The Passage (The Passage, #1)

by Justin Cronin

Thousands of years of technical advancement, the whole history of human civilization, seemed contained within that sound, the hum of an arming HEAT.

Grief was a place, Sara understood, where a person went alone. It was like a room without doors, and what happened in that room, all the anger and the pain you felt, was meant to stay there, nobody’s business but yours.

The things of your life arrived in their own time, like a train you had to catch.

So perhaps the greatest worry of all was that one day you would realize that all the worries of your life amounted to one thing: the desire to just stop worrying.

Alicia had put her crutches aside and was unrolling the bandage from her leg. Inside, secreted there on the night of their arrival, was a blade. The crutch was a ruse: the wound was nearly healed. She rose to her feet. “Time to find those guns,” she said.