"Peter, you don't get it. He doesn't have to do anything. You have, what, just a few thousand soldiers? And how much food? How much gas? Give him what he wants. It's your only chance."

"Private Wilson, step forward please."

Hollis moved into the lights.

"You remember Hollis, don't you, Lish? Why don't you say hello."

Her head was bowed. "Why do you even ask me that?"

"How about his daughter, Kate? She would have been a little girl the last time you saw her."

Alicia nodded.

"Say it. Say you remember Kate."

"Yes, I remember her."

"I'm glad you do. She grew up to be a doctor, just like her mother. Two little girls of her own. Then one of your friends bit her last night. Want to know what happened next?"

Alicia was silent.

"Do you?"

"Just get on with it, Peter."

"All right, I will. That little girl you remember? She shot herself."

Her silence infuriated him. What had happened to her? What had she become?

"You don't have anything to say for yourself?"

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? You can do what you want with me, but that won't stop a thing."

Peter's pulse was pounding; his hands were clenched. He jabbed a finger at her. "Look at him. I'll get Sara out here, Kate's daughters, too. You can tell all of them how fucking sorry you are."

Alicia said nothing.

"Two hundred thousand people, Lish. And you come here and talk about surrender? Like he's your friend?"

Her shoulders shook. Was she crying?

"I'll ask you again. What does Fanning want with Amy?"

Her head rocked from side to side. "I don't know."

"Gunnar, give me your sidearm."

Apgar drew his pistol, spun it in his hand, and passed it to Peter. Peter released the magazine, checked it, and shoved it back into the well, making a loud show of it.

Michael said, "Peter, what the hell are you doing?"

"This woman is a viral. She's in league with the enemy."

"It's Alicia! She's one of us!"

Peter strode forward and leveled the barrel at Alicia's temple. "Tell me, goddamnit."

"I know she's here," Alicia murmured. "I can hear it in your voice."

He thumbed back the hammer and spoke through gritted teeth. He was running on instinct now, a blind white fury, obliterating all thought. "Answer the question or I am going to put a bullet through your head."

"Wait."

He turned. Amy, clutching Greer's arm for balance, was standing at the edge of the circle.

"Lucius, get her the hell out of here."

Two soldiers moved to block their path. One pressed a hand against Greer's chest. The man tensed, then, apparently changing his mind, permitted this.

"Let me talk to her," Amy said.

The idea was ludicrous. The woman could barely stand; a puff of wind would have knocked her to her knees.

"I mean it, Greer."

"I understand you're angry," Amy said, "but there's more to this than you know."

She spoke to him as one might address a dangerous animal or a man poised at the lip of an abyss. Peter was suddenly conscious of the pistol's slick weight in his hand.

"Lucius can stay where he is," Amy said, "but if you want answers, you need to let me through."

Peter looked back at Alicia. The woman's head hung submission; she seemed small, frail, broken. Had he really been about to shoot her? This seemed impossible, yet in the moment, something had taken him over, beyond his control.

"Please, Peter."

The moment stretched; everyone was staring.

"All right," he said. "Let her pass."

The soldiers stepped back. Amy's shadow lay long on the ground as she approached Alicia's cowed figure. Using her body to shield Alicia's face from the light, Amy crouched before her.

"Hello, sister. It's good to see you.."

"I'm sorry, Amy." Her shoulders shook. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." Tenderly, Amy lifted Alicia's chin with the tips of her fingers. "Do you know how proud I am of you? You've been so very strong."

Tears were coursing down Alicia's cheeks, cutting bright streaks in the dirt. "How can you say that to me?"

Amy smiled into her face. "Because we're sisters, isn't that so? Sisters in blood. My thoughts have never been far from you, you know."

Alicia said nothing.

"He comforted you, didn't he?"

Her lips were wet, tears rolling off her chin. "Yes."

"He took you in, cared for you. He made you feel that you were not alone."

Alicia's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Yes."

