“He comforted you, didn’t he?”

Her lips were wet, tears rolling off her chin. “Yes.”

“He took you in, cared for you. He made you feel that you were not alone.”

Alicia’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”

“Do you see? That’s why I’m so proud of you. Because you didn’t give in, not in your heart.”

“But I did.”

“No, sister. I know what it’s like to be alone. To be outside the walls. But that’s over now.” Without breaking Alicia’s gaze, Amy lifted her voice to the assembly. “Everyone, are you listening? You can put your guns down. This woman is a friend.”

“Hold your positions,” Peter commanded.

Amy swiveled her face toward him. “Peter, didn’t you hear me? She’s with us.”

“I need you to step away from the prisoner.”

In confusion, Amy looked back at Alicia, then at Peter once more.

“It’s okay,” Alicia said. “Do as he says.”

“Lish—”

“He’s only doing what he has to. You really need to back away now.”

An uncertain moment passed; Amy got to her feet. Another pause, her expression tentative, and she backed away. Alicia dropped her head.

Peter said, “Colonel, go ahead.”

Henneman approached Alicia from behind. He had donned a pair of heavy rubber gloves; in his hands was a metal rod wrapped with copper wire, one end connected by a long cord to the generator powering the lights. As the tip of the rod made contact with the base of Alicia’s neck, she jerked upright, her shoulders pulled back and her chest thrust forward, as if she’d been impaled. She made no sound at all. For a few seconds she stayed that way, every muscle taut as wire. Then the air let out of her and she toppled face-first into the dirt.

“Is she out?”

Henneman nudged Alicia’s ribs with the toe of his boot. “Looks like it.”

“Peter, why?”

“I’m sorry, Amy. But I can’t trust her.”

A truck was backing toward them. Two men jumped down from the cargo bay and dropped the tailgate.

“All right, gentlemen,” Peter said. “Let’s haul this woman to the stockade. And watch yourselves. You don’t want to forget what she is.”

* * *

60

0530: Peter stood with Apgar on the catwalk, watching the day come on. An hour before dawn, the horde had departed—a vast, silent retreat, like a wave beating back from shore to enfold itself in the dark bulk of the sea. All that remained was a wide swath of trampled earth and, beyond, fields of broken corn.

“I guess that’s it for the night,” Apgar said.

His voice was heavy, resigned. They waited, not talking, each man alone in his thoughts. A few minutes went by, and then the horn blasted—an expansion of sound like a great intake of breath, followed by the inevitable exhalation, sighing over the valley, then gone. Across the city, frightened people would be emerging from basements and shelters, out of closets and from under their beds. Old people, neighbors, families with children. They would look at each other wide-eyed and weary: Is it over? Are we safe?

“You should get some sleep,” Apgar said.

“So should you.”

Yet neither man moved. Peter’s stomach was sour and empty—he couldn’t remember when he’d eaten last—while the rest of him seemed numb, almost weightless. His face felt tight, like paper. The body’s demands: the world could end, yet you’d still have to take a piss.

“You know,” Apgar said, and yawned into his fist, “I think Chase was onto something. Maybe we should leave this to the kids to sort out.”

“It’s an interesting idea.”

“So, would you have actually shot her?”

The question had plagued him all night. “I don’t know.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up. I wouldn’t have had a problem with it.” A pause, then: “Donadio was right about one thing. Even if we manage to hold them back, we don’t have the gas to keep the lights burning for more than a few nights.”

Peter stepped to the rampart. A gray morning, the light indifferent and worn: it seemed suitable. “I let this happen.”

“We all did.”

“No, this is on me. We never should have opened those gates.”

“What were you going to do? You can’t keep people locked up forever.”

“You’re not letting me off the hook here.”