Outside the car, the night wind slipped through the gaps around the windows with a shrill whistle.
Alfred closed his mouth again.
He took one hand off the wheel and wiped the cold sweat from his palm on his trouser leg.
Then he gripped the wheel again.
What could he say?
That the weather was bad? That they could go back and try again? That Earth still had hope?
It was all gone.
Every last resort they had planned had been smashed by that man's fist.
The backbone of the Justice League had been crushed along with them, trampled in the Divine Temple's greenhouse.
Alfred pressed down on the accelerator.
The roar of the engine drowned out the suffocating silence inside the car.
A shape emerged beside the road ahead.
It was an abandoned gas station beside the Interstate Highway.
Paint had peeled from the support columns in great patches, exposing rusted steel beneath.
Two pumps leaned to one side, their nozzles fallen to the ground amid weeds half as tall as a person.
A corner of the canopy's metal sheeting had been torn loose by the wind. It hung in midair, swaying back and forth with a piercing scrape.
A sign stood by the road, its lettering no longer legible.
A faulty fluorescent tube was fixed to its top.
The tube buzzed with electricity. Its dim yellow light flickered on and off.
Alfred pressed the brake pedal.
The car slowed.
Its tires rolled over broken glass and gravel with a harsh crunch.
The car coasted to a stop between the two abandoned pumps.
Absolute silence settled inside.
Only the wind rattling the gas station's metal canopy and the faint buzz of the light could be heard.
Alfred took both hands off the wheel.
He wiped them on his knees.