"What did you find?" I asked, whispering myself. Behind me Finster crouched down to try to hear better.

"About fifty of them, all coming up the same canyon. They're spread out pretty loose, and I think I haven't seen them all. There's probably more. Probably a lot more. This is Tucson. Go, now. Get things ready-we won't have time to pack when I get back."

"Understood," I said, and signed off. I turned to face Finster. His face was as white as-well, as white as a dead guy's. "Let's move," I told him.

We cracked open one of the motel rooms we used as cold storage and found the back packs waiting for us on an unmade bed. Ten of them, still half-full of stuff we never bothered to unpack. Bottles of purified water, bags of beef jerky and boxes of hard crackers. Canned food is heavy and if you're carrying your supply on your back it slows you down. Into each pack we put survival gear, camp stoves, thermal blankets, first aid kits. Knives, lots of knives and other basic weapons. As much water as we could shove into the packs. If we were going to walk across the desert until we found another safe place we would need a gallon per day per person. There was no way we could carry enough, but the supply we had would just have to do.

Finster and I didn't talk while we worked. Candy was slung on my back, fast asleep. She learned how to do that very early on. When Mommy's busy, you just go to sleep-that's a survival strategy. Good girl.

I didn't feel bad about having to abandon the motel. It had been a good place, a shelter in a dangerous world, and I had no idea where we would find anything like it again. But the rules of this world are very clear: When you have to move on, you go and you don't look back.

The search party had taken all our guns, which wasn't saying much-they had two revolvers and a .22 pistol between them, and enough ammo to reload once. I had my bow and my quiver and Finster had a slingshot, a high-tech geek toy that could put a ball bearing through a dead guy's skull at twenty yards. We geared ourselves up and hauled the packs out to the motel's courtyard so the search party could just grab and go.

It was only when all that was done that I realized neither of us had been watching Simon. n.o.body would expect the boy genius to help us get ready, so I guess we just ignored him until it was time to get him prepared for the move. Vance and Joe, the two strongest men in our group, had a kind of stretcher they had built so they could carry Simon around. It even had a little canopy to keep the sun off of him. Simon hated the thing, though, and we never brought it out until it was absolutely necessary. Just seeing it would be enough to trigger one of Simon's screaming fits.

"He's probably in reception playing with the cable box, wondering why he can't tune in The Brady Bunch The Brady Bunch or something," Finster said, when I asked where Simon was. or something," Finster said, when I asked where Simon was.

"You check there. I'll look in his room," I told him.

But he wasn't in his room. Finster shouted to say he wasn't in the office, either. I jogged back and forth across the parking lot, calling him, but got no response. He didn't seem to be anywhere inside the fence.

Then I spotted him, and I nearly yelped in horror.

He was outside the fence.

Lord knows how he made it all that way, crawling around on his arms. He had the gate open and had crossed both lanes of the highway beyond. There was a stoplight out there that hadn't worked since Before, with a big electrical junction box at the base of its pole. Simon had the box open and was pulling wires out, making neat piles around him sorted by color. I called his name but he didn't even look up.

"d.a.m.n it," I said, exasperated. This wasn't the first time Simon had put us in danger, and I doubted it would be the last. I ran over to him, my heart pounding the second I was outside the fence, even though there was no sign of the dead in either direction. I tried to grab his arm and lift him up but Simon just went limp and his arm slithered through my hands. "Simon, come on, we have to go."

"Busy. Busy building," Simon said. "Vance says I can build. Vance says you have to leave me alone while I'm building."

"Sure," I tried, "but right now we need you to build something inside the fence."

"I'll do that later," Simon said.

There was nothing for it. I just didn't have the upper body strength to pick him up and carry him, not when he was going to fight me. I needed to get Finster to help. So I hurried back toward the gate, shouting for Finster to come help.

I don't know if he heard me or not. He was pretty busy just then.

Tucson had come for us.

Hundreds of them. Maybe a thousand.

I hadn't seen anything like it since the last days of Vegas.

Their clothes hung on them in tatters, and their flesh had shriveled on their bones. They must have run out of food in Tucson a while back and desperate hunger had driven them this far. Their eyes were cloudy with sun damage and their skin was covered in sores. Many of them were missing limbs, or at least fingers, but they all had their legs intact. When I saw them I understood what had happened. The fifty Vance had found in the canyons were the slow ones, the ones that didn't keep up.

This was the crowd that could still move at a good clip. The ones that were still mostly healthy, who had gotten ahead of the rest.

