Heirs to the viral lineage of Anthony Carter, Twelfth of Twelve, they were intrinsically less bloodthirsty than their counterparts; it had been remarked many times by human observers that the dopeys satisfied their appetites with an attitude of joyless obligation, and that it was this characteristic, singular among virals, that made them easier to kill.
Dumb as a dopey
was the phrase. This was true, while also concealing a deeper truth. Indeed they did not like it; the butchery of innocents disturbed them. Yet within them lay an unexpressed ferocity, unwitnessed by humankind. For more than a century they had waited, anticipating the day when the call would come to release this hidden power.
In their lives, they had been many things. Then they were another. Now they were an army.
First in twilight, then in blackness, beneath the Texas stars, they roared west, a wall of noise and dust. At the head of the pod, like the point of a spear, a pair of riders led the way. For Alicia, the sensation was one of pure momentum; she was leading as much as she was being led, joined to a primal force. For Amy, the feeling was one of expansion, an internal amassing of souls. The moment Carter had surrendered his forces to her command, they had ceased to be external entities. They had become extensions of her awareness and her will: her Many.
Come with me. Come with me come with me come with me …
Ahead, like lights upon a distant shore, the besieged city appeared.
“Weapons up!”
All along the catwalk, the snap of magazines, the clack of bolts, rounds hammering into chambers. The last shadows were gone, drowned in the gloom.
It didn’t take long.
A glowing line appeared to the east. Second by second it thickened, spreading over the land. A feeling of fate, of destiny: it hung like a fog. The city seemed meager in its face.
“Here they come!”
The horde rumbled toward them. Its speed was tremendous. Random shots split the air—men adrenalized with terror who could not restrain the urge to fire their weapons.
Peter pressed the radio to his mouth. “Hold your fire! Wait till they’re in range!”
The stars were disappearing, blotted out by the great dust cloud that ascended in the virals’ wake. The pod had taken the form of an arrowlike wedge.
“Looks like the negotiation phase is over,” Apgar said.
More panicked shots; the pod kept coming. They would drive straight through the gate, splitting it like a bull’s-eye.
“Hang on a second,” Apgar said. He was watching through binoculars. “Something’s off.”
“What are you seeing?”
“They’re moving differently. Short leaps, long strides in between, like the older ones do.” He pulled the lenses away. “I think these are dopeys.”
Something was happening. The pod was decelerating.
From the spotting platform, a cry went up: “Riders! Two hundred yards!”
Prepare yourselves.
Amy slowed Soldier to a canter, then a trot.
We will defend this city. We will hold this gate, my brothers and sisters of blood.
Flowing like a liquid, her forces spread. Amy moved among them. She dared not show fear; her courage would be theirs. She rode with her back erect, Soldier’s reins held lightly in one hand, the other extended in a gesture of blessing, like a priest.
They were people once, like you. But they follow another, the Zero.
A thousand long, three hundred deep, Amy’s forces formed a protective barrier along the northern wall and turned to face the field. To the east, the first edge of moon was peeking above the hills.
Do not hesitate, for they will not. Kill them, my brothers and sisters, but always with a blessing of mercy in your heart.
She felt the eyes of the soldiers upon her, the posts and crosshairs of their guns. The great dust cloud was settling. A taste of grit was in her mouth.
Stand tall. Have courage. Show him who and what you are.
They brought their horses to a halt at the front of the line. Amy removed the pistol from her belt, passed it to Alicia, and drew the sword from over her back. The grip possessed a satisfying thickness, comfortable in the hand. She rocked her wrist to turn its blade in the air.
“This is a fine weapon, sister.”
“I was sort of guessing when I made it.”
Her mind was composed, her thoughts ordered and calm. There was fear, but also relief and, on top of this, curiosity about what would come.
“I’ve never gone into battle,” she said. “What is it like?”
“It’s very … busy.”
Amy considered this.
“Things happen fast. You won’t even be aware of them until later. Most will seem like they happened to somebody else.”
“I suppose that makes a lot of sense.” Then: “Alicia, if I don’t survive—”
“One other thing.”
