"Park," said the Commander. "Walk with me."

Park followed him through several doorways, then up a few flights of stairs. They emerged onto what must have once been simply a rooftop, but which had been augmented through the exertions of the dead with a sort of parapet.

The Commander said, "So how did you enjoy that?"

"I... it was... "

The Commander said sharply, "Don't dissemble. I don't like that." All of a sudden there was real anger in his voice, and Park was afraid, but just as suddenly the man's eerie calm returned. He went on, "You were uneasy."

Park thought fast. "I just... you always say l.u.s.t of the flesh is-"

"For the ma.s.ses," the Commander cut in. "Black and white. Right and wrong. But men like you and I must take a more nuanced view. Besides, it's for a greater purpose. You'll see."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"And don't apologize," the Commander said. "Now... there's something you want to discuss?"

"Yes." Park collected his thoughts. Then: "In what way does one become an officer in your army?"

"I am the way," the Commander said. "Tell me why you want to join."

"I hate the living," Park said. "Always have. Even when I was one of them. Especially then. But I never saw any alternative. Until now."

"I understand," the Commander told him. "You seem a useful sort, Park, and I'm always d.a.m.ned short of good men. I think I'm going to be glad I met you."

The Commander turned away and gazed out over the battlements to admire his city, his domain. There in the darkness, with the man's back turned and no one else around, Park allowed himself one fleeting instant to glare at the Commander with pure hatred.

No, Park thought. You won't be glad. Not at all.

So Park was designated a "lieutenant," and given a room in a far corner of the palace, and often he was called on to perform routine tasks, mostly drilling the other officers in marksmanship. The Commander's voice was a constant presence, as the loudspeakers blared forth an endless mix of propaganda and instructions for the maintenance of the city. Sometimes pairs of living prisoners were brought out to perform for the Commander and his wife, but Mei was never among them.

Most information was still restricted from Park, and most areas of the palace were still off-limits. A few times he heard men refer to the top floor of the east wing as the "petting zoo." Was that where the living were kept? The palace was severely undermanned, but even so trying to slip in where he wasn't wanted would be chancy at best. Patience, he told himself. Wait, and watch. This is who you are. This is what you do. And when you strike, you strike hard, and they never see it coming.

One day Park returned to his room to find someone waiting in the hall. It was Greavey, a heavyset man with a scattering of red hairs whose jowls hung slack below his skeletal face.

Park nodded to him. "General."

"Park," said Greavey. "Can I ask you a favor? A private lesson?"

"Of course," Park said.

He retrieved a pair of rifles from his car, then took Greavey to a muddy yard nearby, where Park lined up empty cans upon a wooden table. The two of them positioned themselves at the far end of the field.

Greavey took aim and fired. His shot went wide. He growled, and said, "I was a soldier too, in life. Like you. Never was a terrific shot though."

Park fired and knocked over the first can. "It's easier now. Your body is more still."

Greavey raised his rifle again. As he sighted, he said casually, "You may have fooled him, but you don't fool me." He fired. A can went flying.

Park didn't answer. He took another shot, took down another can.

Greavey's voice was gruff. "You don't buy all his bulls.h.i.t. His little cult. And neither do I." He fired again. Missed. "d.a.m.n."

Park had been expecting something like this. He took aim again. "And what if I don't?" He fired. Another hit.

"Listen," Greavey told him. "You're new around here. You don't know what he's like. We're losing this war, losing bad, because of him. We don't have enough officers, and every time one of us shows a little promise... well, he doesn't like rivals much. So watch yourself. It's only a matter of time before he turns on you too."

"So what's the alternative?" Park said. "The moaners are loyal to him. They've been listening to his voice every day and night now for how long? What's going to happen if he's gone? You think they'll obey you? You think you can control them?"

"Man, they'll listen to anyone-" Greavey waved at a loudspeaker- "who gets on that PA."

Park raised his rifle to his shoulder and sighted downrange. "It's too much of a risk."

"That's not what you'll be saying when the living storm in here and blow our brains out."

Park fired. Another can. "Who then? If not him?"

Greavey said, "You know he never did s.h.i.t before all this? He likes to play soldier-all of them do-but he's just some college kid. Now, he's smart, I'll give him that, but not as smart as he thinks he is. We need someone in charge who knows this army and who's got real military training."

"You then?" Park said.

Greavey shrugged. "Seems sensible."

"I've got training," Park said. Another shot. Another can.

"Look," Greavey said. "You shoot real good, but come on. You just got here. Back me and I promise I'll-"

"No."

Greavey was silent a while. He raised his rifle, hesitated, lowered it. Finally: "What do you want?"

"Half," Park said.

"Half what?"

"Half everything. The guns, trucks, troops-"

"No way."

Park raised his rifle again. "Maybe I should see what he he thinks about all this." thinks about all this."

Greavey stared as Park took down another can, then said, "Fine. If that's the way it's got to be. You and me. Full partners. All right?"

