Slowly Matt turned, lifted up the box. It was heavy; his eyes flicked to the old man, and he rested the box gently on the bench for a moment. And then he threw it in the old man's face, and snatched up the revolver from the bench. He fired four times, and the old man doubled over and pitched forward on his face, groaning. Matt kicked the rifle across the room, throwing the blue-prints back into the box. Panting, he shot out the light, and fled across the compound toward the opened gate. Somewhere out there Mary would be waiting. And maybe Loevy's group was still alive, somewhere, maybe they still knew a way toward recovery now that the Rocket was destroyed. The fifty-four days of chaos might be over now. They would know what to do with the precious box. It would be in safe hands until men were ready to build again. Matt ran through the gate and into the shadows outside the compound. In the flickering light of the flames behind him he could make out a figure approaching. "Matt! Oh, Matt--you're safe!" It was Mary, and he felt a gladness sweep through him. She grabbed his arms then, her eyes tear-filled with relief. She glanced down at the box he held closely against him. "Matt, what's that?" He motioned her toward the deeper shadows and a jeep he saw standing unguarded. His voice was grim as he answered her. "It's for the future, Mary ... the future." Moments later they drove away into the night.