You always expect them to be an unruly mob, shoving at each other and snarling at the ones who would rob them of their food. It wasn't like that, though. They were barely aware of each other, but all of them wanted the same thing. They knew Finster and I were inside that fence. They moved in concert, pushing forward all at once. Never making the slightest sound. It was easy for the dead to take us by surprise, because they were as silent as the grave.

They hit the fence like a human tsunami. That side of the fence had been the strongest part-we had reinforced an existing fence there that had been made to keep out coyotes. The dead had no trouble with it at all. It came jangling down and they climbed over what was left.

Finster was working overtime with his slingshot, firing his giant-sized BBs one after the other, grabbing them out of a sack on his belt. He was a crack shot with that thing and he didn't hesitate, but he didn't waste shots either, making sure every round he fired was a clean head shot that took down his target.

I could have run up and joined him, and fired every single one of my arrows into that crowd in the time we had. Even healthy dead people move slow. I could see right away it was pointless, though. Neither of us had anything like enough ammunition. "Finster," I shouted, "stop-you can't get them all!"

"You have a better idea?" he asked me. His eyes looked crazed and I thought he might be hyperventilating.

"Yes! Come on, this way." I grabbed at his arm and he followed.

"Come on. The reception office has the thickest walls, and we can get a couple of doors between us and them," I told him, dashing around the side of the pool's pump house. The dead were hot on our heels but we had no problem outrunning them. I rushed out onto the pool deck with my bow in my hand, an arrow already half-nocked. Good thing, too, because a dead woman in a pantsuit was already there waiting for me. She came stumbling toward me with her arms out, like she wanted to give me a big hug. I put my arrow right through her eye and jumped over her as she collapsed.

"But what then?" Finster demanded. "We just wait for them to go away?"

"No! We wait for Vance and the others to come rescue us," I told him. Why couldn't he see what we needed to do? I saw a dead man wearing a police uniform come stumbling through the weak part of the fence and shot an arrow through his forehead. "Just stick with me, Finster. We'll be okay if-"

Finster screamed. The dead woman I'd put down was still moving. She had grabbed at the leg of his pants as he stepped over her.

He kicked at her furiously, even as her teeth came closer and closer to his flesh. One bite and it was all over-n.o.body ever survived a bite. I nocked another arrow, but couldn't be sure of hitting her the way Finster was jumping around.

"It's okay, I'm okay," he shouted, as he stumbled away from her. "She didn't get me." She was still crawling toward him so I put another arrow in her ear. That stopped her. "I made it," he said, gasping for breath. "I-"

He wasn't looking where he was going. So happy that he'd escaped a fate worse than death, he didn't watch his step, and he fell into the pool.

I rushed over to the edge of the pool and looked down. He'd fallen into the deep end and he was crying in pain. One of his legs was bent the wrong way.

"Finster, come on, get up!" I shouted at him, and he waved one hand at me to indicate he just needed a minute, that he would get up any time now.

We didn't have a minute. The dead were streaming around the sides of the pump house, coming straight for us. I felt Candy stir against my back as she woke up. Why couldn't she just have slept through this?

I should have left Finster there, of course. That's how it was supposed to work. If you couldn't walk, you couldn't survive. But then, Simon couldn't walk, either. Vance had changed some of the rules. He'd changed who we were. He'd made us into good people again. Given us something to live for.

"Take my hand," I shouted at Finster, thrusting my arm down into the pool. "Take my G.o.dd.a.m.ned hand!"

He blinked away his tears and struggled to get up. When he tried moving his broken leg he screamed in agony.

I looked away to check on the dead. They were very close now. Before I could look back at Finster, he reached up and snagged my arm. I hauled him upwards, pulling so hard I thought my arm might come out of its socket. He got his free hand over the lip of the pool, though, and helped me pull him up.

"Stand up. Lean on me. We have to run, now," I said, once he was out of the pool. "Think of it like a three-legged race, okay?"

He didn't say anything. His face was a mask of pain. But he hopped on his good foot, his arm clutched tight around my shoulders. We were still faster than the dead.

Inside the reception lobby it was dark and cool once I closed all the window shutters. The dead hammered on the steel core door from the outside, their fists banging away at the wood veneer. It was holding, for the moment. I locked it, though I doubted any of them were smart enough to try to turn the k.n.o.b. Then I headed into the back office, where I'd left Finster and Candy.

I barricaded the door of the reception office as best I could, shoving furniture up against it in a way that might slow the dead down for a minute or two. Candy had fully woken up by that point and wanted to know what was going on.

"Nothing, honey, we're safe," I told her. And she believed me. It's amazing how trusting a three-year-old can be.

I had Finster laid out on the desk, his leg propped up on a pile of old file folders. There was blood on his jeans. That could mean one of two things. Either when he'd fallen his leg had suffered a compound fracture-which was very bad-or that he'd lied when he said the dead woman hadn't bitten him.

