A/N: So if it isn't already obvious, I can't keep a schedule to save my life. Since my last update there's been some pretty major life changes: I started my Master's degree, had a beautiful baby girl last September who is about to turn 1, bought a house, and am still juggling 3 jobs like a boss and trying to find time to game and hang out with my husband and friends. I read audiobooks now lol. The continued notifications of people STILL favoriting, commenting, and setting follows on my stories warms my heart more than you internet folks will ever know. Hopefully this doesn't disappoint

Disclaimer: I'm not James Patterson, though I did meet him once and had a panic attack afterwards.

Fang POV:

The thing about saying things like this to Max is that the majority of the time I only halfway believe myself, the other half is hoping to whatever God there is up there that I'm not going to let her down, and ultimately curse us all in the process.

Which is exactly why in the dead middle of the night I woke Angel and we flew to the coast of Ecuador to go talk to some fish. Yes, you heard me correctly. There is a current that flows between the Hawaiian coast and Ecuador, along the equator. Angel says that if there is a chance that anyone has seen anything, they'll be along that current. And with the moon sitting high in the sky, it's high tide, meaning that there will be even more passengers on the current than at low tide.

I stand on the beach, heart hammering against my ribcage as I watch Angel glide over the top of the waves and seek out the perfect dive point. Suddenly, she drops out of the air like a rock, wings pressed back, barely making a disturbance on the water. I'm not necessarily worried about the amount of time that she spends beneath the surface, but it would be ideal if it could happen a little quicker.

What seems like hours later, Angel finally returns to the beach which I have taken to pacing and making ruts to report her findings, her face not grim, but not beaming with happiness either.

"So?"
"Well, I spoke with some travelers and got some mixed feelings. There weren't a lot of bottom-dwellers, who will obviously know best what is going on. The basking folks who hang out nearer to the surface say they haven't seen or felt anything, but that's not to say that there isn't still something there that hasn't resurfaced yet. I asked if there were any kind squids or other sea dwellers willing to go to the depths that we would need to find out if the bases are still occupied. Now, these are just the bases we know about, which is what one of the travelers said that kinda concerned me. What if there is something in what was the Gulf of Mexico, or by South Africa, or"

I cut her off before she can continue. I've already considered all this, but without a plane to get there in a timely manner, we're talking months of travel and being apart from Max and Phoenix, to either find nothing, or give away that we are still alive.

"Have you mentioned any of this to Max?"

Angel shrugs, "I mean, yeah, I told her I would ask the whales."

Of course. "So she knows that you have your suspicions."

"I'm going to say that's a yes."

"Angel. Do we need to go to the other coasts? If it's at all a concern."

"Fang. It's never going to not be a concern. It's always going to be in the back of our minds, even when we're old…er, older. We can never outrun the fear."

"You know, when you were little and super smart it was weird, now it's just annoying." I ruffle her short, wet hair and we launch ourselves back south towards home. Hopefully we'll get back before dawn.

Angel POV

It's hard to find Fang when we're flying in the dead of night. He kind of blends in to absolutely everything.

I didn't tell him the whole truth. I think we need to ask about the other oceans. I think we need to be concerned with other bunkers like what we survived in in Russia.

But I can't say things like that to him at 4 in the morning on a desolate beach in the middle of nowhere. Now that he has something to live for, he'll do anything to find out the truth. I can't let him decide to do this on his own. Max still gets annoyed when I use "the Voice", but it may be the only safe way for us to communicate and for me to not let her jump into action like a total spaz too.

You might be thinking, "yeah, there may be survivors, but how many could really be evil scientists?"

Well, dear naïve person, how would a general civilian survive a military grade nuclear explosion?

That's why what we're concerned of is the evil scientist.

But without combing the entirety of the globe, above and below, how would we ever know? So we have to convince each other as well as ourselves that it is fine.

Somewhere in Greenland…

The vault door opens and The Director steps out, frail and shaking, supported by a subordinate.

"So this is it. This is the world now. What a bunch of morons. If you're going to control something, you don't destroy it too."

"Yes, ma'am."

"If we're going to do something, I suppose now is the best time to do it. No one has returned my broadcasts, code, falcons, Morse or anything, so it is my understanding now that I am the alpha, I am the one to rebuild this chasm that those degenerates imploded. I haven't got much time left, the Galapagos DNA that's allowed me to live to 118 has done it's duty, if I am to make any sort of difference we need other survivors. We need mutants."

A/N: Well, it's time to put my daughter to bed, so I will try to resume this in a fairly timely manner. Not gonna lie, I searched my mind for a while and utilized a bit of wikia to land on The Director, the lovely, lying, Itex psychopath from book 3. For all we know, she was aware of the impending destruction, and if anyone is good at planning after 100 years of life, it would be Marian Janssen.