21: George – Savior Wanted. No Experience Necessary

Cheppard beamed at his impromptu congregation. His teeth and eyes glowed an unnatural white. There was nothing sinister in his gaze, nor wrath behind his eyes. They washed over everyone without judgement or his trademark righteous fury, and settled on Rhea with a conviction she felt in her bones. His eyes were earnest. They sparkled with innocence.

“Um, dad? Rhea said. “I want to check your head. You hit it pretty hard when you fell.”

Cheppard fished around in his pockets. “No need to worry about me, dear. In a few moments, my injuries will be inconsequential.”

He placed something in her hand, keeping his eyes on hers as he wrapped her fingers around it. He then did likewise to George before moving on to Holden and Wendy. George opened his hand. Nestled in his palm was a strip of Repose. Rhea showed him hers. The pastor was serious.

“I was given some of this by O’Toole.” Holden said. “I believe it to be the so-called gum Lillian gave you that day, to be taken with your bonnie lass before immediately retiring to bed. Call it a sneaking suspicion, but I no longer believe it’s Viagra.”

“It’s Repose.” George said. “I got the pleasure of seeing this work up close on the way over to yours. And you’re right. After taking this, we wouldn’t have time to enjoy ourselves, in bed or otherwise.”

“Ah, the famous Repose. So that’s what it looks like, eh? Fast acting, is it?”

Wendy leaned in and pushed their hands down. “Quicker than it takes to sing a song. Do not put that in your mouth.”

The Cheppard finished handing out the suicide sweets, then returned to the center of the room with a flourish of his robes.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He said. “But no, I haven’t gone insane. In the past two days, the most hedonistic of us held parties in the streets, celebrating the end of the world in an orgy of shame and lust, that same gluttonous greed that made them raid stores as soon as they had money, and then turn to violent theft when that money couldn’t appease their anger with instant gratification. And what happened to them? They burned, just like we were told we would for those sins. But that’s just coincidence, right? Poetic irony? Well, before that, I convinced a girl under my protection to make amends for what she’d confessed to me. But even her confession proved fraudulent, as the people she betrayed are with us, right here. Those sins I listed correspond to circles of hell, and like you, I thought they were metaphors designed to keep us from straying down dark paths. Except now we only have to look outside to see that’s not the case. Miss Catherine, like all those who followed that path, is now frozen in stone.”

Rhea squeezed George’s hand as he glanced back at the door. He couldn’t see Cat from that angle, but swallowed a gulp. Others in the chapel gulped with him, followed by an undertone of murmuring and curses. He didn’t need to look to know Cheppard was telling the truth. Cat’s face and reaching hand were burned forever into his mind.

“Now, that’s two outcomes that symbolize divine retribution, but we can still call it coincidence,” Cheppard continued. “But as far as I can tell, everybody still alive in this city managed to make their way here. Well done demonstrating your remarkable prowess for survival. But here’s the clincher. You did it naked. You sought sanctuary in a holy place when your friends and family, good people, floated into the sky. And it all started at Tel Megiddo in Israel, the Hill of Armageddon. If it sounds familiar, it’s because all this had been prophesied. You’ve seen it referenced in pop culture, in parody, by crazies on the streets, screeching how the end of the world is nigh. And when something hits an identical note three times, we no longer call it a coincidence. Three, ladies and gentlemen, is the magic number. A pattern. Welcome to the Rapture.”

The Cheppard’s face shifted from one emotion to another. There was no self satisfaction there, no pride in being right. Etched in his wrinkles was fear and doubt and the weight of defeat. Rhea’s squeeze on George’s hand grew tighter, but he didn’t pull away. She saw it, too. The tension on their shoulders grew heavier.

“I see no pattern.” Holden said. He stood and bowed and skipped to the podium to wrap a friendly arm around the Cheppard, then grinned at his audience. “If three’s a pattern, then maybe I choose to see one poetic irony aside a single coincidence, and n’er their twain shall meet.”

“Mr. Crayson,” Cheppard said. “As much as I commend your creative ability, there is a time and place for it, and neither here nor now is either of them. You saw the world end with your own eyes. Denial of the facts won’t help you. I can act as your councilor if you need—.”

Holden clamped a hand over the pastor’s mouth, then hopped to the door and shielded his eyes with a pantomime hand.

