Page 112 of Doomsdate

“Impossible? No,” Gemma says, considering. “Inadvisable? Yes. Very, very inadvisable. But the upgrades to Maisie’s rig were completed today.”

Maisie’s head shoots up. “How can a snowplow help?”

“It’s electrified.”

“Oh.” Maisie sits back, impressed. “That does sound useful.”

“It is, for the ones that are in front of you. The starving that come from the sides, though?” Gemma whistles. “Well. You can’t plow them all.”

“Now that you’re a member of our family, we didn’t want to send you out there empty-handed on your own.” Mom sniffs, then gazes at her sternly. “But it’s still not enough to protect you at nighttime here.”

“We have to go, Mom.” I’m afraid of what I’m saying, afraid of what awaits us beyond the brave soldiers holding the line for us right now. But I know it’s true. “Gramps is all the family Maisie has left. He needs us.”

Mom’s steel jaw sets in, but she doesn’t argue. “Then we’ll help you as best we can. Hank, set the coffee to brew. Gemma, get the dry-erase markers.” Mom’s eyes narrow. “We’ve got planning to do.”

The next thirty minutes are spent identifying assets, arguing passionately, and drawing wild, incomprehensible maneuvers on the whiteboard that takes up one whole wall of my parents’ barracks. I can barely get a word in, but Maisie’s as sharp as my family, throwing in cunning ideas and tactics so cutthroat, Dad’s eyes are gleaming and Mom’s grinning her sharkiest smile. I manage to score a surprised look of respect when I offer an idea I stole from the big battle scene in 28 Days Later, even though it’s unanimously shot down, but the Battle-Greers do go for my next idea, which I ripped off from a combination of Julio’s advice and 1990’s underrated Pump Up the Volume.

And they thought film degrees were useless.

By ten p.m., we have a plan. An absolutely terrifying plan.

“Any luck?” I ask as Maisie tries one last time to get through to Gramps, but her deep-set frown tells me everything I need to know. Armed with Tasers, walkie-talkies, and a shaky understanding of West Point’s terrain, Maisie and I march alongside my parents, Gemma, and the bevy of cadets that follow them wherever they go down the stairs and out the big stone doors leading to the grassy Plain in front of Washington Hall. There, parked in the employee lot, sits Maisie’s upgraded rig. The headlights seem brighter than usual, and of course, the large metal plow guards the front, glinting like a diabolical villain’s sneer.

“We’ve got this baby rubber-mounted,” Gemma explains to Maisie. “That’ll protect you inside the car from any electrical surges, but keep all limbs inside the vehicle when it’s powered on—that’s a must. The car batteries attached to the plow should last you a few days with heavy use, longer if you’re lucky.”

Maisie hops inside, adjusting the mirrors, the seat, and learning all the new bells and whistles West Point’s mechanical engineering students added during the course of the day. I turn to Mom and Dad and choke back a laugh.

“What?” Dad frowns at me, his head looking hilariously small where it sticks up out of the Apollo space suit. Mom looks even funnier in hers.

“No, no, it’s just—it fits you even worse than it fits me.” Dad’s practically bowlegged from the wedgie the suit’s giving him.

“Laugh it up, Junior,” Mom says, but she’s smiling. “Come give us a hug.”

With her rubber-suited arms, it feels more like a squish than a proper embrace, but I relish it all the same. “We love you, son,” Dad says, his voice soft.

“We’re sorry that that hasn’t always been obvious,” Mom adds.

My tight throat chokes the words. “I love you, too. Thank you, for this. For everything.”

“Thank you for confirming we’re the new heads of state.” Mom sniffs, then pounds me on the back. “Come home soon as you can. Maybe for an actual ceremony?” she says, eyeing Maisie where she’s joyously flipping the plow’s switch on and off. “I wasn’t sure what to think when Gemma told us you were road-tripping up here with your blind date, but son, you sure lucked out to find two wonderful loves in one lifetime. Maisie’s the real deal.”

“I know.” And dammit, now I’m crying. Because they’re right. Because I love them. Because I love that they already see Maisie for the amazing person that she is. I pull away, wiping my eyes. “Stay safe, you two. Gemma cannot be president.”

Mom actually shivers. “Don’t I know it.”

“Hey, I heard that,” Gemma says, coming up next in line. She throws her arms around me, and I hug her so tight, she oofs.

“Take care of Mom and Dad. And don’t let them declare war on the Canadian nuclear scientists.”

“Ha! No promises there.” She steps back, smiling up at me, and I’m so proud of her, I could explode. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

“Love you, Gemmy. See you soon.” My voice cracks along the well-worn lines of our preferred goodbye phrase.

She chucks me under the chin, then winks. “See you soon, Evvie.”

I take one last look at my little sister, committing that impish smirk to memory, and hoist myself into Maisie’s tricked-out SUV.

In the cold dark of the car, the dash’s instruments our only source of light, the reality of our plan bears down on our backs.