—

There was a face. That was the first thing she became aware of. A face, its features vague, and behind it only sky. Where was she? What had occurred? Who was this person who was looking at her, floating in the heavens? She blinked, trying to focus her eyes. Slowly the image resolved. A nose. The curving shape of ears. A broad, smiling mouth and, above it, eyes that glittered with tears. Pure happiness filled her like a bursting star.

“Oh, Peter,” she said, raising a hand to his cheek. “It is so good to see you.”

* * *

56

All night long, the virals pounded.

It happened in bursts. Five minutes, ten, their fists and bodies slamming against the door—a period of silence, then they would begin again.

Eventually the intervals between the attacks grew longer. The girls gave up their crying and slept, their heads buried in Pim’s lap. More time passed with no sounds outside; finally, the virals did not return.

Caleb waited. When would dawn come? When would it be safe to open the door? Pim, too, had fallen asleep; the terrors of the night had exhausted all of them. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

He awoke to muffled voices outside; help had arrived. Whoever it was had begun to knock.

Pim awoke. The girls were still asleep. She signed a simple question mark.

It’s people, he replied.

Still, it was with some anxiety that he unbarred the door. He pushed it just a little; a crack of daylight blasted his eyes. He shoved the door open the rest of the way, blinking in the light.

Standing before him, Sara dropped to her knees.

“Oh, thank God,” she said.

Hollis was with her; the two were barefoot, soaked to the bone.

“We were coming to see you when they attacked,” Hollis explained. “We hid in the river.”

Pim lifted the children out and climbed up behind them. Sara embraced her, weeping. “Thank God, thank God.” She knelt and drew the girls into her arms. “You’re safe. My babies are safe.”

Caleb’s relief melted away. He realized what was about to happen.

“Kate,” Sara yelled. “Come out now!”

Nobody said anything.

“Kate?”

Hollis looked at Caleb. The younger man shook his head. Hollis stiffened, wavering on his feet, the blood draining from his face. For a moment Caleb thought his father-in-law might collapse.

“Sara, come here,” Hollis said.

“Kate?” Her voice was frantic. “Kate, come out!”

Hollis grabbed her around the waist.

“Kate! You answer me!”

“She’s not in the hardbox, Sara.”

Sara thrashed in his arms, trying to break free. “Hollis, let me go. Kate!”

“She’s gone, Sara. Our Kate is gone.”

“Don’t say that! Kate, I’m your mother, you come out here right now!”

Her strength left her; she dropped to her knees, Hollis still holding her around the waist. “Oh, God,” she moaned.

Hollis’s eyes were closed in anguish. “She’s gone. She’s gone.”

“Please, no. Not her.”

“Our little girl is gone.”

Sara lifted her face to the heavens. Then she began to howl.

—

The light was soft and featureless; low, wet clouds blotted the sun. Peter lifted Amy into the vehicle’s cargo bay and put a blanket over her. A bit of color had flowed back into her face; her eyes were closed, though it seemed she was not asleep but, rather, in a kind of twilight, as if her mind were floating in a current, the banks of the world flowing past.

Greer’s voice was tight: “We better get moving.”

Peter rode in the back with Amy. The going was slow, the dirt track crowded by brush. In the dark, Peter had absorbed almost nothing of the landscape. Now he saw it for what it was: an inhospitable swamp of lagoons, ruined structures clawed by vines, the earth vague, like something melted. Sometimes standing water obscured the roadway, its depth unknown; Greer plowed through.

The foliage began to thin; a cyclonic tangle of highway overpasses appeared. Greer threaded through the detritus beneath the freeway, located a ramp, and ascended.

For a time they followed the highway; then Greer veered away. Despite the violent jostling of the Humvee, Amy had yet to stir. They skirted a second region of collapsed overpasses, then climbed up the bank, back onto the highway.

Michael turned in his seat. “Easier going from here.”

Rain began to fall, pattering the windshield; then the clouds broke, revealing a strong Texas sun. Amy gave a sigh of wakefulness; Peter looked to find that her eyes had opened. She blinked at him, then, squinting fiercely, covered her eyes with her arms.

“It’s bright,” she said.

“What was that?” Greer said from the front.

“She says it’s bright.”

“She’s been in the dark for twenty years—the light may bother her awhile.” Greer bent forward to reach under his seat. “Give her these.”

Over his shoulder, he passed Peter a pair of dark glasses. The lenses were scratched and pitted, the frames made from soldered wire. He slipped the glasses over her face, wrapping the wires gently behind her ears.

“Better?”

She nodded. Her eyes closed once more. “I’m so tired,” she murmured.

Peter leaned forward. “How much farther?”

“We should make it before sundown, but it will be close. We’re going to need fuel, too. There should be some in the hardbox west of Sealy.”