"You're serious?"

"It was actually Olivia's idea. The woman knows me; I'm all about the details. You want to fix the sewers on time, I'm your guy. But a cattle operation takes more than that. It takes nerve, and it takes capital. Just your name on the operation will open a lot of doors."

"I really don't know anything about cows, Ford."

"And I do? We'll learn. That's what everybody's doing these days, isn't it? We'd be a good team. We have so far."

Peter had to admit it: the notion was intriguing. Somehow, through the years, he had somehow failed to notice that he and Chase had become, of all things, friends.

"But who's going to run if you don't?"

"Does it matter? We're half a government now. Another ten years, this place will be empty, a relic. People will be making their own ways. My guess is, the next guy to sit in that chair will be the one to turn the lights off. Personally, I'm glad it won't be you. I'm your adviser, so let this be my last piece of advice: go out strong, get rich, leave a fortune behind. Have a life, Peter. You've earned it. The rest will take care of itself."

Peter couldn't argue the point. "How soon do you need my answer?"

"I'm not Vicky. Take time to think it over. It's a big step, I know that."

"Thank you," Peter said.

"What for?"

"All of it."

From Chase, a grin. "You're welcome. The letter's on your desk, by the way."

After Chase had gone, Peter lingered in the kitchen; he emerged a few minutes later to find that nearly everyone had left. He said goodbye to Meredith and stepped onto the porch, where Apgar was waiting with his hands in his pockets.

"Chase bowed out."

An eyebrow went up. "Did he now?"

"You wouldn't by any chance feel like running for president?"

"Ha!"

A young officer jogged up the path. He was out of breath and sweating hard, evidently having run a great distance.

"What is it, son?" Peter said.

"Sirs," he said between gulps of air, "you need to see something."

The truck was parked in front of the capitol. Four soldiers were standing guard. Peter unlatched the tailgate and drew the canvas aside. Military crates filled the space, packed to the ceiling. Two of the soldiers extricated a crate from the first row and lowered it to the ground.

"I haven't seen one of these in years," Apgar said.

The crates had come from Dunk's bunker. Inside, vacuum-sealed in plastic strips, lay ammunition: .223, 5.56, 9mm, .45 ACP.

Apgar broke the seal on a round, held it up to the light, and whistled admiringly. "This is the good stuff. Original Army." He rose and turned to one of the soldiers. "Corporal, how many rounds do you have in your sidearm?"

"One and one, sir."

"Give it here."

The soldier handed it over. Apgar dropped the magazine, cleared the chamber, and topped the magazine off with a fresh cartridge. He racked the slide and held out the gun to Peter. "You want the honors?"

"Be my guest."

Apgar aimed the pistol at a square of earth ten feet away and pulled the trigger. There was a satisfying boom as dirt leapt up.

"Let's see what else we've got," Peter said.

They removed a second crate. This one contained a dozen M16s with extra thirty-round magazines, similarly sealed, looking fresh as they day they were made.

"Did anybody see the driver?" Peter asked.

Nobody had; the truck had simply appeared.

"So why would Dunk be sending us this?" Apgar asked. "Unless you brokered some kind of deal you didn't tell me about."

Peter shrugged. "I didn't."

"Then how do you explain it?"

Peter couldn't.

36.

She crossed into Texas on old Highway 20. The morning of the forty-third day; Alicia had traveled the half the breadth of a continent. The going had been slow at the start-cutting her way through the detritus of the coast, working inland across the rocky folds of the Appalachians, then the way had loosened and she'd begun to make good time. The days grew warmer, the trees burst into flower, springtime spread over the land. Whole days passed in heavy rain; then the sun exploded over the earth. Unbelievable nights, wide and starlit, the moon rolling through its cycle as she rode.

But now they stopped to rest. In the shade of a gas station awning Alicia lay on the ground while Soldier grazed nearby. Just a few hours and they'd press on. Her bones grew heavy; she felt herself plummeting into sleep. Throughout her journey, this had been the pattern. Days of wakefulness, her mind so alert it was almost painful, then she'd fall like a bird shot from the sky.

She dreamed of a city. Not New York; it was no city she had ever seen or known. The vision was majestic. In the darkness, it floated like an isle of light. Mighty ramparts surrounded it, protecting it from all danger. From within came noises of life: voices, laughter, music, the delighted shrieks of children at play. The sounds fell upon her like a shimmering rain. How Alicia longed to be among the inhabitants of that happy city! She made her way toward it and walked its perimeter, searching for a way in. There seemed to be none, but then she found a door. It was tiny, fit for a child. She knelt and turned the handle, but the door wouldn't budge. She became aware that the voices had faded. Above her, the city wall soared into blackness. Let me in! She began to pound the door with her fists; panic was consuming her. Somebody, please! I'm all alone at here! Still the door refused her. Her cries became howls, and then she saw: there was no door. The wall was perfectly smooth. Don't leave me! On the far side, the city had fallen silent: the people, the children, all gone. She pounded till she could pound no more and collapsed to the ground, sobbing into her hands. Why did you leave me, why did you leave me ...

She awoke in twilight. Lying motionless, she blinked the dream away, then rose on her elbows to see Soldier standing at the edge of the shelter. He angled one dark eye at her.