“End of the world?” He said. “What, you mean that one? That one there that’s perfectly intact? Doesn’t look like it ended to me.”

“Except that it’s now above us and completely unusable.”

“Nah, we fit a couple of railings, glue some Velcro to our boots, we’ll be fine.”

“Mr. Crayson, we’re in the midst of the Rapture. Armageddon is upon us. I understand you’re scared. We all are. I am, and I know nobody wants to accept that the world has come to an end, but it’s time we moved on to greener pastures.”

“Greener pastures? Or red smears? Utter bull crap if you ask me. There are plenty of places to go, and if the sky’s so scary, I say we head in the opposite direction. Underground.”

Cheppard took a controlled breath. “It is scary, yes. But that fear is what I’m asking you to try and overcome. I’m asking you, all of you, to join me in a leap of faith. Into the heavens.”

“Into the sky?” Holden said. “That’s asking a lot.”

“Only to the faithless.”

Holden stepped back down and circled the Cheppard, taking slow, deliberate steps and keeping him in his gaze the entire, unblinking, time.

“Then why don’t you show us?” he said. “Prove your faith is placed right. Jump now and we’ll follow when we see the holy light.”

“And will that help you find your faith?” Cheppard said. “Seeing proof? You can make a martyr out of me but that won’t help you, or anyone else who simply refuses to see.”

Holden grinned further and stood out of Cheppard’s way. To his credit, the pastor didn’t hesitate. He swept past Holden and dropped to the ceiling below the mezzanine. The fall was slow, and his robes trailed after him in a majestic sweep. When he landed, he marched to the chapel’s front doors and pushed them wide. He stood in the upside-down arch, arms outstretched, and trembled in front of his flock.

“Dad!” Rhea screamed.

She tore from George’s arms, scrambled across the wooden deck and dropped to the ceiling after him. George jumped after her but she was already across the room. She pulled her father into a hug and he hugged her back.

“It’s alright, my dear.” he said. “Sometimes people need a show of faith. That’s not wrong,”

“But you’ll die.”

Cheppard frowned at her. “Et tu, my daughter?”

“Dad, this isn’t a spiritual debate. This is real. We need to stay together and figure out a way to survive this. You heard James Kinsley himself say we’ve only got about a thousand seconds before this rights itself. That’s not long. We can hold out until then.”

“One million seconds.” George said, walking up. “That’s about eleven days.”

Cheppard cupped Rhea’s face.

“I raised you.” He said. “You’ve read the books, and you’ve been given the signs. Do I need to prove it to you as well?”

Rhea glared at him. “Dad, I don’t believe. I stopped believing the day mom died.”

The sparkle in the Cheppard’s eyes died as soon as she said those words. His mouth dropped open and his hands fell away. He slowly turned to face the clouds and leaned out, barely secured with his hands gripping the doorframe.

“That was almost five years ago.” He said. “You never said anything.”

Rhea sniffed and wiped at a stray tear. “You’d have made it about God. Or the afterlife, or part of some divine plan. I couldn’t take that. It would ruin her memory. I needed comfort. Here, on Earth.”

“And I couldn’t have given you that?”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand how horrific everything you say is. You think heaven is being rewarded for dealing kindly with all the shit in life, but all I hear is she was finally rid of me. That I’m the shit. That mom moved on, abandoned me and you, and everyone she’s supposed to have loved because now she’s getting paid? Your sermons turned my mother into a hired nanny.”

The Cheppard spun round with a glare, feet teetering over the edge of the joint in the arch.

Your mother was a saint.” He said, raising a pointed finger at her. “And I never besmirched her good name. How dare you—”

George stepped between them and slid his arm under Cheppard’s.

“Instead of getting angry, maybe you ought to get to understanding, huh, padre?” He said, hoisting the pastor back inwards. “If you’re angry nobody took your lessons to heart, maybe you ought to re-evaluate your teaching methods.”

Cheppard pulled away and aimed the finger at George. “You—”

George grabbed his finger and dragged him under the mezzanine, away from the overlooking crowd.

“Me, nothing! When I met first met Rhea, she was already lost to you. Don’t go trying to stuck your shit to me.”

“How dare—”

George twisted Cheppard’s finger across his own lips, then pinned the pastor to a column with an elbow.

