SUMMARY: "We need you for two more tasks." DISCLAIMER: Yeah, yeah. Most of the characters here belong to other people, not me. This fan-written fiction intends no copyright infringement. When I'm done, they can go back whence they came. Or something to that effect.

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He put the silver Honda SUV into second gear as he approached the western-most outskirts of St. Louis. The sky to the northeast was darkening, early for mid-August, but the heavy, charcoal black clouds weren't from thunderstorms, but rather the blazes of destruction he'd seen dotting North America. Ahead of him, smaller clouds of pale smoke rose from the buildings scattered in the large, overcrowded refugee camp. It wasn't the first he had seen on his trip -- wouldn't be the last, he knew -- but it was this particular camp that marked his moment of truth. He could turn back, without beginning a task he had been reluctant to accept or he could continue and risk failing a mission upon which the future of the world relied.

Not that he hadn't heard that line before: there was always an apocalypse looming; a prophecy taunting; the future relying.

He scanned the long line of cars, crammed with people fleeing, looking for shelter, looking for assistance and answers and sighed deeply. This was the first lull he'd not managed to avoid since he'd left LA in a flurry of preparation and activity. With no radio signals in the vicinity, he selected Mozart and let his newly "liberated" iPod choose the soundtrack.

"How apropos," he muttered bitterly as Requiem filled the car.

Traffic, such as it was, slowed to a slug's pace. Glancing at the car's clock, he noticed the red circles on the map lying on the passenger's seat. St. Louis was the first. He had realized from the onset that once he crossed the Mississippi, he would press on despite the gnawing threat of failure that dodged him his entire life.

"Hell," he thought aloud as he lifted his foot from the brake and allowed the car to roll forward, "I've even failed at dying. Won't Father be proud?"

"I ... missed ... you," he had told her even though using what air he could bring into his lungs had caused him a pain that radiated from the depths of his gut and threatened to tear his heart out.

He had had her, she had held him, and then she'd faded from view, replaced by a grey that shrouded him and then turned black.

Terribly clichéd as it was, he'd expected to float above his body for a while, to follow a white light, to find her waiting at the other end.

Instead, he'd found himself alone in a waiting room.

Doing just that and only that ... waiting ... in a dark, windowless room.

Biological rhythm loses its meter when there is no sun or moon to set the tempo. And without those reminders, time loses all meaning.

The car crawled forward as another traveler had been granted permission to cross into the camp while another turned around.

How long Wesley had remained in that darkness, he had no idea. He had known it would do no good to become impatient, to demand progress. He had thought that perhaps it was his ultimate test. And so, he'd waited.

"View sucks in here," a voice from the shadows had surrounded him.

He remembered turning in a slow, wide circle to discern the point of origin, only to be greeted by a familiar, bright, Cheshire smile that comforted him like his mother's hug.

Not that he would ever compare the bearer to his mother.

"Sorry I'm late," Cordelia had said, still smiling. "You'd think that being a Higher Power would give you benefits, but you'd think wrong. Meetings," she walked toward him, reaching out, "can you believe I have to attend meetings?"

"Cordy," was all he could think of as her hand cupped his cheek.

"I missed you." Her voice had been hushed, heavy with a sadness he still didn't understand. "You look good for a dead guy."

"And you, for a Higher Power."

"Oh, yeah, sure. Junior Higher Power, as they keep reminding me."

"Still --" The emphasis and its underlying irritation had brought a smile to his face. "Blinding white suits you." And it did, bringing out the warm, chocolate brown of her eyes.

"True. I can carry it off because of my skin tone," she had answered in truest, traditional Cordelia form.

All the waiting, the practiced patience had begun to take its toll and he felt like a tightly wound spring. "It's great to see you, but why are we here, talking? I want to be ... elsewhere."

"About that." She had been facing him but then turned to a window, which had appeared to her left. "You can't. Not yet."

"Why ever not? I'm dead. Send me to hell if you must, but --"

"We need you for two more tasks ... "

Wesley moved the car forward, pushing the button for the window as he came to a stop. The smell of panicked humanity threatened to overpower him as he leaned toward the guard.

"Plates are from California," the security guard announced as he scanned the interior of the automobile. "Can't let you in."

He guessed the man to be in his mid-forties, had probably had his eyes set on a fishing or camping trip to end the summer, but ended up working, fending off survivors of a country-wide apocalypse. Probably had two or three children, one of whom might be a teenager.

Wesley let his eyes scan the horizon, casually, as if he had a choice. "Fine. Are you native to St. Louis?"

"Might be."

Wesley picked up the map and folded it so that middle America was facing them. He pointed to the circle around St. Louis, showing it to the guard. "I need to get across the river. My ... I have to get to my cousin. She's only sixteen and no one's heard from her in a while. We think she's alone out there." He paused a beat. "In Ohio."

The guard took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair while he looked around. "Man, you're gonna have to find a different route. Not through the city. Not allowed with outta state plates."

Wesley grabbed a pen and handed it to him. "Alternate route then, if you can suggest one. It really is an urgent matter." He glanced at the man's hesitant frown. "Who knows what's happening there since communications went down. A sixteen year old girl, alone ... "

The guard took another glance at the food, water and boxes in the back of the SUV. "How long you plannin' on stayin' in Missouri?"

"Just long enough to sleep and go on. I originally intended to go straight through but once the adrenaline let down --"

"Fine. One night," the guard relented, scribbling something on a slip of paper which he tore and handed to Wesley. "Register in that building to the left. If I were you, man," he said, jerking his head toward the back of the car, "I'd keep the stuff in the back outta sight."

"Plan on it," Wesley replied and moved forward the second the boom arm was raised.