Swan Song

Sister Creep heard Beth only vaguely, as if from a vast distance. She held out her arms toward the Spanish woman. "Here," she said, in what sounded like a stranger's voice. "I'll take her. Give her to me." Rainwater ran down her hands and arms in streaks of ebony.

The Spanish woman's crooning got louder.

"Give her to me. I'll take her."

The Spanish woman began to rock the corpse more furiously.

"Give her to me." Sister Creep heard her own voice echo crazily, and suddenly there was a flashing blue light in her eyes. "I'll... take... her. .. ."

The rain was falling, and thunder rumbled like the voice of God, You! You sinner! You drunken sinner, you've killed her, and now you have to pay...

She looked down. In her arms was the corpse of a little girl. There was blood in the child's blond hair, and the little girl's eyes were open and full of rain. The blue light of the state trooper car was spinning, and the trooper in the yellow raincoat who was crouched on the road in front of her said gently, "Come on. You have to give her to me now." He looked back over his shoulder, at the other trooper who was setting out flares near the wreckage of an overturned car. "She's out of her mind. I can smell alcohol, too. You're going to have to help me."

and then they were both reaching toward her, both of the demons in yellow raincoats, trying to take her baby. She recoiled and fought them, screaming, "No! You can't have her! I won't let you have her!" But the thunder commanded, Give her up, you sinner, give her up, and when she cried out and put her hands over her ears to block off the voice of judgment they took her baby away from her.

and from the little girl's hand fell a globe of glass, the kind of trinket that holds a little snow scene within it, a make-believe village in a fairy-tale land.

"Mommy," she remembered the child saying excitedly, "look what I won at the party! I pinned the tail on the donkey the best!"

The child had shaken the globe, and for a moment - just a moment - her mother had looked away from the road to focus her blurred vision on the scene of snow falling amid the roofs of a distant and perfect land.

She watched the glass globe fall, in terrible slow motion, and she screamed because she knew it was about to break on the concrete, and when it broke everything would be gone and destroyed.

It hit in front of her, and as it shattered into a thousand pieces of glittering junk her scream stopped with a strangled moan.

"Oh," she whispered. "Oh... no."

Sister Creep stared at the dead child in the Spanish woman's arms. My little girl is dead, she remembered. I was drunk, and I picked her up at a birthday party, and I drove right off the road into a ditch. Oh, God... oh, dear Jesus. a sinner. a drunken, wicked sinner. I killed her. I killed my little girl. Oh, God... oh, God, forgive me...

Tears scorched her eyes and ran down her cheeks. In her mind whirled fragments of memory like dead leaves in a high wind: her husband wild with rage, cursing her and saying he never wanted to see her again; her own mother, looking at her with disgust and pity and telling her she was never meant to bear a child; the doctor at the sanitarium, nodding his head and checking his watch; the halls of the hospital, where grotesque, shambling, insane women chattered and shrieked and fought one another over combs; and the high fence that she had climbed over, in the dead of night and in swirling snow, to reach the woods beyond.

My little girl is dead, she thought. Dead and gone, a long time ago.

The tears almost blinded her, but she saw well enough to know that her little girl had not suffered as this one in the Spanish woman's arms had. Her little girl had been laid to rest under a shade tree atop a hill; this one would lie forever in a cold, damp basement in a city of the dead.

The Spanish woman lifted her head and looked at Sister Creep through haunted eyes. She blinked and slowly reached through the rain to touch Sister Creep's cheek; a tear balanced on the tip of her finger for a second before it dropped.

"Give her to me," Sister Creep whispered. "I'll take her."

The Spanish woman looked again, longingly, at the corpse, and then the tears ran from her eyes and mingled with the black rain on her face; she kissed the dead child's forehead, cradled it against her for a moment - and then she held the corpse toward Sister Creep.

She took the body as if she was accepting a gift and started to stand up.

But the Spanish woman reached out again and touched the crucifix-shaped wound at Sister Creep's neck. She said wonderingly, "Bendito. Muy bendito."

Sister Creep stood up, and the Spanish woman slowly crawled out of the water and lay on the floor, huddled and shivering.

Jack Tomachek took the corpse from Sister Creep and went off into the darkness.

Beth said, "I don't know how, but you did it." She bent down to offer the Spanish woman the bottle of ginger ale; the woman took it from Beth and finished it.

"My God," artie Wisco said, standing behind her. "I just realized... I don't even know your name."

"It's..." Whati she wondered. What's my namei Where do I come fromi Where is that shade tree that shelters my little girli None of the answers would come to her. "You can call me..." She hesitated. I'm a bag lady, she thought. I'm nothing but a bag lady with no name, and I don't know where I'm going - but at least I know how I got here.

"Sister," she replied. "You can call me... Sister."

and it came to her like a shout: I'm not crazy anymore.

"Sister," artie repeated. He pronounced it "Sista." "That ain't much of a name, but I guess it'll do. Glad to know you, Sister."

She nodded, the shadowy memories still whirling. The pain of what she'd remembered was still with her and would remain, but that had happened a long time ago, to a weaker and more helpless woman.

"What are we going to doi" Beth asked her. "We can't just stay here, can wei"

"No. We can't. Tomorrow artie and I are going through the Holland Tunnel, if it hasn't caved in. We're walking west. If you three want to go with us, you're welcome."

"Leave New Yorki What if... what if there's nothing out therei What if everything's gonei"

"It won't be easy," Sister said firmly. "It'll be damned hard and damned dangerous. I don't know what the weather's going to do, but we start with one step, and that's the only way I know to get anywhere. Righti"

"Right," artie echoed. "You've got good shoes, Beth. Those shoes'll take you a long way."

