HOPE REACHES THE BASE of the mountain and tumbles to the ground. She untangles herself from her skis.
The tiny town is ablaze with activity. A convoy of New Washington soldiers snakes its way through the main street, heading up the mountain.
But where is Chancellor Maddox?
With all these soldiers here—the president’s soldiers—the chancellor has no choice but to stick to back alleys. Hope does the same. She limps through town, searching for any sign of the woman who just shot her. Who scarred her face. Who ordered the deaths of billions of innocent people.
She reaches the endless prairie at the edge of town, and her spirits drop. There’s no sign of the chancellor anywhere. She’s gotten away. Hope is about to turn around and head back when she spies a small figure stumbling across the snow-covered grasslands. The figure has blond hair and wears an ankle-length coat.
Hope wonders where she’s going. Why run blindly across a frozen field? What good will that do?
Then Hope spies a vehicle on the far side of a ridge. A Humvee, just waiting to take the president-elect wherever she wants to go. Hope can’t let the chancellor get inside that vehicle.
Hope gives chase as best she can but grows winded quickly, the horizon tilting wildly. Her right pant leg clings to her skin, and blood squishes in her shoe.
As she limps along, her eyes scan the snow-stubbled field. For all the effort Hope is putting into the chase, the chancellor is getting farther and farther away.
Hope comes to a stop, defeated. She could maybe return to town and try to persuade some soldier to drive her across the field, but by the time she could even hope to make that happen, Chancellor Maddox will be long gone. Disappeared for good.
Hope crumples to the ground—not just from loss of blood but from bone-racking despair. Her unfinished business will remain just that—unfinished.
She slips into a deep sleep.