I put the four official birth certificates and the signed postal receipts into a new manila folder.

At four thirty, the garage at the civilian defense training center was cold and smelled of diesel exhaust, rubber tires, and wet floor mats.

I stood beside the trauma van, checking the tamper seals on two fourteen-hundred-dollar emergency field kits.

Lucas sat on the front bumper of a heavy field ambulance, swinging his legs as he inspected the winch cable assembly.

He scuffed the toe of his right shoe on the concrete floor.