“I don’t know if you’re right. Maybe this is prophesy or maybe you’re full of it, but you’re the one who told me that if you love her, to understand that I do, too. Rhea may be your daughter, but she’s the mother of my child. And I won’t let anyone harm my family. Not intentionally, and certainly not through blind stupidity. Besides, if that beard on TV is telling is the truth, you got eleven days to convince us you’re right.”

Cheppard didn’t struggle, but regarded George through narrow slits. He said nothing for a moment, and George half formed a fist, preparing for another bout of the pastor’s self righteous fisticuffs. Instead, he inhaled sharply and let out a long, drawn out breath. George took his finger away. The Cheppard’s breath was hot.

“I think I understand what my daughter sees in you.” He said. “We share a temper, you and I.”

“But not your zealousness.”

Cheppard huffed. “No. And yes, I understand you love my daughter as well. You speak wisely for someone your age.”

“I’m just quoting a loving father.”

Cheppard let out a laugh. Or a cough. George loosened his grip and backed off, allowing the pastor to readjust his collar and step back out with his dignity. He knelt by Rhea, pulled her into another hug and whispered into her ear. She nodded, sobbed, then laughed and cried. George couldn’t hear what was said, but as the two made up, the tension of the room evaporated.

Holden hopped over to George and leaned on his shoulder. “And here’s you telling me you’re worried about being a father? You just out-fathered your new father in-law, a professional father at that, and then gave him fatherly advice. Now look. He’s finally acting like a father.”

“No thanks to you, you dick. What the hell were you thinking, challenging him like that?”

“Hey, your new bride’s daddy’s the one who wanted us to jump from the top of a building. Or is it the bottom now? Bottop? Anyway, I can’t stand when people have conviction. Why do we idolize it as a trait? Confidence is not intelligence. But at least I gave us an out. If he’d jumped, we wouldn’t have had a madman running around telling us all suicide was the way forward.”

“Yeah, well that madman used to preach something O’Toole always said, too, and it’s something I agree with.”

“And that is?”

“Lead by example. If you really think there’s a way to survive this, show me.”

Holden’s patented grin spread across his face.

“I’m so glad you asked, because as it happens, I do have a plan. A great plan. A plan so cunning it needs a slideshow hosted by the fursona of a fox. It’s simple yet effective, based in actual laws of physics, and easily achievable in less than a day.”

“And is?”

“We built a bridge to here. Nothing stopping us building a bridge to somewhere safer.

George raised an eyebrow. As ideas went, it wasn’t worst.

“See?” Holden said. “I’m a genius!”

. . .

“Okay, everybody, listen up!” George yelled. “My colleague and I have been figuring a way out of this predicament, and he’s come up with, um, I guess a plan.”

The crowd turned their attention to Holden.

“No need to thank me.” Holden said. He stood with his hands on his hips, flashing his smile and finger guns at anyone who looked up. “What we need is for you all to follow us back across the street. The building there is stronger than this one. Larger. From there, we’ll need volunteers to help re-angle the bridge back to the apartments across the alleyway, and then we can start on the next phase. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Rhea said. “Where are you taking us?”

“Our goal right now is to get to the subway tunnels. They’re underground, strong and carry a possibility the station shop will still have food, albeit in the form of unhealthy snacks, but is sustenance we definitely do not have here. Anything else?”

“Are you saying you can you save us?”

George looked at the old lady in a shawl who’d asked. He stared her straight in the eye and stepped forward.

“No. All we can do is teach you how to use our equipment.” He said. “When it comes to saving anyone, we’ll just have look out for each other.”

“We’re doomed, then.” Someone said in the back. It sounded like his dad.

George marched through the crowd and stepped out to the bridge, embedded in the arch of the doorway. He gave it an experimental shake and nothing happened. Satisfied, he called for the nearest person to make the first trip.

“C’mon, kid.” He said, pointing to a little boy. “We built you a sturdy bridge. She won’t fall.”

The young boy eased out from the crowd, clutching a box to his chest.

“Me?” he said.

George held out a hand. “I can climb up with you if you want.”

“Oh, no you didn’t!” the shawled lady said. She stormed past the boy and eased into the triangular tunnel. “You are not sending that little boy on some death mission just to prove your point. I’m old. I had my life, so if anyone’s gonna test it, it’s me.”