We've got a long way to go, Sister considered. a very long way - and God only knows what we'll find out there. Or what will find us.

"Okay," Beth decided. "Okay. I'm with you." She put the flame of her lighter out again to save fuel.

But this time it didn't seem nearly as dark.  

FOUR

Land Of the Dead

Nineteen

The man with bloody strips of shirt bandaged around the stump of his right wrist moved cautiously along the wrecked corridor. He didn't want to fall down and start that stump bleeding again; it had been dribbling for hours before it had finally crusted over. He was weak and lightheaded, but he pushed himself onward because he had to see for himself. His heart was pounding, and the blood sang in his ears. But what his senses fixed on was an acute itching between the first and second fingers of the right hand that wasn't there anymore. The itching of that phantom hand was about to drive him crazy.

Beside him was the one-eyed hunchback, and in front of him, carrying the flashlight and negotiating a path, was the boy with the cracked eyeglasses. In his left hand the boy gripped a meat cleaver, its blade rimmed with Colonel Jimbo Macklin's dried blood.

Roland Croninger stopped, the beam of his light spearing through the haze before him.

"There it is," Teddybear said. "There it is. Seei I told you, didn't Ii I told you!"

Macklin moved forward a few paces and took the flashlight from Roland. He played it over the wall of boulders and slabs that completely blocked the corridor in front of them, looking for a chink, a weak place, an area to apply leverage, anything. There wasn't a space large enough for a rat to squeeze through. "God help us," Macklin said quietly.

"I told you! Seei Didn't I tell youi" Teddybear Warner babbled. Finding this blockage had snapped the last of the willpower that was holding him together.

Beyond that wall of rock lay Earth House's emergency food supply and equipment room. They were cut off from everything - the spare flashlights and batteries, toilet paper, flares, everything.

"We're fucked," Teddybear giggled. "Oh, are we fucked!"

Dust filtered down through the flashlight beam. Macklin raised it and saw the jagged fissures that cleaved the corridor's ceiling. More of the corridor might cave in at any time. Cables and wires dangled, and the iron reinforcement beams that were supposed to have supported Earth House through a nuclear attack were entirely cut through. Teddybear's giggling was mixed with sobs, and as Macklin realized the full extent of the disaster he could no longer stand the sound of human weakness; he ground his teeth, his face contorting in rage, and he turned to strike Teddybear across the face with his itching right hand.

But he had no right hand, and as he reared his arm back there was a searing, ripping pain, and fresh blood dripped through the bandages.

Macklin cradled his injured arm against his body and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He felt sick, about to throw up or pass out. Discipline and control, he thought. Shape up, soldier! Shape up, damn you!

When I open my eyes again, he told himself, that wall of rock won't be there. We'll be able to walk right on through the corridor to where the food is. We'll be okay. Please, God... please make everything okay.

He opened his eyes.

The wall of rock remained. "anybody got any plastic explosivei" Macklin asked; his voice echoed in the corridor.

It was a lunatic voice, the voice of a man down in the bottom of a muddy pit with bodies sprawled all around him.

"We're going to die," Teddybear said, giggling and sobbing, his one good eye wild. "We've got the biggest tomb in the world!"

"Coloneli"

It was the boy speaking. Macklin shone the light in Roland's face. It was a dusty, blood-splattered, emotionless mask.

"We've got hands," Roland said.

"Hands. Sure. I've got one hand. You've got two. Teddy-bear's two aren't worth shit. Sure, we've got hands."

"Not our hands," Roland replied calmly. an idea had come to him, clear and precise. "Their hands. The ones who are still alive up there."

"The civiliansi" Macklin shook his head. "We probably couldn't find ten men able to work! and look at that ceiling. See those cracksi The rest of it's about to fall. Who's going to work with that hanging over their headsi"

"How far is it from that wall to the foodi"

"I don't know. Maybe twenty feet. Maybe thirty."

Roland nodded. "What if we tell them it's ten feeti and what if they don't know about the ceilingi Do you think they'd work, or noti"

Macklin hesitated. This is a kid, he thought. What does this kid know about anythingi

"We three are going to die," Roland said, "if we can't get to that food. and we won't get there if we can't make someone else do the work. Maybe the ceiling will fall, maybe it won't. But if it does fall, we won't be the ones underneath it, will wei"

"They'll know the ceiling's weak. all they have to do is look up and see those goddamned cracks!"

"They can't see them," Roland said quietly, "in the dark. and you're holding the only light, aren't youi" a smile touched the corners of his mouth.

Macklin blinked slowly. There seemed to be a movement in the gloom, over Roland Croninger's shoulder. Macklin adjusted the flashlight beam a few degrees. Crouched down on his haunches was the Shadow Soldier, wearing his camouflage uniform and a helmet with green netting; beneath the black and green warpaint, his face was the color of smoke. "The boy's right, Jimbo," the Shadow Soldier whispered. He rose to his full height. "Make the civilians do the work. Make them work in the dark, and tell them it's only ten feet to the food. Shit, tell them it's six feet. They'll work harder. and if they break through, fine. If not... they're only civilians. Drones. Breeders. Righti"

"Yes, sir," Macklin answered.

"Huhi" Roland saw that the colonel seemed to be looking at something just over his right shoulder, and he was using that same fawning voice that he'd used when he was in delirium down in the pit. Roland looked around, but of course there was nothing there.