"Do you see? That's why I'm so proud of you. Because you didn't give in, not in your heart."

"But I did."

"No, sister. I know what it's like to be alone. To be outside the walls. But that's over now." Without breaking Alicia's gaze, Amy lifted her voice to the assembly. "Everyone, are you listening? You can put your guns down. This woman is a friend."

"Hold your positions," Peter commanded.

Amy swiveled her face toward him. "Peter, didn't you hear me? She's with us."

"I need you to step away from the prisoner."

In confusion, Amy looked back at Alicia, then at Peter once more.

"It's okay," Alicia said. "Do as he says."

"Lish-"

"He's only doing what he has to. You really need to back away now."

An uncertain moment passed; Amy got to her feet. Another pause, her expression tentative, and she backed away. Alicia dropped her head.

Peter said, "Colonel, go ahead."

Henneman approached Alicia from behind. He had donned a pair of heavy rubber gloves; in his hands was a metal rod wrapped with copper wire, one end connected by a long cord to the generator powering the lights. As the tip of the rod made contact with the base of Alicia's neck, she jerked upright, her shoulders pulled back and her chest thrust forward, as if she'd been impaled. She made no sound at all. For a few seconds she stayed that way, every muscle taut as wire. Then the air let out of her and she toppled face-first into the dirt.

"Is she out?"

Henneman nudged Alicia's ribs with the toe of his boot. "Looks like it."

"Peter, why?"

"I'm sorry, Amy. But I can't trust her."

A truck was backing toward them. Two men jumped down from the cargo bay and dropped the tailgate.

"All right, gentlemen," Peter said. "Let's haul this woman to the stockade. And watch yourselves. You don't want to forget what she is."

60.

0530: Peter stood with Apgar on the catwalk, watching the day come on. An hour before dawn, the horde had departed-a vast, silent retreat, like a wave beating back from shore to enfold itself in the dark bulk of the sea. All that remained was a wide swath of trampled earth and, beyond, fields of broken corn.

"I guess that's it for the night," Apgar said.

His voice was heavy, resigned. They waited, not talking, each man alone in his thoughts. A few minutes went by, and then the horn blasted-an expansion of sound like a great intake of breath, followed by the inevitable exhalation, sighing over the valley, then gone. Across the city, frightened people would be emerging from basements and shelters, out of closets and from under their beds. Old people, neighbors, families with children. They would look at each other wide-eyed and weary: Is it over? Are we safe?

"You should get some sleep," Apgar said.

"So should you."

Yet neither man moved. Peter's stomach was sour and empty-he couldn't remember when he'd eaten last-while the rest of him seemed numb, almost weightless. His face felt tight, like paper. The body's demands: the world could end, yet you'd still have to take a piss.

"You know," Apgar said, and yawned into his fist, "I think Chase was on to something. Maybe we should leave this to the kids to sort out."

"It's an interesting idea."

"So, would you have actually shot her?"

The question had plagued him all night. "I don't know."

"Well, don't beat yourself up. I wouldn't have had a problem with it." A pause, then: "Donadio was right about one thing. Even if we manage to hold them back, we don't have the gas to keep the lights burning for more than a few nights."

Peter stepped to the rampart. A gray morning, the light indifferent and worn: it seemed suitable. "I let this happen."

"We all did."

"No, this is on me. We never should have opened those gates."

"What were you going to do? You can't keep people locked up forever."

"You're not letting me off the hook here."

"I'm just pointing out the reality. You want to blame someone, blame Vicky. Hell, blame me. The decision to open the townships was made long before you came along."

"I'm the one in that chair, Gunnar. I could have stopped it."

"And had a revolution on your hands. Once the dracs disappeared, this was a done deal. I'm surprised we kept this place running as long as we did."

No matter what Gunnar said, Peter knew the truth. He'd let down his guard, allowing himself to believe that it was all in the past-the war, the virals, the old way of doing things-and now two hundred thousand people were gone.