She reached forward and grasped the first rail, squealed at how cold it was, then climbed. The crowd gathered by the door, half spilling out onto the underside of the fire escape to watch as the old woman cursed and muttered on her way up. The gloom below parted to reveal the gently glowing drop, and she swore louder, and hurried to the other side as fast as she could. When she reached the top, she crawled out and stayed on all fours in the corner of the window, breathing hard.

“It’s alright.” She called. “The boy’s right. Your bridge didn’t fall.”

The young boy stood at the foot of the angled bridge and stared up the tunnel. It had a ladder for a floor, a triangular roof with beams across it. It didn’t look scary, so he clutched the box tighter and began his ascent.

Zeke stumbled through the crowd to watch him go. He glared at George.

“You mean to tell me we just got all these people out from that block, to that one, then here, and now we all have to go back again?” He said.

George shrugged. “Looks that way.”

“You suck at your job.”

“Shut up and go after the kid.”

Wendy barged between them, carrying Zeke’s case. He made a grab for it, but George held him back while she climbed up with it.

George let go of his father. “You want your gear, old man, fetch.”

Before George had finished speaking, Zeke followed Wendy. He made it halfway across before losing his grip. A hand slipped between the rungs and his head came down where his weight wasn’t supported. His chin hit the metal with a sharp tang.

“For fuck’s sake.” George said, and clambered up after him.

He reached his dad and pulled his hand up, then pushed and prodded until the old man spilled in through the window, onto the ceiling of the apartment.

George dragged Zeke by the collar to the corner where the shawled lady had made a seat from an overturned cabinet. He dumped Zeke at her feet.

“You wouldn’t mind taking care of him, would you?” he asked her.

“Not at all, son. You just leave him with Mama Cynthia. I’ll take good care of him for you.”

George thanked her and left to help the others up.

Cynthia smiled and called out the boy. “Jamie, you find anything?”

“No, Mama. There’s no food here. There’s a statue on the ceiling in the kitchen, though.

The boy crawled out from under the rubble blocking a door. He waved at George as Rhea came up, and set his battered box next to Zeke. When he opened it, two mewling kittens stuck their heads out. Jamie apologized for having no food to feed them, then lurched over as his own stomach growled audibly.

“Sorry.” He said. “Me and Mama haven’t eaten since the day before.”

Zeke regarded the boy and his cats. Cynthia patted his back and rummaged in her bag, eventually coming up empty handed.

“And I’m all out of candies.” She said.

“Here.” Zeke said. He fished in his pockets and threw a small box at the kid. “Found these in the chapel. Can’t say they’ll do you any good, but they’re something to chew on.”

Inside were small, round wafers. Jamie’s eyes lit and he thanked Zeke, then crammed a handful into his mouth, and choked when they congealed in his throat. Zeke fished in his other pocket and pulled out a bottle of communion wine, popped the cork and poured a mouthful down the kid’s gullet. He got a disgusted face in return, but the kid breathed again and continued to eat. This time, slowly.

“I see you’re not as cold and grouchy as you like to portray.” Cynthia said. “I can always tell a good man by the way he treats a child. Although mayhaps communion wine wasn’t the best way to clear his windpipe.”

“Watch ya own kid, Mama,” Zeke said, shaking the bottle. “And make sure he don’t eat so fast. Now excuse me, I’m trying to enjoy the company o’ my friend here.”

“Are you drinking wine because you’re happy or sad?” Jamie said

Zeke looked at the kid. “Does I look like I have anything to be happy about?”

“Your son got married. That’s happy, right?”

“A single raindrop in an ocean of misery, kid.”

“If I had to drink, it would be sad. My parents got drowned in stone. Mama Cynthia pulled me into her house when it melted.”

Cynthia patted Jamie’s head.

“Congratulations, woman,” Zeke said. “You’re a regular fuckin’ superhero.”

Jamie stroked his cats. “Mama Cynthia said she was allowed to save me because I was a good boy for saving these guys. She said that’s why we’re still alive. Does that mean you’re a good guy, too?”

Zeke paused halfway through the bottle. “Fuck off, kid, I jus’ stole wine and Jesus skin from a goddamn church, and I haven’t been sober in over two decades. Do I look like a good guy to you?”

Cynthia gently pulled Jamie away from Zeke.

“Don’t take his harsh words to heart, little one.” She said. “The man’s clearly in a lot of pain.”

