As she passed the window, she did a double-take.

That sunset. That gorgeous sunset.

At once, she was reminded of the sunsets she knew as a child—those rays of light framed by clouds, the bursts of color that were only possible out on the plains, far away from the air pollution of the cities that made such a sight impossible.

It just didn’t seem fair. It’s something she remembered from long ago, and she wanted it to stay in her past.

She remembers the orange sunset she raced into as a kid, pedaling her bike furiously, trying to get home before dark as promised.

She remembered that purple sunset on the first of many evenings she spent making out with Mike Hullis up on the hill behind the stockyards.

Mike Hullis. Damn, that was a long time ago. Today was different.

Beautiful sunsets have no business being created by something so deadly. God makes sunsets—but not that.

“Lieutenant? Your orders?”

She sighed. The order was the same every night.

“East. We’re going east, Sergeant.”