“What’s that?”
Alicia met her eye. “You’re not allowed to say things like that.”
On the rampart, chaos reigned. Runners were dashing, fingers were twitching on triggers, nobody knew what to do.
Hold fire? They’re virals! And why are they facing the wrong direction?
“I mean it,” Peter barked into the radio, “all stations, stand down now!” He tossed Apgar the radio and turned to the closest runner. “Private, get me a harness.”
“Peter, you are
not
going out there,” Apgar said.
“Amy can protect me. You can see it for yourself. They’re here to defend us.”
“I don’t care if they’re here to fix the plumbing—you’ve lost your goddamn mind. Do not make me tackle you, because I will absolutely do that.”
The soldier darted his eyes to Peter, then the general, then back again. “Sir, should I get the harness or not?”
“Private, you take one step and I’m going to pitch you over that wall,” Apgar said.
Another cry from the spotter: “We have movement! The riders are moving away!”
Peter looked up. “What do you mean
away
?”
A face floated over the rail. A quick conferral with someone behind him, then the man pointed due north. “Across the field, sir!”
Peter stepped back to the edge of the rampart and raised his binoculars. “Gunnar, are you seeing this?”
“What they doing?” Apgar said. “Are they surrendering?”
With a puff of dust, Amy and Alicia brought their horses to a halt. Amy drew and raised the sword. It was not a gesture of capitulation but defiance.
They were setting themselves as bait.
“Fanning, do you hear me?!”
Amy’s words dwindled into the gloom.
“If you want me, come and get me!”
“Should we go further out?” Alicia asked.
“If we do, we might not make it back.” Then, raising her voice again: “Are you listening? I’m right here, you bastard!”
Alicia waited. Still nothing. Then:
You have done well, Alicia.
She pressed her hands over her ears, a pointless reflex; Fanning’s voice was inside her.
Everything I could have wished for, you have accomplished. Her army is nothing, I can whisk it away. You have given me that, and so much more.
“Shut up! Leave me alone!”
Amy was staring at her. “Lish, what is it? Is it Fanning?”
Do you feel it, Alicia?
Fanning’s voice was smooth, taunting. It was like an oily liquid spreading through her brain.
Of course you do. You always could. Haunting the streets, counting heads. They are a part of you as I am part of you.
Alicia heard the sound then. No, not heard: sensed. A kind of … scratching. Where was it coming from?
She must come to me in ruins. That will be the truest test. To feel what I feel. What
we
feel, my Alicia. To know despair. A world without hope, without purpose, everything lost.
“Alicia, tell me what’s happening.”
I know your dreams, Alicia. The great walled city and its sounds of life within. The music and the happy cries of children. Your longing to be among them, and the door you cannot enter. Did you know even then, Alicia? Did you know what lay in store?
The sound grew more intense. The blood was throbbing in her neck; she thought she might be ill.
My Alicia, it is already done. Can you feel it? Can you feel …
them
?
Her mind slammed back to awareness. She turned in her saddle. Beyond the barrier of Amy’s army, the lights of the city shone.
Outside, she thought. I’m outside, just like in the dream.
“Oh, God, no.”
Sara was trying to make herself breathe.
A hundred and twenty souls were crammed in the basement. Candles and lanterns, spread throughout the space, cast odd, animated shadows. Sara’s pistol lay in her lap, her hand upon it, loose but ready.
Jenny and Hannah had organized a game of duck, duck, goose to distract some of the children. Others were occupying themselves with smuggled toys. A few were crying, though probably they did not know why; they were channeling the anxiety of the adults.
Sara was sitting on the floor with her back against the door. Its metal face was cool against her skin. Would it hold? Various scenes unfolded in her mind: pounding on the door, the metal bulging, everyone screaming, backing away, then the final crack and death pouring in, engulfing them all.