"Drones," Macklin said. "Breeders. Right." He nodded and pulled his attention away from the Shadow Soldier back to the boy. "Okay. We'll go up and see if we can find enough to make a work detail. Maybe some of my men are still alive, too." He remembered Sergeant Schorr running wildly from the command center. "Schorr. What the hell happened to himi" Teddybear shook his head. "What about Dr. Langi Is he still alivei"

"He wasn't in the infirmary." Teddybear made an effort not to look at that wall of rock. "I didn't check his quarters."

"We'll check them, then. We may need him and whatever painkillers he can scrounge up. I'm going to need more bandages, too. and we need bottles - plastic bottles, if we can find them. We can get water out of the toilets."

"Colonel, siri" Roland immediately got Macklin's full attention. "One more thing: the air."

"What about the airi"

"The generator's out. The electrical system's gone. How are the fans going to pull air into the ventsi"

Macklin had been building a hope, however faint, that they might survive. Instantly it crumbled. Without the fans, no air would be circulated through Earth House. The dank air that Earth House now held would be all they could expect, and when the carbon dioxide levels grew high enough they would die.

But how long that would take, he didn't know. Hoursi Daysi Weeksi He couldn't let himself think beyond the moment, and the most important thing right now was finding a drink of water, a bite of food, and a work detail. "We've got plenty of air," he said. "Enough for everybody, and by the time it starts getting thin we'll have found a way out of here. Righti"

Roland wanted to believe, and he nodded. Behind him, the Shadow Soldier nodded, too, and said to Macklin, "Good boy."

The colonel checked his own quarters, just up the corridor. The door had been torn off its hinges and part of the ceiling had collapsed; a hole had opened in the floor, swallowing his bed and the bedside table in its depths. The bathroom was a wreck as well, but Macklin's flashlight found a few handfuls of water remaining in the toilet bowl. He drank from it, and then Roland and Teddybear took their turns. Water had never tasted so sweet.

Macklin went to the closet. Everything had collapsed inside and lay on the floor in a heap. He got down on his knees and, holding the flashlight in the crook of his arm, began to go through the mess, looking for something he knew must be there.

It took him a while to find it. "Roland," he said. "Come here."

The boy stood behind him. "Yes, siri"

Macklin gave him the small Ingram machine gun that had been on the closet shelf. "You're in charge of that." He stuffed bullet clips into the pockets of his flight jacket.

Roland slid the handle of the holy axe down inside his belt and held the Ingram gun in both hands. It wasn't heavy, but it felt... righteous. Yes. Righteous and important, like some vital signet of empire that a King's Knight ought to be in charge of.

"Do you know anything about gunsi" Macklin asked him.

"My dad takes me..." Roland stopped. No, that wasn't right. Not right at all. "I used to go shooting at a target range," he replied. "But I've never used anything like this."

"I'll teach you what you need to know. You're going to be my trigger finger when I need one." He shone the light at Teddybear, who was standing a few feet away and listening. "This boy stays near me from now on," he told Teddybear, and the other man nodded but said nothing. Macklin didn't trust Teddybear anymore; Teddybear was too close to going over the edge. But not the boy. Oh, no - the boy was strong-minded and smart, and it had taken sheer guts for him to crawl down into that pit and do what had to be done. The kid looked like a ninety-pound weakling, but if he was going to crack he would've cracked by now.

Roland put the gun's sling around his shoulder and adjusted it so it was tight and he could get to the weapon in a hurry. Now he was ready to follow the King anywhere. Faces surfaced from the muddy waters of his memory - a man and a woman - but he pushed them down again. He didn't want to remember those faces anymore. There was no use for it, and it only weakened him.

Macklin was ready. "Okay," he said. "Let's see what we can find." and the one-eyed hunchback and the boy with cracked eyeglasses followed him into the darkness.  

Twenty

"Lady," Jack Tomachek said, "if you think we can get through that, you belong in Bellevue."

Sister didn't reply. a bitter wind was blowing in her face off the Hudson River, and she narrowed her eyes against stinging needles of ice that were whirling down from the black clouds above them, stretching from horizon to horizon like a funeral shroud. Sickly yellow rays of sunlight found holes in the clouds and moved like search lamps from a grade-B prison escape movie, then were extinguished when the holes closed. The river itself was turbid with corpses, floating trash and the hulks of burned boats and barges, all moving sluggishly southward to the atlantic. across the frightful river, the oil refinery fires were still blazing, and thick black smoke swirled in a maelstrom over the Jersey shore.

Behind her stood artie, Beth Phelps and the Spanish woman, all of them wrapped up in layers of curtains and coats to ward off the wind. The Spanish woman had cried most of the night, but her eyes were dry now; all her crying was done.

Below the ridge they stood on was the entrance to the Holland Tunnel. It was jammed with vehicles whose gas tanks had exploded, but that wasn't the worst of it; the worst, Sister saw, was that the remains of those cars were about wheel-rim-deep in dirty Hudson River water. Somewhere inside that long and dark tunnel the ceiling had ruptured, and the river was streaming in - not enough, yet, to collapse it like the Lincoln Tunnel, but enough to make the passage a dangerous slog through a swamp of burned cars, bodies and God only knew what else.

"I'm not up to swimming," Jack said. "Or drowning. If that bastard fell in on our heads, we could kiss our asses goodbye."

"Okay, what's a better suggestioni"

"We go east, to the Brooklyn Bridge. Or we go across the Manhattan Bridge. anything but in there."

Sister pondered that for a moment. She held her leather bag close to her side, and within it she could feel the outline of the glass circle. Sometime during the long night she'd had a dream of the thing with the burning hand, stalking through the smoke and ruins, its eyes searching for her. She feared that thing more than the half-flooded tunnel. "What if the bridges are gonei"

"Huhi"

"What if both those bridges are gonei" she repeated calmly. "Look around and tell me if you think those spindly bridges could survive what blew down the World Trade Center and the Empire State Building."

"They might have. We won't know unless we see."

"and that'll be another day gone. By that time, the tunnel might be completely flooded. I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't mind getting my feet wet."

"Uh-uh." Jack shook his head. "No way I'm going in there, lady! and you're nuts if you do. Listen, why do you want to leave Manhattan, anywayi We can find food here, and we can go back to the basement! We don't have to leave!"

"You might not," Sister agreed. "I do. There's nothing here."

"I'm going with you," artie said. "I'm not afraid."

"Who said I was afraidi" Jack countered. "I'm not afraid! I'm just not fucking crazy, is all!"

"Bethi" Sister turned her attention to the young woman. "What about youi are you going with us or noti"

She stared fearfully at the clogged tunnel entrance, and finally she replied, "Yes. I'm going with you."

Sister touched the Spanish woman's arm, pointed down at the Holland Tunnel and made a walking gesture with two fingers. The other woman was still too shocked to respond. "We'll have to stay close together," Sister told Beth and artie. "I don't know how deep the water'll be in there. I think we should link hands and go through so nobody gets lost. Okayi"

Both of them nodded. Jack snorted. "You're crazy! all of you are out of your minds!"

Sister, Beth and artie started down the ridge toward the tunnel entrance. The Spanish woman followed. Jack shouted, "You'll never make it through there, lady!" But the others didn't pause or look back, and after another moment Jack came down the ridge behind them.

Sister stopped in chilly water up to her ankles. "Let me have your lighter, Beth," she said. Beth gave it to her, but she didn't spark it yet. She took Beth's hand, and Beth grasped artie's, and artie held onto the Spanish woman's hand. Jack Tomachek completed the chain.

"Okay." She heard fear in her voice, and she knew she had to take the next step before her nerve broke. "Let's go." She started walking around the hulks of vehicles into the Holland Tunnel, and the water crept up to her knees. Dead rats bobbed in it like corks.

Less than ten feet into the tunnel, the water had risen to her thighs. She flicked the lighter, and its meager flame popped up. The light revealed a nightmarish phantasmagoria of tangled metal before them - cars, trucks and taxis torn into half-submerged, otherworldly shapes. The tunnel walls were scorched black and seemed to swallow up the light instead of reflecting it. Sister knew there must have been an ungodly inferno in here when all the gas tanks blew. In the distance, far ahead, she heard the echoing noise of a waterfall.

She pulled the human chain onward. Things floated around her that she avoided looking at. Beth gave a little gasp of terror. "Keep going," Sister told her. "Don't look around, keep going."

The water crawled up her thighs.

"I stepped on something!" Beth cried out. "Oh, Jesus... there's something under my foot!"

Sister squeezed her hand tightly and guided her on. The water had reached Sister's waist by the time she'd taken another half dozen steps. She looked over her shoulder at the entrance, now about sixty feet behind them, its murky light pulling at her. But she returned her attention to what lay ahead, and immediately her heart stuttered. The lighter's flame glinted off a huge, mangled knot of metal that almost completely blocked the tunnel - a pile of what used to be cars, melded together by the heat. Sister found a narrow space to slip around, her feet sliding on something slick at the bottom. Now rivulets of water were falling from above, and Sister concentrated on keeping the lighter dry. The waterfall's noise still lay ahead.

"It's about to cave in!" Jack shouted. "God... it's gonna fall in on us!"

"Keep going!" Sister yelled at him. "Don't stop!"

ahead of them, except for the small glow of the flame, was total, unfathomable darkness. What if it's blocked upi she thought, and she felt the scurryings of panic. What if we can't make iti Settle down, settle down. One step at a time. One step.

The water reached her waist and continued to climb.

"Listen!" Beth said suddenly, and she stopped. artie bumped into her and almost slipped into the foul water.

Sister could hear nothing but the increased rumble of the waterfall. She started to pull Beth on - and then there was a deep groaning noise from above them. We're in the belly of the beast, Sister thought. Like Jonah, being swallowed alive.

Something splashed into the water in front of her. Other falling objects banged loudly off the wreckage, like the noise of sledgehammers at work.

Chunks of stone, Sister realized. Dear God - the ceiling's about to collapse!

"It's falling!" Jack shouted, about to choke on terror. Sister heard him thrashing through the water, and she knew his nerve had given out. She looked back and could see him struggling wildly the way they'd come. He slipped into the water, came up sobbing. "I don't wanna die!" he screamed. "I don't wanna die!" and the sound of his screaming trailed away after him.

"Don't anybody move!" Sister commanded before the others fled, too. Stones were still falling all around, and she clasped Beth's hand so hard her knuckles popped. The chain trembled, but it held. Finally, the stones ceased to fall, and the groaning noise stopped, too. "Everybody okayi Bethi artie, is the woman all righti"

"Yeah," he answered shakily. "I think I've shit in my pants, though."

"Shit I can deal with. Panic I can't. Do we go on or noti"

Beth's eyes were glassy. She's checked out, Sister thought. Maybe that was for the best. "artiei You readyi" she asked, and all artie could do was grunt.

