Carter seemed surprised. “Why, it’s her babies, Miss Amy. I thought you knew.”
Amy shook her head.
“Haley and the little one. Woman can’t see or touch ’em, where she is. It’s her babies she’s always dreamin’ on. It’s the most awful ache to her.”
Amy finally understood. Rachel had drowned herself, leaving her children behind. “Will she ever see them again?”
“I expect she will when she ready. It’s her own self she has to forgive, for leaving them like she did.”
His words seemed to hover in the air, not sounds alone but things of form and substance. The temperature was dropping; the leaves had begun to fall.
“She not the only one, Miss Amy. Some folks can’t find a way on they own. For some it’s a bad feeling in the mind. Others just can’t let go. Them’s the ones that love too hard.”
In the pool, the body of Rachel Wood had completed its slow ascent to float upon the surface. Amy looked down at the table; she knew what Carter was saying to her. Every day I cut the lawn, she thought. Every day she rise.
“You got to go to him,” said Carter. “Show him the way.”
“I just …” She felt his eyes on her face. “I don’t know how.”
He reached over the table and cupped her chin, lifting it upward. “I know you, Miss Amy. It’s like you been inside me all my life. You the one was made to set this whole world right. But Wolgast’s just a man. It’s his time now. You got to give him back.”
Tears trembled in her throat. “But what will I do without him?”
“Just like you always done,” said Anthony Carter, and smiled into her eyes. “Just like you do now. You Amy.”
70
He came to her a final time. Or it was she who came to him. They came to each other, to say a last goodbye.
For Wolgast it began with a sensation of abstract motion. He was in a kind of nowhere, floating through an infinite space, though bit by bit the scene resolved, its spatial and temporal parameters firming, and he became aware that he was, of all things, riding a bicycle. A bicycle! Now, that was strange. Why was he on a bicycle? He hadn’t ridden one in years, but he’d loved it as a boy: the feeling of pure freedom and gyroscopic lift, his body’s energy flowing through this marvelous mechanism that joined him to the wind. Wolgast was on a bicycle, riding down a dusty country lane, and Amy was beside him, perched on a bicycle of her own. This fact surprised him neither more nor less than anything else about the scene, it all simply was, just as Amy was both a little girl and a grown woman, and for a time they rode together without speaking, though the idea of time itself felt strange. What was time? How long had they been riding like this? Some period of hours, perhaps, or even days, and yet the light was always the same—a permanent penumbral twilight that enriched the colors of everything around him with a golden glow: the fields and trees, the dust that rose under his wheels, the small white shapes of houses in the distance. Everything felt very close; everything was far away.
“Where are we going?” Wolgast asked.
Amy smiled. “Oh, it’s not much farther.”
“What … is this place?”
She said nothing more. On they rode. Wolgast’s heart was full of warm contentment, as if he were a boy again: a boy riding his bicycle at sunset, waiting for the call that would summon him home.
“Are you tired?” Amy asked.
“Not at all. It feels wonderful.”
“Why don’t we stop at the crest of the next hill?”
They coasted to a halt. A grassy valley opened below them. In the distance, nestled by trees, was a house: small, white, like the others, with a porch and black shutters. Amy and Wolgast lowered their bicycles to the ground and stood together quietly. There was no wind at all.
“It’s quite a view,” Wolgast said. Then: “I think I know where I am.”
Amy nodded.
“It’s strange.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t really remember how it happened, but I suppose that’s for the best. Is it always like this?”
“I’m not sure. I think sometimes it is.”
“I remember thinking I had to be brave.”
“You were. The bravest man I ever saw.”
He mulled this over. “Well, that’s good. I’m glad to hear it. In the end, I guess that’s all a person can ask.” He sent his gaze over the valley again. “That house. I’m supposed to go there, aren’t I?”
“I believe that you are.”
He turned to look at her. A second passed; then he broke into a smile of discovery.
“Wait a minute. You’re in love. I can see it in your face.”
“I think I am, yes.”
Wolgast shook his head with wonder. “I’ll be damned. How about that. My little Amy, all grown up, in love. And does he love you back, this person?”
“I think he does,” she said. “I hope he does.”
“Well, he’d be a fool not to. You can tell him I said so.”
For a moment neither spoke. Amy waited.
“So,” he began again. His voice was thick with emotion. “I suppose that means my work here is done. I guess I always knew this day would come. I’m going to miss you, Amy.”
“I’ll miss you, too.”
“That was always the hardest part, missing you. I think that’s why I could never bring myself to leave. I always thought, What will Amy do without me? Funny how in the end it was the other way around. I suppose all parents feel that way. But it’s different when it’s you.” The words caught in his throat. “Let’s do this quickly, okay?”
She put her arms around him. She was crying too, but not with sadness. Though perhaps a little bit of sadness. “It will be all right, I promise.”
“How do you know?”
At the far end of the valley, at the edge of the fields, the door to the house had opened.
“Because that’s what heaven is,” said Amy. “It’s opening the door of a house in twilight and everyone you love is there.” She hugged him tightly to her. “It’s time for you to go home, Daddy. I’ve kept you as long as I could, but you have to go now. They’re waiting for you.”
“Who’s waiting, Amy?”
On the porch a woman had appeared, holding a baby in her arms. Amy backed away and touched his tearstained cheek.
She said, “Go see.”
71
She awoke to the cold and a vision of stars. Stars by the hundreds, the thousands, the millions. Stars in their slow turning, pinwheeling over her face, and some of them were falling. Alicia watched them fall, counting off the seconds. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand. She tallied the durations of their descents as they plunged across the heavens, and in so doing she came upon the understanding that the world was where she’d left it and she was still alive.
How could she be alive?
She sat upright. Who knew what time it was. The moon had set, dipping the sky in blackness. Nothing had changed; she was just the same.
And yet:
Alicia, come to me.
The sound of her name, whispered on the wind.
Come to me, Alicia. The others are gone, you will be my one. Come to me come to me come to me …
She knew whose voice this was.
Alicia climbed from the culvert. Fifty feet away, Soldier was grazing on a frosted stand of weeds. At the sound of her emergence, he lifted his head: Ah, there you are; I was beginning to wonder. His great hooves tossed clumps of white as he ambled toward her with his powerful gait.
—You good boy, she said. She caressed his muzzle, his breath filling her palms with a scent of earth. You splendid, noble boy. How well you know me. I guess we’re not done, after all.
Her pack was lying in the culvert. She had no gun, but the bandoliers were there, blades tucked into their sheaths. She pulled the leather straps over her chest and cinched them tight to her frame. She climbed on Soldier’s naked back and clicked her tongue, turning him east.
C
ome to me, Alicia. Come to me come to me come to me …
You’re damn right I will, she thought. Leaning forward, his great mane filling her hands, she heeled Soldier to a trot, then a canter, and finally a gallop, wild through the snow.
You bastard. Here I come.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE TWELVE
Tim Fanning, a.k.a. “The Zero.” Professor of biochemistry, Columbia University. Infected by CV-0 virus on scientific expedition to Bolivia, Feb 21, 20XX.
1. Giles Babcock (deceased). Sentenced to death for one count of capital murder, Nye County, Nevada, 2013.
2. Joseph Morrison. Sentenced to death for one count of capital murder, Lewis County, Kentucky, 2013.
3. Victor Chávez. Sentenced to death for one count of capital murder and two counts of aggravated sexual assault with a minor, Elko County, Nevada, 2012.
4. John Baffes. Sentenced to death for one count of capital murder and one count of second-degree murder with depraved indifference, Pasco County, Florida, 2010.
5. Thaddeus Turrell. Sentenced to death for the capital murder of a Homeland Security officer, New Orleans Federal Housing District, 2014.
6. David Winston. Sentenced to death for one count of capital murder and three counts of aggravated sexual assault, New Castle County, Delaware, 2014.
7. Rupert Sosa. Sentenced to death for one count of vehicular homicide with depraved indifference, Lake County, Indiana, 2009.
8. Martin Echols. Sentenced to death for one count of capital murder and one count of armed robbery, Cameron Parish, Louisiana, 2012.
9. Horace Lambright. Sentenced to death for two counts of capital murder and aggravated sexual assault, Maricopa County, Arizona, 2014.
10. Julio Martínez. Sentenced to death for the capital murder of a peace officer, Laramie County, Wyoming, 2011.
11. William Reinhardt. Sentenced to death for three counts of capital murder and aggravated sexual assault, Miami-Dade County, