"You're here," she whispered, turning towards the eight-year-old boy sitting cross legged on the floor, rocking back and forth as he stared into an abyss only his mind's eye could see.

Rain water poured off Greg's fatigues, soaking the worn beige carpet forever stained with Kool-Aid. The aroma of stew tainted the air. "Smells delicious as always."

Forcing a smile, she replied, "I didn't want him to leave hungry."

Greg nodded, understanding a mother's love placed her child's needs upon a pedestal. "Come on," he said, taking her hand, guiding her toward the hallway.

Jerking away as thunder shook the walls, she hurried over to the boy. Kneeling, she ruffled his blonde curls, planting a warm kiss on his cheek. "Mommy will be back. I'm going to talk to Daddy for a while." He continued rocking, unaware of her loving touch. "Okay," she said, following Greg to the tiny bedroom.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, he turned, gathering her in his arms. Her sapphire eyes sparkled with tears. God, he loved this woman. She'd been his world for the past twelve years. It broke his heart each time he was deported, long months and hundreds of miles separating them. He'd been grateful when duty called him back to the states, never foreseeing the extent of the cataclysm awaiting the troops on homeland soil.

He leaned down and she accepted his kiss feverishly before pulling away. "No," she said. "This makes it harder."

His radio burped out white static followed by a crackling voice: Are the subjects secure?

They stared at one another as Greg replied, "Negative. The subjects have left."

... called... repeat... and out.

"Repeat," Greg requested. Static. He turned the volume down.

"I thought I could do this but I can't." She sat down on the edge of the bed, absently running fingers over the hand-sewn quilt her grandmother had given her on their wedding day. "I thought I'd be strong enough."

"It's okay," he said. "I'm here now. I'll be strong enough for the both of us."

"It's not fair for you - "

"Shhhh." Standing before her, he ran his fingers through her hair. "None of this is fair."

"How bad will it be?"

He knew what she meant but pretended not to, reassuring her not to doubt him now. "It's a nightmare. There's no way you can imagine the pain I've seen. There's no way you can stay here."

She burst into tears as he laid the icy metal against her temple and pulled the trigger. He turned away as her body collapsed on the floor. Standing behind the rocking boy, he wondered if his son would've ever snapped out of this state given enough time. Greg closed his eyes and fired.

Outside, a band of soldiers huddled in the street, oblivious of the storm. Spotting him, one called, "Did you hear the good news? The mission was called off. They're shutting down the concentration camps. God bless America!"