They slogged onward, through water that rose toward their shoulders. Still there was no light ahead, no sign of a way out. Sister winced as a piece of stone the size of a manhole cover slammed into a wrecked truck about ten feet away. The noise of the waterfall was nearer, and over their heads the tunnel groaned with the strain of holding back the Hudson River. She heard a fault voice from behind them: "Come back! Please come back!" She wished Jack Tomachek well, and then the waterfall's roar drowned him out.

Her bag was full of water, her clothes pulling heavily at her, but she kept the lighter extended over her head. It was uncomfortably hot in her hand, though she dared not flick the flame off. Sister could see her breath pluming out into the light, the water numbing her legs and stiffening her knees. One more step, she resolved. Then the next. Keep going!

They passed another surrealistic heap of melded vehicles, and the Spanish woman cried out in pain as an edge of underwater metal gashed her leg, but she gritted her teeth and didn't falter. a little further on, artie's feet got tangled up in something and he went down, coming up sputtering and coughing, but he was okay.

and then the tunnel curved, and Sister said, "Stop."

Before them, glittering in the feeble light, was a torrent of water pouring from above, stretching the width of the tunnel. They would have to pass through the downpour, and Sister knew what that meant. "I'm going to have to put the lighter out now, until we get past," she said. "Everybody hold on tight. Readyi"

She felt Beth squeeze her hand, and artie croaked, "Ready."

Sister closed the lighter's lid. The darkness consumed all. Sister's heart was pounding, and she gripped the lighter protectively in her fist and started forward.

The water hit her so hard it knocked her under. She lost Beth's hand and heard the young woman scream. Frantically, Sister tried to get her footing, but there was something slick and oozy all over the bottom. Water was in her mouth and eyes, she couldn't draw a breath and the darkness distorted her sense of direction. Her left foot was trapped and held by an underwater object, and a shriek was very close, but she knew that if she let it go they were all lost. She flailed around with her free hand, trying to hold the lighter up with the other - and fingers gripped her shoulder. "I've got you!" Beth shouted, her own body being battered by the waterfall. She steadied Sister, who wrenched her leg free with an effort that almost tore the sneaker off her foot. Then she was loose and moving again, guiding the others away from the snag.

She didn't know how long it took them to clear the waterfall - maybe two minutes, maybe three - but suddenly they were past it, and she wasn't gasping for air anymore. Her skull and shoulders felt as bruised as if she'd been used as a punching bag. She shouted, "We made it!" and led them a distance away before her side bumped metal. Then she took the lighter in her fingers again and tried to strike it.

a spark leaped, but there was no flame.

Oh, Jesus! Sister thought. She tried it again. another star of sparks - but no flame, and no light.

"Come on, come on!" she breathed. The third time was no charm. "Light, damn you!" But it wouldn't, not on the fourth or fifth attempts, and she prayed that the lighter hadn't gotten too wet to catch.

On the eighth try a small, weak flame appeared, wavered and almost died again. Fluid's almost gone, Sister realized. They had to get out of here before it was used up, she thought, and before that instant she'd never known how sanity could depend on a tiny, flickering flame.

Beside her, the crumpled radiator grille and hood of a Cadillac protruded from the water like an alligator's snout. In front of her, another car lay on its roof, all but submerged, the tires shredded from its wheels. They were amid a maze of wreckage, their circle of light cut to a fraction of what it had been before. Sister's teeth had begun to chatter, her legs like cold chunks of lead.

They went on, step by careful step. The tunnel groaned above them again, and more rubble tumbled down - but suddenly Sister realized that the water was back down to her waist.

"We're coming out!" she shouted. "Thank God, we're coming out!" She strained to see light ahead, but the exit wasn't yet in sight. Don't stop! You're almost there!

She stumbled over something on the bottom.

a gurgle of bubbles exploded in her face, and from the water in front of her rose a corpse, blackened and gnarled like a piece of wood, its arms frozen stiffly over its face, its mouth straining in a soundless scream.

The lighter went out.

The corpse leaned against Sister's shoulder in the dark. She stood motionlessly, her heart about to burst through her chest, and she knew she could either lose her mind in that moment or...

She took a shuddering breath and pushed the thing aside with her forearm. The corpse slid under again with a noise like a giggle.

"I'm going to get us out of here," she heard herself vow, and in her voice there was a dogged strength she hadn't known she possessed. "Fuck the dark! We're getting out!" She took the next step, and the next one after that. Slowly, the water descended to their knees. and - how much later and how many steps further Sister didn't know - she saw the Holland Tunnel's exit before them. They had reached the Jersey shore.  

Twenty-one

"Water... please... let me have some water..."

Josh opened his eyes. Darleen's voice was getting weaker. He sat up and crawled over to where he'd piled up all the cans he'd uncovered. There were dozens of them, many of them burst open and leaking, but their contents seemed okay. Their last meal had been baked beans washed down with V-8 juice, the task of can-opening made simpler by a screwdriver he'd discovered. The dirt had also yielded up a shovel with a broken blade and a pickaxe, along with other bits and pieces from the grocery's shelves. Josh had put everything in the corner, organizing the tools, large and small cans with the single-minded concentration of a packrat.

He found the V-8 and crawled to Darleen. The exertion left him sweating and tired again, and the smell of the latrine trench he'd dug over on the far side of the basement didn't help the air any, either.

He reached out in the darkness and touched Swan's arm. She was cradling her mother's head. "Here." He tipped the can to Darleen's mouth; she drank noisily for a moment and then pushed the can away.

"Water," she begged. "Please... some water."

"I'm sorry. There's not any."

"Shit," she muttered. "I'm burnin' up."