Which would be a lot worse.

The only way to find out was to take his pants off, which I didn't have the time or the steady nerves to do just then. I shoved my back up against the wall farthest from the door and sank down to sit on the floor. I just needed to calm down. I just needed to breathe carefully. This didn't have to be the end for us. We could survive this.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream and bang on the walls with my fists, and shout for the dead to go away, and tear my hair out, and curl up in a ball, and throw up in horror. I didn't do any of those things, because Candy was watching me very closely.

I could have been a good actress. I could have won an Oscar.

"Darcy," Finster said, his breath coming in ragged spurts, "I want you to know something. I want you to know how I feel, since I may not get another chance, and-"

"Save it," I told him. Which was maybe a little cruel. But I couldn't afford to hear what he was going to say.

I pulled the walkie-talkie off my belt and checked the battery. Still about twenty minutes of talk time left. "Vance," I said. "Vance, if you can hear me, come in." There was no response, so I waited a minute and tried again. After that I waited five minutes before I tried a third time.

Meanwhile I could hear the dead in the lobby. They'd gotten through the door somehow. They didn't make any noise but I could hear it when they knocked over furniture or crashed into the walls. How long did we have?

Not very long.

"Vance, come in, please," I said.

"Darcy? What's going on?"

I closed my eyes and thought about how much I loved that man. This was the man who was going to save Candy. And me. And Finster. "Vance, we have a couple hundred of them here. We're locked in the reception office and can't get out. You have to come save us."

"I can see them," Vance said. "I'm about a mile away."

"Oh, thank G.o.d," I said. "Oh, thank you Jesus."

"Stay with me, Darcy," Vance told me. "Is everyone okay?"

"Candy and I are fine. Finster broke his leg, and it's bleeding." I didn't want to say what I suspected, that he might already be dying of a bite wound.

"Understood. How's Simon holding up?"

"Simon?" I asked. As if I didn't know who he was talking about.

"If he's screaming too much, just let him play with his electronics." Vance was quiet for a second. "Why don't I hear him screaming?"

"He's not in here with us," I admitted. "The last time I saw him, he was outside of the fence. Opposite the gate."

Vance didn't respond for a while.

"Vance, come in," I shouted.

"I'm still here, Darcy. Just trying to save my breath. We're moving fast. You say Simon is outside of the fence. Okay. That's good."

"It is?"

Vance sounded determined. Steadfast. "All of the dead are inside the fence. Maybe they didn't see him there. Maybe they just think you're the better meal, since there's three of you." He took his mouth away from the microphone, but I could hear him giving orders. "Joe, Bruce, Phil, get down there and get that gate closed-that'll give us a second or two. Arnold, do you see Simon down there? Take Mary and just pick him up. Don't stop if he fights you, just hold him still and pick him up. Yes, d.a.m.n it. That's exactly what I'm saying. No, we are not leaving him behind. We need him if we're going to rebuild anything. If we're going to have a future."

"Vance," I called. "Vance, what should we do? I don't think we can get out of here without help. Tell me your plan."

"Hold on, Darcy," he said, and went back to issuing orders.

Outside, the dead started pounding on the office door. The furniture barricade jumped every time they struck. It was loud, very loud in the tiny office, and the air in there started to feel very stale.

"Vance, please. Tell me how you're going to get us out of here," I said.

The radio was silent.

"Vance. Please. Vance, you son of a-"

"We're not, Darcy."

I opened my eyes. Finster was staring down at me. The barricade started to fall apart.

"We can't. We don't have the numbers. If I tried, I would just get all of us killed. I'm sorry. We got Simon to safety, if it's any consolation. He's going to be a big help. He's going to teach us how to build things."

"That's-no consolation at all! Listen, you stupid motherf.u.c.ker, my baby is in here! My little baby. She's scared, and alone, and-"

"Darcy, it has to be this way. We're going to run away, and hope the dead don't follow us. I think they'll be too busy trying to get at you to notice. Thank you for that. Your sacrifice is going to let other people live."

"My baby, Vance. My baby is in here."

"Call me names. Tell me what an a.s.shole I am. If it helps," Vance told me. "I promise, I won't turn my radio off until I know it's over. But I'm sorry. That's all I can do for you."

"What is he saying?" Finster demanded. "I can't hear him!"

"Mommy?" Candy asked. Three-year-old trust only goes so far, I guess.

I swore and screamed at Vance, then, used every nasty, obscene insult I could think of. Called him a p.r.i.c.k. Called him impotent. Called him a traitor and a baby-killer. Thought up some new names just for him.