.

Izzy couldn’t see Tanner through the blazing sun, only his rippling silhouette, like a dancing shadow.

“Don’t do it,” she said.

“You’re afraid,” Tanner said. “You have to trust me.”

Izzy bent forward, her free hand on her knee. The sun’s heat was burning her alive. “I can’t,” she said. “Please let us go.”

“This is what we’ve always wanted. We’re finally here. Don’t you feel it?”

Izzy nodded, sweat streaming from her nose and chin.

“Then let’s go through.”

“Stop,” she said.

Tanner moved closer. He wasn’t going to stop.

Izzy forced herself upright again, lifting her arm, pointing the gun. She’d never held a gun before. It was small and strangely heavy. Not unlike that other weapon, her horrible canister and wand.

She said, “I want to leave.”

“That’s right,” Tanner said. “We’re all leaving.” He took another step toward the bomb.

Izzy squeezed the gun and the blast sounded again and Tanner jerked back, twisting at the waist, then down to one knee.

He put his hands on his stomach. They came away dark and wet. He looked at Izzy in disbelief.

The new sun blazed, a final offer. Izzy took a breath, holding its heat for a moment, a last inhalation of that promise. Then she turned away, dropping the gun. She reached out and Martha grabbed her hand, pulling her from the bomb, and then Jess pushed them both out the open doorway.

Tanner watched them run. He couldn’t feel his legs. He was kneeling, but there was nothing underneath. It felt like floating. Everything was leaking from his stomach. Once when he was a kid he’d stabbed a pencil into a milk carton and watched the entire half gallon pump out onto the kitchen counter. So much liquid through such a tiny hole. His mother was upset at the waste and mess.

He looked to Emmett, slumped on his side, then turned back to the center of the room, the darkness there, the empty space. He never saw what Izzy saw, was never granted that gift. He was still stuck in the phase.

Stand in the after-work crowd in Pershing Square, the simmering onset of a summer evening. Friends, strangers, lovers, families. Realize that you could shout and no one would look at you. You could sing, you could scream. You could explode.

The answer had been there all along. So much time wasted, searching. There was only one way to pass through.

The device blinked, a small red promise. Tanner reached for it.

The blast threw Jess from her feet. Her vision went black and then the sound of the explosion caught up to her, knocking away all other sound. She was flying, then falling, dragged deeper by the undertow. She was back beneath the waves, that first day at the beach, tossed forward, drowning again in silent darkness. An incredible pressure in her head. She reached for her mother’s hand, desperate, straining for that touch, but Barbara wasn’t there. Jess was alone, flailing. Then she hit something solid, bouncing, the wind knocked from her lungs. She was out of air, moving too fast, rolling, unable to grab hold, her hands dragging through dirt, her body spinning, and then the ground was gone again. Launched into the emptiness. She hung for a moment, suspended. She was going to fall; she had tumbled over the edge. Her stomach rose in expectation of the sickening drop. She knew there was no bottom. That plunge would never end.

A hand pulled her then, hard, and she could see, could breathe, gasping, her lungs and eyes and nostrils burning. She coughed out what she thought was water, but it was smoke. She was lying in the dust, a rain of ash and rock falling, pieces of the room. A hot orange glow from somewhere behind. Her hearing faded back, a growing roar in her ears, like rushing wind. The sound of a fire. Izzy was there, too, on the ground. They were face-to-face. They had been here before, that night in the gallery. Izzy coughed, blinking away ash. She held Jess’s hand tightly in her own, as if unwilling to let Jess fall backward. Izzy reached out with her other hand and touched Jess’s cheek, her fingertips gentle on the scar she had made. Jess saw such tenderness in Izzy’s face. That tenderness was what she had missed, that night at the gallery. It was buried so deeply, beneath the pain and rage.

Izzy said something Jess couldn’t hear. More concrete fell from the sky, larger chunks now, crashing on the ground around them, into the back of Jess’s neck, her hip and shoulder. Izzy pulled Jess to her feet and they ran, Jess’s vision shaking, ash in her eyes. She saw Martha running ahead. They followed her into a dense cloud, Jess holding her breath in the ash and smoke and burning embers, a field of scalding orange points of light, and then they passed through and she inhaled, breathing again, out the other side.

Izzy stumbled and Jess pulled her forward, surfacing.