The name tag on the tall man's chest read "Sam." Sam was silent for a few seconds, then pulled an energy bar from his tactical vest pocket and pressed it into his hand.
"Hide well. Don't go outside before dawn."
He rose and walked toward the door.
The other man, Dean, leaned against the doorframe smoking, the cold wind rushing in from outside shredding the smoke.
"How many places haven't been notified yet?" Dean asked.
"At least thirty shelters. We only have enough supplies to cover half of them." Sam's voice was weary.
Dean took a deep drag, then ground the cigarette butt beneath his boot. "Then we cover half. Better than covering none."
He looked back at the densely packed figures inside the shelter and lowered his voice. "Any word from Cass?"
Sam shook his head.
"Lohr said his grace might already have been drained dry. He's just an ordinary person now. The tracking signal comes and goes. The last reading put him near that abandoned church in Texas. I've already sent a team over."
"An ordinary person." Dean repeated the words, his Adam's apple bobbing. "A fucking ordinary person. He was an angel for so many years, and now he's become a target alongside us."
Neither man spoke again.
Outside, the night was deep. At the top of a half-collapsed office building in the distance, unstable blue light flickered. It might have been another Mad Angel undergoing a painful awakening, or it might have been one of Bartholomew's sentries searching for its next prey.
No one knew what would remain by dawn.
Demon Hunter Guild Headquarters, third underground level, combat command center.
For the past seventy-two hours, the lights here had never gone out.
The global disaster map on the screens was no longer marked by red dots,