Josh gently laid a hand on her forehead; it was like touching a griddle, much worse than his own fever. Further away, PawPaw was still hanging on, intermittently babbling about gophers, his missing truck keys and some woman named Goldie.

"Blakeman," Darleen croaked. "We gotta... gotta get to Blakeman. Swan, honeyi Don't you worry, we'll get there."

"Yes ma'am," Swan replied quietly, and Josh heard it in her voice: She knew her mother was near death.

"Soon as they come get us out of here. We'll be on our way. Lord, I can see my daddy's face right now!" She laughed, and her lungs gurgled. "Oh, his eyes are gonna jump right out of his head!"

"He'll be real glad to see us, won't hei" Swan asked.

"Sure will! Damn it, I wish... they'd come on and get us out of here! When are they comin'i"

"Soon, Mama."

That kid's aged ten years since the blast, Josh thought.

"I... had a dream about Blakeman," Darleen said. "You and me were... were walkin', and I could see the old house... right in front of us, across the field. and the sun... the sun was shinin' so bright. Oh, it was such a pretty day. and I looked over the field and saw my daddy standin' on the porch... and he was wavin' for me to come on across. He didn't... he didn't hate me anymore. and all of a sudden... my mama came out of the house, and she was standin' on the porch beside him... and they were holdin' hands. and she called 'Darleen! Darleen! We're waitin' for you, child! Come on home, now!'" She was silent, just the wet sound of her breathing. "We... we started 'cross the field, but Mama said, 'No, honey! Just you. Just you. Not the little girl. Just you.' But I didn't want to go across without my angel, and I was afraid. and Mama said, 'The little girl's got to go on. Got to go on a long, long way.' Oh... I wanted to cross that field... I wanted to... but... I couldn't." She found Swan's hand. "I want to go home, honey."

"It's all right," Swan whispered, and she smoothed back the sweat-damp remnants of her mother's hair. "I love you, Mama. I love you so much."

"Oh... I've messed things up." a sob caught in Darleen's throat. "I messed up... everything I ever touched. Oh, God... who's gonna watch out for my angeli I'm afraid... I'm so afraid..." She began to sob brokenly, and Swan cradled her head and whispered, "Shhhh, Mama. I'm here. I'm right here."

Josh crawled away from them. He found his corner and curled up in it, trying to escape.

He didn't know how much time had passed - maybe hours - when he heard a noise near him. He sat up.

"Misteri" Swan's voice was weak and wounded. "I think... my mama's gone home."

She broke then and began to cry and moan at the same time.

Josh folded his arms around her, and she clung to his neck and cried. He could feel the child's heart beating, and he wanted to scream and rage, and if any of the prideful fools who had pushed those buttons were anywhere within reach, he could've snapped their necks like matchsticks. Thinking about how many millions might be lying dead out there warped Josh's mind, like trying to figure out how big the universe was, or how many billions of stars winked in the skies. But right now there was just this little girl, sobbing in his arms, and she could never see the world in the same way as before. No matter what happened to them she would forever be marked by this moment - and Josh knew he would as well. Because it was one thing to know that there might be millions of faceless dead out there; it was something else again to know that a woman who used to breathe and talk and whose name was Darleen was lying dead in the dirt less than ten feet away.

and he would have to bury her in that same dirt. Have to use the pickaxe and the broken shovel and dig the grave on his knees. Have to bury her deep, so they wouldn't crawl over her in the dark.

He felt the child's tears on his shoulder, and when he reached up to touch her hair his fingers found blisters and burned stubble.

and he prayed to God in that moment that, if they were going to die, the child would pass away before him so she wouldn't be alone with the dead.

Swan cried herself out; she gave a last whimper and leaned limply against Josh's shoulder. "Swani" he said. "I want you to sit here and not move for a while. Will you do like I sayi"

She made no response - then, finally, she nodded.

Josh set her aside, got the pickaxe and shovel. He decided to dig the hole as far away as possible from the corner where Swan lay, and he started scooping away a mess of cornstalks, broken glass and splintered wood.

His right hand brushed something metal buried in the loose dirt, and at first he thought it was another can he could add to the others. But this one was different; it was a slim cylinder. He picked it up in both hands and ran his fingers over it.

Not a can, he realized. Not a can. My God - oh, Jesus!

It was a flashlight, and it held enough weight to suggest that there were batteries inside.

He found the off-on switch with his thumb. But he dared not press it yet, not until he'd closed his eyes and whispered, "Please, please. Let it still work. Please."

He took a deep breath and pressed the little switch.

There was no change, no sensation of light against his closed eyelids.

Josh opened his eyes and looked at darkness. The flashlight was useless.

He thought he would burst out laughing for a second, but then his face contorted with anger and he shouted, "Damn it to Hell!" He reared his arm back to fling the flashlight to pieces against the wall.

and as the flashlight jiggled an instant before he let it fly, a weak yellow ray speared from its bulb - but to Josh it looked like the mightiest, most wonderful light in all of creation. It all but dazzled him blind, and then it flickered and went out again. He jiggled it furiously; the light played an impish game, coming on and going off again and again. and then Josh reached two fingers through the cracked plastic lens to the tiny bulb itself. Carefully, his fingers trembling, he gave the bulb a gentle clockwise turn.

and this time the light stayed: a dim, murky light, yes - but light.

Josh lowered his head and wept.  

Twenty-two

Night caught them on Communipaw avenue in the ruins of Jersey City, just east of Newark Bay. They found a bonfire of debris burning within the roofless hulk of a building, and it was there that Sister decided they should rest. The building's walls deflected the freezing wind, and there was enough flammable material around to keep the fire burning until morning; they huddled close around the bonfire, because standing only six feet away was like being in a meat locker.

