The bunker exploded. The ground hitched upwards, throwing dirt and leaves and trees from the earth, then buckled down, creating a scar on the forest floor. There was no ear-splitting noise, just a deep boom that shook the bones of the dead … and the living.

Cosette breathed. In her hand was a small vile of great importance. It held the cure, the cure that would end the apocalypse and save the world. She shivered without Bahorel’s coat, but not because of the cold. She had just altered history, she had just changed everything, she had just helped beat the king. The lark had outdone the lion.

Prouvaire breathed. He watched the dust from the explosion settle, his heart and mind still dark and fuzzy from all of the lives he had taken. But the loud noises, the bright lights, the deep aching in his soul … they were all beginning to clear. The Infection was disappearing. He was becoming human again.

Feuilly breathed. He was done killing, he was done traveling, he was done watching his friends die. He felt the loss of those in the bunker, he knew the people standing around him were his family now, and he never wanted to leave their sides. It was all over. It was all done. A radio near him buzzed with nothing but static.

Courfeyrac breathed. No, he gasped. He was awakened by an explosion and a prick in his arm. The cure flowed through him and something aching inside his being finally went away.  He looked around and saw no ghosts, no hallucinations, and for a moment, Courfeyrac felt relieved. The dead were dead, the alive lived.

The Italian guards stood in a protective circle around the four Chosen Ones. They watched the scar in the earth widen and collapse into itself as the bunker fully crumbled.  Italy would help France rebuild, the cure would be administered to its citizens and the four in the woods would rest.

Feuilly switched off the radio.

It was calm and quiet.