"All right already. I'm coming."

Kerrville was four days away.

37.

Kate and the girls had been with them a little more than a month. At the start, Caleb hadn't minded. It was good for Pim to have family around, and the girls adored Theo. But as the weeks passed, Kate's mood only seemed to darken. It filled the house like a gas. She did few chores and spent long hours sleeping, or else sitting on the front steps, staring into space.

How long is she going to mope around like that?

Pim was cleaning up the breakfast dishes. She dried her hands on a towel and looked at him squarely. She's my sister. She just lost her husband.

She's better off, Caleb thought, but didn't say so; he didn't have to.

Give her time, Caleb.

Caleb left the house. In the dooryard, Elle and Bug were playing with Theo, who had learned to crawl. The boy was capable of astonishing speed; Caleb reminded the girls to keep an eye on their cousin and not wander far from the house.

He was hitching the horses to the plow when he heard a cry of shock and pain. He dashed back to the yard as Kate and Pim came running from the house.

"Get them off! Get them off!"

Elle's bare legs were swarming with ants-hundreds of them. Caleb scooped her up and ran to the trough, the little girl writhing and shrieking in his arms. He plunged her into the water and began frantically stripping the ants from her legs, running his hands up and down her skin. The ants were on him too; he felt the electrical sting of their teeth boring into his arms, his hands, inside the collar of his shirt.

At last Elle quieted, her screams yielding to hiccupy sobs. A dark scrim of ant corpses had floated to the surface of the trough. Caleb lifted her out and handed her to Kate, who wrapped her in a towel. Her legs were covered with welts.

There's ointment inside, Pim signed.

Kate carried Elle away. Caleb drew his shirt over his head and shook it out, sending ants scattering. He had plenty of bites too, but nothing like his niece.

Where are Theo and Bug? he asked.

In the house.

It had been a hard spring for ants. People were saying it was the weather-the wet winter, the dry spring, the early summer, shockingly warm. The woods were bursting with their mounds, some reaching gigantic proportions.

Pim gave him a look of concern. Is there anything we can do?

This can't last forever. We should keep the kids inside until it passes.

But it didn't pass. The next morning, the ground around the house was swarming. Caleb decided to burn the mounds. From the shed he retrieved a can of fuel and carried it to the edge of the woods. He chose the largest pile, a yard wide and half as high, splashed it with kerosene, tossed a match, and stepped back to watch.

As black smoke roiled upward, ants exploded from the mound in a massive horde. Simultaneously, the hardened earth of the mound's surface began to bulge volcanically, then split open like a piece of rotten fruit. Soil cascaded down the sides. Caleb lurched back. What the hell was down there? It must have been a gigantic colony, millions of the little bastards, driven to mad panic by the smoke and flames.

The mound collapsed.

Caleb stepped gingerly forward. The last of the flames were sputtering out. All that remained was a shallow indentation in the earth.

Pim came up beside him. What happened?

Not sure.

From where he stood, he counted five other mounds.

I'm taking the wagon. Stay inside.

Where are you going? Pim signed.

I need to get more gas.

38.

The Possum Man was missing.

The Possum Man, but also dogs-lots of dogs. The city was usually crawling with them, especially in the flatland. You couldn't walk ten paces down there without seeing one of the damn things, all skinny legs and matted fur and gooey eyes, snuffling through a garbage pile or crouched to take a wormy shit in the mud.

But suddenly, no dogs.

The Possum Man lived on the river near the old perimeter. He looked like what he did: pale and pointy-nosed, with dark, slightly bulging eyes and ears that stuck out from the sides of his face. He kept a woman half his age, though not the sort that anyone would want. According to her, they'd heard noise in the yard late at night. They figured it might be foxes, which had gotten into the hutches before. The Possum Man had grabbed his rifle and gone out to look. One shot, then nothing.

Eustace was kneeling by what was left of the hutches, which looked like they'd been hit by a tornado. If there were tracks, Eustace couldn't find any; the earth in the yard was packed too hard. Possum corpses were strewn around, torn to bloody chunks, although a few yards away a pair of them fidgeted in the dirt, staring at him woefully, like traumatized witnesses. They were actually kind of cute. As the closest one loped toward him, Eustace extended his hand.

"Don't want to do that," the woman warned. "They're nasty fuckers. Bite your finger off."

Eustace yanked his hand away. "Right."

He stood and looked at the woman. Her name was Rena, Renee, something like that, as scraggly-looking a thing as he'd ever laid eyes on. It was entirely possible that her parents had given her to the Possum Man in exchange for food. Such bargains were common.

"You said you found the rifle."

She retrieved it from the house. Eustace worked the bolt, kicking out an empty cartridge. He asked her where she'd found it. Her eyes didn't look in quite the same direction; it made her a little hard to talk to.

"Just about where you're standing."

"And you didn't hear anything else. Only the one shot."

"Happened like I said."

He was beginning to wonder if maybe she'd done it-shot the Possum Man, dragged his body to the river, busted up the hutches to cover her tracks. Well, if she had, she probably had a good enough reason, and Eustace sure as hell wasn't going to do anything about it.