“You want to know what’s funny?” Michael said. “Maybe funny’s not the right word. The world quarantined us and left us to die. In the end, it’s the only reason we’re still here.”

Greer rose from the table and fetched a whiskey bottle from the shelf. He poured two glasses, handed one to Michael, and sipped. Michael did the same.

“Think about it, Lucius. That ship traveled halfway around the world, never bumping into anything, never running aground, never downflooding in a storm. Somehow it manages to make its way perfectly intact, into Galveston Bay, right under our noses. What are the odds?”

“Not good, I’d say.”

“So you tell me what it’s doing here. You’re the one who drew those pictures.”

Greer poured more into his glass but didn’t drink it. He was silent for a moment, then said, “It’s what I saw.”

“What do you mean, ‘saw’?”

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“None of this is easy, Lucius.”

Greer was staring into his glass, turning it around on the tabletop. “I was in the desert. Don’t ask me what I was doing there—it’s a long story. I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for days. Something happened to me in the night. I’m not really sure what to call it. I guess it was a dream, though it was stronger than that, more real.”

“This image, you mean. The island, the five stars.”

Lucius nodded. “I was on a ship. I could feel it moving under me. I could hear the waves, smell the salt.”

“Was it the Bergensfjord?”

He shook his head. “All I know is, it was big.”

“Were you alone?”

“There may have been other people there, but I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t turn around.” Greer looked at him pointedly. “Michael, are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

“That depends.”

“That the ship is meant for us. That we’re supposed to go to the island.”

“How else can you explain it?”

“I can’t.” He frowned skeptically. “This isn’t at all like you. To put so much faith in a picture drawn by a crazy man.”

For a moment, neither man spoke. Michael sipped his whiskey.

“This ship,” Greer said. “Will it float?”

“I don’t know how much damage there is below the waterline. The lower decks are flooded, but the engine compartment’s dry.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Maybe, but it’d take an army. And lots of money, which we don’t have.”

Greer drummed his fingers on the table. “There are ways around that. Assuming we had the manpower, how long would we need?”

“Years. Hell, maybe decades. We’d have to drain her, build a drydock, float her in. And that’s just for starters. The damn thing’s six hundred feet long.”

“But it could be done.”

“In theory.”

Michael studied his friend’s face. They had yet to touch on the missing piece, the one question from which all the rest descended.

“So how much time do you think we have?” Michael asked.

“Until what?”

“Until the virals come back.”

Greer didn’t answer right away. “I’m not sure.”

“But they are coming.”

Greer looked up. Michael saw relief in the man’s eyes; he had been alone with this for too long. “Tell me, how did you figure it out?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. The question is, how did you?”

Greer drained his whiskey, poured another, and drank that, too. Michael waited.

“I’m going to tell you something, Michael, and you can never tell anybody what you know. Not Sara, not Hollis, not Peter. Especially not Peter.”

“Why him?”

“I don’t make the rules, I’m sorry. I need your word on this.”

“You have it.”

Greer drew a long breath and let the air out slowly. “I know the virals are coming back, Michael,” he said, “because Amy told me.”

* * *

13

Rain was falling as Alicia approached the city. Seen from above in the soft morning light, the river was as she’d imagined it: wide, dark, ceaselessly flowing. Beyond it rose the spires of the city, dense as a forest. Ruined piers jutted from the banks; wrecks of ships were washed against the shoals. In a century, the sea had risen. Parts of the island’s southern tip looked submerged, water lapping against the sides of the buildings.

She picked her way north, hopscotching through the detritus, searching for a way across. The rain stopped, started, stopped again. It was late afternoon when she reached the bridge: two massive struts, like giant twins, holding the decks aloft with cables slung over their shoulders. The thought of crossing it filled Alicia with a profound anxiety she dared not show, but Soldier sensed it anyway. The smallest notch of reluctance in his gait: This again?

Yes, she thought. This.

She veered inland and located the ramp. Barricades, gun emplacements, military vehicles stripped bare by a century of weather, some overturned or lying on their sides: there had been a battle here. The upper deck was choked with the carcasses of automobiles, painted white by the droppings of birds. Alicia dismounted and led Soldier through the wreckage. With every step her apprehension increased. The feeling was automatic, like an allergy, a sneeze barely held in abeyance. She kept her eyes forward, putting one foot in front of the next.