"All right." Park glanced toward the palace. "Except... no one but him's allowed to bring weapons in there. He's always armed, obviously he never sleeps-"

"He comes out sometimes," Greavey said. "To supervise things personally, or lead his army in the field. And like I said, you shoot real good."

At this, Park nodded slowly. "I see," he said, as he took down the final can.

Later, as Park strode through the palace, he thought: A good try. Convincing. Much of it likely true. Greavey plotting a.s.sa.s.sination? A lie. But the Commander too reliant on his legion of moaners? Eliminating clever officers who might become rivals? Probably yes. Also true: The Commander not as smart as he thinks he is.

Park turned a corner toward the Commander's private suite. Two skull-faced men stood guard.

"I have to see the Commander," Park said.

The men eyed him. One of them said, "Wait here," and disappeared around a corner. A short time later he returned and said, "All right. Come on."

They walked down the hall to an office, where the Commander sat behind a desk, his rifle leaning against a nearby wall. He held a combat knife, which he fiddled with absently as he said, "Talk."

Park said, "Sir, Greavey is plotting against you."

The Commander leaned back in his chair. "Give me details. Everything."

So Park relayed the conversation, leaving out nothing.

Afterward, the Commander stood and began to pace. "This is good to know."

Park said, "Sir, let me handle Greavey. I'll-"

"Greavey's fine."

"Sir?"

The Commander pointed his knife at Park and said, "Listen to me carefully. Nothing happens in this city without my knowledge, without my order. Do you understand?"

Park feigned bafflement. "You mean it was... a test?"

"An exercise," the Commander said. "I apologize, but it's necessary. I've been betrayed before. I have to make sure."

A few weeks later, just after dawn, Park heard a rumble from outside, as of distant thunder. He hurried to the window of his chamber and looked out. A giant plume of black smoke was rising from the southern end of the city.

A short time later the Commander's recorded speech cut out abruptly. Then the Commander came on and announced, "The city is under attack. The south wall has been breached. Muster at the south wall. I repeat, the south wall." The message continued in this vein, until the moaners got the idea and began to march to the city's defense.

Park lay low, hoping to be missed in the confusion. He waited until he saw a column of trucks go speeding away to the south. Eight trucks-enough to carry most of the officers who lurked about the palace. Park knew he might never get a better chance to scout out the "petting zoo."

He raced through the halls, but saw no one. The east wing seemed deserted. If anyone caught him- No. They would not catch him. He'd make sure of that.

One time he heard footfalls approaching. He slipped into a shadowed alcove, and a guard pa.s.sed by, heedless. Another time, as Park climbed a staircase, he imagined he heard wailing, but when he stopped to listen there was nothing.

He reached the top floor and moved quickly down a long hallway lined with windows. To his right was a door, open just a crack. He crept up to it and peeked inside.

On a nearby couch sat a woman with auburn hair, who was bent over something in her lap. She was murmuring, "Hey. Hey, it's okay. Mommy's here."

Park shifted slightly and scanned the room. The walls were painted yellow. He saw cribs, toys...

Children.

Living children, six of them, none more than a year old.

The petting zoo. It was a G.o.dd.a.m.n... nursery. But... why?

No, he told himself. Ponder later. Get out now. Mei's not here.

The woman on the couch raised her head, and Park caught just a glimpse of her skeletal profile as he eased away from the door.

He heard voices then, back the way he'd come. He hurried in the other direction. He slipped through a door and onto a balcony. At its far end was another door.

The wall to his left was crenellated, and as he hurried along he could see down into the yard below, where a few dead men wandered, moaning, "The south wall..." Apparently they were attempting to join the battle but were too witless to find their way there.

A voice at his side said, "Oh. Hey."

Park leapt back, almost stumbling.

A decapitated human head was impaled on an iron spike between two battlements. The head was that of a young man, blond, who even in this grisly state retained a look of gentle innocence. "Sorry," said the head. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right," Park said, turning away.

"Wait," the head called. "Who are you? I've never seen you before. I'm Jack."

d.a.m.n it. Park said, "Look, I really have to-"

The head narrowed its eyes. "You're not supposed to be here, are you?"

s.h.i.t. Park eyed the head. It could report him to the others. Should he destroy it?

"Don't," the head warned, antic.i.p.ating him. "He'll know something's up. Listen, you can trust me. I'm not on his side. I mean, he's the one who put me here."

Park was at a loss.

"I can help you," the head added. "I know things. What are you doing here?"

Park hesitated. Did he dare trust it? But what choice did he have? He said, "I'm looking for my sister. She was captured. I don't-"

"How old is she?" said the head.

"Twenty."

"Good." The head gave him an encouraging look. "Then she was probably kept alive to breed. The prisoners are in the south wing, down in the bas.e.m.e.nt. But you'll need keys to the cells. Dustin's got a set, and Greavey's got the other."

"Dustin?" said Park.