She was watching Jenny and Hannah. Jenny was terrified—the woman wore her emotions like a coat—but Hannah had a steady streak in her. It was she who had initiated the game. There were people, Sara knew, who were like this, the ones who could not be ruffled or else didn’t show it, who possessed great internal reservoirs of calm. Hannah was racing around the circle on her long legs, grinning with conspiracy, pursued by a little boy. Hannah was going to let him catch her, of course; she made a stagy show of her surrender that sent the boy into a fit of happy giggles, which, for a moment, put Sara at ease. She remembered such games, how much fun they were, their object so simple and pure. She had played duck, duck, goose as a girl, then, later, with Kate and her friends. But in the next instant, this thought was replaced by another. Kate, she thought, Kate, where are you, where have you gone? Your body lies in a bed far from home; your spirit has flown. I am lost without you. Lost.
“Dr. Wilson, are you okay?”
Holding Carlos, Grace was standing above her. Sara touched her tears away. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s a baby—he doesn’t know anything.”
Sara made a place beside her; Grace lowered herself to the floor.
“Are we going to be safe here?” Grace asked.
“Sure.”
A silence; then Grace shrugged. “You’re lying, but that’s okay. I just wanted to hear you say it.” She turned her face toward Sara. “You were the one who transferred your birthright to my parents, weren’t you?”
“I guess they told you.”
“Just that it was the doctor. I don’t see any other women doctors around the place, though, so I figured it had to be you. Why did you do it?”
There was probably an answer, but Sara couldn’t think of it. “It just felt like the thing to do.”
“My folks were good to me. Things weren’t easy, but they loved me as well as anyone could. We always said a prayer for you at supper. I thought you should know.”
From baby Carlos, a yawn; sleep was near. For a minute or so, Sara and Grace watched the game together. Suddenly Grace looked up.
“What’s that noise?”
“Station six. We have movement.”
Peter grabbed the radio. “Say again.”
“Not sure.” A pause. “Looks like it’s gone now.”
Station 6 was at the south end of the dam.
“Everyone, maintain readiness!” Apgar yelled. “Hold your positions!”
Peter barked into the mike: “What are you seeing?”
A crackle, and then the voice said, “Forget it, I was wrong.”
Peter looked at Chase. “What’s below station six?”
“Just scrub.”
“Enough for cover?”
“Some.”
Peter took up the radio again. “Station six, report. What did you see?”
“I’m telling you, it’s nothing,” the voice repeated. “Looks like just another sinkhole opening up.”
From his post on the roof of the orphanage, Caleb Jaxon did not hear the sound so much as feel it: a disturbance lacking a discernible source, as if the air were bristling with a swarm of invisible bees. He scanned the city with his binoculars. All seemed ordinary, unchanged, yet as his mind stilled, he became aware of other sounds, coming from several directions. The crack of wood splintering. The crash and tinkle of fracturing glass. A rumble, lasting perhaps five seconds, of an unknown type. Around him, and on the ground below, some of his men had begun to sense these things as well; their conversations halted, one man or the other saying,
Do you hear that? What
is
that?
Eyes burning from lack of sleep, Caleb peered into the darkness. From the roof, he had a clear view of the capitol building and the city’s central square. The hospital was four blocks east.
He unhitched his radio from his belt. “Hollis, are you there?” His father-in-law was stationed at the entrance to the hospital.
“Yeah.”
Another crash. It came from deep within the streets of the city. “Are you hearing this?”
A gap, then Hollis said: “Roger that.”
“What are you seeing? Any movement?”
“Negative.”
Caleb brought his binoculars to bear on the capitol. A pair of trucks and a long table remained in the square, left behind when the inductions were complete. He took up the radio again. “Sister, can you hear me?”
Sister Peg was waiting by the hatch. “Yes, Lieutenant.”
“I’m not sure, but I think something’s going on out here.”
A pause. “Thank you for telling me, Lieutenant Jaxon.”
He clipped the radio to his belt. His grip on his rifle tightened reflexively. Though he knew a round was seated in the chamber, he gently drew back the charging handle to double-check. Through the tiny window, the brass casing gleamed.
The radio crackled: Hollis. “Caleb, come back.”
“What have you got?”
“Something’s out there.”
Caleb’s heart accelerated. “Where?”