Beth Phelps held her palms toward the fire. "God, it's so cold! Why's it so coldi It's still July!"

"I'm no scientist," artie ventured, sitting between her and the Spanish woman, "but I guess the blasts threw so much dust and junk into the air that it's done somethin' to the atmosphere - screwed up the sun's rays or somethin'."

"I've never... never been so cold before!" Her teeth chattered. "I just can't get warm!"

"Summer's over," Sister said as she rummaged through the contents of her bag. "I don't think it's going to be summer again for a long time." She brought out the ham slices, the last of the soggy bread, and the two cans of anchovies. also in the water-shrunken bag were several items that Sister had found today: a small aluminum pot with a black rubber-coated handle, a little knife with a serrated blade, a jar of Folger's freeze-dried coffee, and a single thick garden glove with two fingers burned away. Stuffed into the bottom of the bag was the glass ring, which Sister had neither looked at nor disturbed since they'd come out of the tunnel. She wanted to save looking at and holding the treasure for later, like a gift she would give herself at the end of the day.

None of them had spoken again about the Holland Tunnel. It seemed more like a hideous dream, something they wanted to forget. But Sister felt stronger now. They had made it through the tunnel. They could make it through another night, and another day. "Take some bread," she told them. "Here. Go easy on the ham." She chewed on a soggy hunk of bread and watched the Spanish woman eat. "Do you have a namei" Sister asked. The Spanish woman looked at her incuriously. "a name." Sister made the motion of writing in the air. "What's your namei"

The Spanish woman busied herself with tearing a slice of ham into small, bite-size pieces.

"Maybe she's crazy," artie said. "You know, maybe losin' her kid like that made her crazy. Think that could bei"

"Maybe," Sister agreed, and she got the ashy-tasting bread down her throat.

"I guess she's Puerto Rican," Beth offered. "I almost took Spanish in college, but I wound up taking a music appreciation course instead."

"What do you..." artie stopped himself. He smiled wanly, and slowly the smile faded. "What did you do for a living, Bethi"

"I'm a secretary for the Holmhauser Plumbing Supply Company, on West Eleventh. Third floor, corner office, the Broward Building. I'm Mr. alden's secretary - he's the vice-president. I mean... he was the vice-president." She hesitated, trying to remember. "Mr. alden had a headache. He asked me to go across the street to the drugstore to get him a bottle of Excedrin. I remember... I was standing on the corner of Eleventh and Fifth, waiting for the light to change. This nice-looking guy asked me if I knew where some sushi restaurant was, but I said I didn't know. The light changed, and everybody started across the street. But I wanted to keep talking to that guy, because he was really cute and... well, I don't really get to meet a lot of guys I'd like to go out with. We were about halfway across, and he looks at me and smiles and says, 'My name's Keith. What's yoursi'" Beth smiled sadly and shook her head. "I never got to answer him. I remember a loud roaring sound. I had a feeling that a wave of heat just knocked me off my feet. Then... I think somebody grabbed my hand and told me to run. I did. I ran like hell, and I could hear people screaming, and I think I was screaming, too. all I remember after that is hearing somebody say, 'She's still alive.' I got mad. I thought, of course I'm still alive! Why wouldn't I still be alivei I opened my eyes, and Mr. Kaplan and Jack were bending over me." Beth's gaze focused on Sister. "We're... we're not the only ones who made it, are wei I mean... it's not just us alone, is iti"

"I doubt it. The ones who could make it out have probably already moved west - or north or south," Sister said. "There's sure as hell no reason to go east."

"My God." Beth drew in a sharp breath. "My mom and dad. My little sister. They live in Pittsburgh. You don't think... Pittsburgh is like this, do youi I mean, Pittsburgh could be okay, righti" She grinned crookedly, but her eyes were wild. "What's to bomb in Pittsburgh, righti"

"Right," she agreed, and she concentrated on opening one of the anchovy cans with its little key. She knew the salty taste of the things might make them more thirsty, but food was food. "anybody want one of thesei" She scooped a fillet up on her finger and put it in her mouth; the fishy taste almost made her tongue curl, but she got the thing down, figuring fish had iodine or something that would be good for her. Both artie and Beth took an anchovy, but the Spanish woman turned her head away.

They finished the bread. Sister put the remaining slices of ham back in her bag, then poured the oil from the anchovy can onto the ground and returned the can to the bag as well. The ham and fish might carry them a couple of days more if rationed properly. What they had to do tomorrow was find something to drink.

They sat huddled around the bonfire as the wind shrieked beyond the building's walls. Every so often an errant blast got inside the building and swept up cinders like comets before it spun itself out. There was only the noise of the wind and the fanning flames, and Sister stared into the seething orange heart of the bonfire.

"Sisteri"

She looked toward artie.

"Would you... would you mind if I held iti" he asked hopefully.

She knew what he meant. Neither of them had held it since that day in the ruins of the Steuben Glass shop. Sister reached down into her bag, pushed aside the other junk and put her hand around the object wrapped in a scorched striped shirt. She brought it up and peeled the still-wet shirt away.

Instantly the glass circle with its five spires and its embedded jewels burst into brilliance, absorbing the bonfire's light. The thing shone like a fireball, perhaps even brighter than before. It pulsed with her heartbeat, as if her own life force powered it, and the threads of gold, platinum and silver sizzled with light.

"Oh," Beth breathed. The gemstone lights were reflected in her eyes. "Oh... what is thati I've never... I've never seen anything like that... in my life."

