Zipacna was dead. It took Annette longer than it should have to come to terms with that. She had killed an ancient God. She stared at the crater in horror and amazement. Seeing her folly she teleported back to Fort Schwarzkopf to help in the defense. To her amazement the forces of the false Sun God were retreating. She manifested in the middle of the base. There was quiet. Not celebration, but more so a feeling of confusion. Their triumph was inexplicable. The troops of the United States Army and the Vanguard of the Oppressed had retreated behind the walls. They all looked at her in amazement. Bakos and Esmeralda were first among them, closest to her. "What happened?" asked Bakos. "I'm not entirely sure how I did it, but I think I killed Zipacna." "You killed a god?" asked Esmeralda. Here nostrils were flared and her brow was rigid. She did not immediately believe this. "And yet it happened," replied Bakos. "I have faith in her." Esmeralda sneered. "What has happened elsewhere?" inquired Annette nervously. "How goes the war here?" Bakos gave her a distraught look. Esmeralda fumed with righteous anger. "He has nearly obliterated most of Mexico and has laid waste to most of the US between Los Angeles and Houston." Annette could tell Bakos was holding back tears. "Is there any way we can help?" "We've lost most communication with the mainland. Washington is telling us to hold our ground, but asked you make it to California. That's where he is confirmed to be." He paused. "You were their ultimate weapon." "I know. If those were Washington's orders I will follow them." She inhaled. "Good luck," she said to her compatriots. "Good luck to you as well," replied Bakos. Esmeralda nodded her assent. Annette envisioned her hometown. Santa Monica. She could remember her carefree childhood, long before this apocalypse had begun, but still during a terrible war, the Russian one to be precise. But that did not touch Santa Monica. She envisioned her old house. She found herself in a wasteland. She looked around frantically, hyperventilating. Was she in the right place? There were crumbled streets. She leaped into the air to survey the ruin, and the shattered roadways were familiar. This was Santa Monica. Or was, at least.