Jamie pulled away and picked out a kitten. He placed it on Zeke’s lap.

“The boys who bought them wanted to shoot them with slingshots.” He said. “They chased me back to my neighborhood but Mama Cynthia told them off. She took the cats into her home because she has a garden they could play in. I didn’t have a garden.”

Zeke eyed the kittens. They were disgustingly cute.

“Why tell me, kid? Can’t you just leave me alone?”

Jamie flashed a smile and pointed at George and Rhea. “That’s your son and daughter, right? They’re the ones who saved me and let me get away.”

Zeke looked at them. “She ain’t my daughter. Never seen her before in my life.”

Cynthia leaned in. “That girl would be your new daughter in-law. They got married while you …started to drink.”

One of the kittens jumped up and licked Zeke’s elbow. He pulled his arm back.

“Sorry,” Jamie said. “That’s Rover. He keeps trying to get away. The other one’s Fido. He likes the box. I had a third one called Rex, but…”

Zeke sighed. “But what, kid? Huh?”

“He’s a statue now, like my parents.”

He didn’t say anything after that, and Cynthia cast her eyes down. Zeke lifted the bottle to his lips, but hesitated before drinking, wondering if he should say something, anything. He pointed across the crowd as Wendy crawled in through the window.

“That one’s my daughter.” He said. “She likes cats. Go tell her.”

Jamie looked up and waved. Wendy, checking on Zeke, smiled and waved back.

“I’ll show her when she finishes work.” He said.

Zeke turned around. “What work?”

Wendy stood with George and Holden, coaxing the strongest looking of the men to help with the next part. She charmed them with a well practiced genuine smile.

Everyone else drifted to other rooms or further afield while the volunteers and Wendy, under the guidance of Holden, heaved the bridge back into the apartment and swiveled it round to face Rhea’s block. George called down from his cable rig and they pushed, ramming the building across the street with all their strength. The bridge crashed through the loft window and stuck. The half dozen volunteers cheered.

“See how easy that was?” Holden said. “Nothing to it! Now we need to form two groups. George can teach the first what to do with the bridge. The rest of you follow me to get us tunneling through the houses.”

“What am I doing with the bridge?” George called down. “You haven’t given us more than a vague idea of what we’re doing yet.”

Holden took a dramatic pose and pointed straight across the street. “First part of my cunning plan is you imagine I’m that fox. A hunky fox with all the degrees and accolades of a master engineer and other impressive titles and qualifications. And maybe drinking out of one of those mugs that say World’s Foxiest Lover.”

The volunteers stared at him.

“And now I have your undivided attention,” he said. “The plan is thus. We all shimmy down the bridge to the building across the road, and simply smash our way down the street through the lofts.”

“Then just drag the bridge through the holes.” George said. “That’s actually a good plan.”

“Thank you, my esteemed colleague! By the by, Rhea, darling, your husband’s been promoted to full partner, so you got yourself quite a catch. Well done. Now, once we reach the end of the block, we bridge the street, bridge to the next, and repeat what we’ve done in reverse to get to the station! Who da man?”

“Have you lost your mind?” Cheppard said. “I can’t see this possibly working.”

“If literally anybody but the man who told us jumping to our deaths was a reasonable course of action had said that, I may have listened.”

“But have you lost your mind?” Zeke said. “’cos I can’t see it working, either.”

Holden raised a hand as he turned to Zeke. “And I’ll listen to your concerns about not seeing it as soon as you sober up enough to see how many fingers I’m holding up.”

Wendy peered back down the tunnel of the bridge. “We just have to get to the nearest station and walk along the tunnels, right? ’cos you guys always talk like you’re insane, so it’s hard to understand you. But you get the job done so I guess if anyone can do it, you two will.”

George’s head slipped down from above. “Did she just compliment us?”

“You told me you were getting to Rhea no matter what, and you did. So if you say you can get us two blocks to safety, I’ll help.”

Rhea cocked her head at George.

“I’ll help, too!” Jamie yelled, then doubled over as his stomach growled again.

“George pulled his last Twinkie from his pocket and tossed it at the kid.

“You keep my old man out of trouble. That’s your job.”

Jamie stuffed the Twinkie in his mouth and saluted George. Then choked on the Twinkie until Zeke poured more wine down his throat.

Holden led his team of volunteers down the bridge to smash through the loft room walls. Rhea left her dad’s side and went down after them, but detoured to the hallway between apartments. George watched as she circumnavigated fallen debris and splintered walkways to the top.

“Hun, where you going?” he called.

 She unlocked her apartment door and went to her room.

“She’s going home.” Cheppard said behind George. “Well? Are you just going to stand there or are you going after your wife?”

“Last time I was in your house, you kicked me out.” George said.

“Last time you were in my house, you were a coward. Maybe the world ending is good for you. Nothing reveals who you really are like adversary.”

“No offence, preacher, but I’ve seen you in adversary. I hope for your sake, you’re wrong.”

“We all have parts of us we’re not proud of. Our shadow selves. The side we keep hidden from the judgement of others”

“That Signet Fraud?”

“Sigmund Freud. And no. That was Carl Jung.”

“Was he the one with penis envy?”

Cheppard rolled his eyes. “My daughter needs someone to believe in, young man. And it seems her faith in me is as diminished as her faith in everything else. You’re all she has now.”

George spat. “I’m having a hard time believing you want me to be with her now. Last time, you punched me. Gotta say, I didn’t see that coming from a guy like you.”

“Yes, many people seem surprised when that happens. They make the mistake of thinking men of the cloth are pacifists. Now go comfort my daughter before I show you again that I’m not one.”

George left the Cheppard slumped in his dark corner and told his waiting crew to relax until he got back. He slid down the bridge and followed Rhea’s path to her door. Like the rest of the world, the apartment was upturned. Stone gloop caked everything. Furniture lay on their sides and carpets had fallen across the mess, making a slightly safer, if uneven path. When he reached her door, he found it locked, and raised his hand to knock. A small movement caught his eye as a thick cable, dangling at a window, shifted in a breeze.

. . .

Rhea righted her bed and sprawled across it. The sounds of scrambling outside her door had pricked at her ears, but when nothing happened, she closed her eyes, trying to recapture a sense of normalcy in her bedroom. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend, just for a moment, life was back to normal, that her dad was in the chapel and like the good old days, George would knock on her window to climb in and join her.

She looked up when George knocked on her bedroom window.

“I finally saw the rest of your apartment.” He said, climbing in to join her. “But I thought I’d come in this way, for old time’s sake.”

“How did you..?” she started.

George tugged on a cable. “Saw this, thought why not?”

 He sat on his side of her bed and pulled her into a hug. She nuzzled into him, and turned to bury the back of her head in his chest, holding up the family picture that had hung above her headboard. George’s foot had obscured their faces, but diligence and a paper bag under a warm iron had smoothed it out once more.

“I wish my mom could have met you.” She said. “She so wouldn’t have approved.”

“Mine would have approved of you.” He said. “But also say I’d never meet a woman like you in a thousand years.”

“Of course, if they were both still alive, we’d never have started talking.”

“That’s harsh. I like to think I’m capable of striking up a conversation with anyone I’m interested in.”

“And the fact you found your councilor interesting says a lot about you. Freud would say our relationship was based on deep seated maternal instincts that we were otherwise missing in our lives.”

“That’s the penis envy guy, right? Not the guy with living dead cat in a box?”

“Yes, that’s penis envy guy. The other guy studied something else. With cats.”

“Okay, so what does it say about my councilor when she finds me interesting back? Because unless screwing me is part of the healing process, I’ll have to give you zero stars for professionalism.”

She laughed. “Well it definitely helped with my process.”

They lay in each other’s arms until the sounds outside grew further and fainter. Then Rhea got up to raid her closet, stepping into a more practical outfit. She removed the photograph from its frame and slipped it into a sketchbook, which in turn slid into a backpack, along with as many essentials for their female teammates as she could carry.

“So what’s the plan, husband of mine?” she said. “Where do we go from here?”

George squeezed her hand and took her to the window where it all started, where he wrapped his arms around her and pointed at the Yao apartment.

“We get everybody down here.” He said. “Then follow Holden to the tunnels. We wait out the eleven days until whatever happens, happens, and whether those snobs who took off come back or not, we build new lives. I can teach building.”

Rhea pulled his arms around her tighter and smiled through her tears. “There’s no going back after this, is there?”

George kissed the top of her head.

“No.” He said. “There’s no going back.”