"Sister found it," artie replied; his voice was reverent, his attention riveted to the glass ring. He tentatively held out both hands. "May I... pleasei"

Sister gave it to him. When artie had it, the pulsations of the gemstones shifted speed and rhythm, picking up artie's heartbeat. He shook his head with wonder, his eyes full of rainbow colors. "Holding this makes me feel good," he said. "It makes me feel... like all the beauty in the world isn't dead yet." He ran his fingers over the glass spires and circled his forefinger over an emerald the size of a large almond. "So green," he whispered. "So green..."

He smelled the clean, fresh aroma of a pine woods. He was holding a sandwich in his hands - pastrami on rye with hot spicy mustard. Just the way he liked it. Startled, he looked up and saw around himself a vision of green forest and emerald meadowland. Beside him was a cooler with a bottle of wine in it, and a paper cup full of wine sat close at hand. He was sitting on a green-striped tablecloth. a wicker picnic basket was open in front of him, displaying a bounty of food. I'm dreaming, he thought. My God - I'm dreaming with my eyes open!

But then he saw his hands - blistered and burned. He was still wearing the fur coat and his red pajamas. The sturdy black wingtips were still on his feet. But he felt no pain, and the sunshine was bright and warm, and a silken breeze stirred through the pine forest. He heard a car door slam. Parked about thirty feet away was a red T-Bird. a tall, smiling young woman with curly brown hair was walking toward him, carrying a transistor radio that was playing "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes."

"We couldn't have asked for a better day, could wei" the young woman asked, swinging the radio at her side.

"Uh... no," artie replied, stunned. "I guess not." He had never smelled air so fresh and clean before. and that T-Bird! My God, he thought. The T-Bird had a foxtail hanging on the antenna! He remembered that set of wheels now! It was the finest, fastest car he'd ever owned, and - Wait a minute, he thought as the young woman approached. Hold the phone! What the hell is -

"Drink your wine," the woman offered. "aren't you thirstyi"

"Uh... yeah. Yeah, I am thirsty." He picked up the cup and drank the wine in three swallows. His throat had been burning with thirst. He held the cup out for more and downed that one just as fast. and then artie looked into the woman's soft blue eyes, saw the oval shape of her face and realized who she was; but she couldn't be! She was nineteen years old, and here they were back on their picnic on the afternoon he had asked her to marry him.

"You're staring, artie," she said teasingly.

"I'm sorry. It's just... I mean, you're young again, and I'm sittin' here like a French fry in red pajamas. I mean... it's not right."

She frowned, as if she couldn't fathom what he was talking about. "You're silly," she decided. "Don't you like your sandwichi"

"Sure. Sure, I do." He bit into it, expecting it to dissolve like a mirage between his teeth, but he had a mouthful of pastrami, and if this was a dream it was the best damned dream sandwich he'd ever eaten! He poured himself a third cup of wine and guzzled it merrily. The sweet, clean scent of the pine woods filled the air, and artie breathed deeply. He stared out at the green woods and the meadow, and he thought, My God, my God, it's good to be alive!

"You all righti"

"Huhi" The voice had startled him. He blinked and was looking at Sister's blistered face. The glass ring was still between his hands.

"I asked you if you're all right," she said. "You've been looking into that thing for about half a minute, just sitting there staring."

"Oh." artie saw the bonfire, the faces of Beth and the Spanish woman, the ruined walls of the building. I don't know where I went, he thought, but I'm back now. He imagined that he could taste pastrami, spicy mustard and wine lingering in his mouth. He even felt just a bit lightheaded, as if he'd drunk too much too fast. But his stomach felt full now, and he wasn't thirsty anymore. "Yeah, I'm all right." He let his fingers play along the glass ring for a moment longer, and then he handed it back to Sister. "Thank you," he said.

She took it. For an instant she thought she smelled - what was iti Liquori But then the faint odor was gone. artie Wisco leaned back and belched.

"Can I hold thati" Beth asked her. "I'll be careful with it." She took it from Sister as the Spanish woman admired it over her shoulder. "It reminds me of something. Something I've seen," she said. "I can't think of what, though." She peered through the glass at the sparkle of topaz and diamonds. "Oh, Lord, do you know what this must be worthi"

Sister shrugged. "I guess it would've been worth some money a few days ago. Now I'm not so sure. Maybe it's worth some cans of food and a can opener. Maybe a pack of matches. at the most, a jug of clean water."

Water, Beth thought. It had been over twenty-four hours since she'd had a drink of the ginger ale. Her mouth felt like a dry field. a drink of water - just a sip - would be so wonderful.

Her fingers suddenly submerged into the glass.

Except it was not glass anymore; it was a stream of water, running over multicolored stones. She pulled her hand away, and drops of water fell like diamonds from the tips of her fingers back into the flowing stream.

She sensed Sister watching her, but she also felt distanced from the other woman, distanced from the wreckage of the city around them; she felt Sister's presence, but it was as if the woman was in another room of a magic mansion to which Beth had just found the front door key. The cool stream of water made an inviting chuckling sound as it passed over the colored stones. There can't be water running right across my lap, Beth thought, and for an instant the stream wavered and started to fade, a thing of mist burned off by the stark sun of reason. No! she wished. Not yet!

The water continued flowing, right under her hands, moving from beyond to beyond.

Beth put her hand into it again. So cool, so cool. She caught some of the water in her palm and brought it to her mouth. It tasted better than any glass of Perrier she'd ever had. again she drank from it, and then she lowered her head to the stream and drank as the water rushed around her cheek like a lingering kiss.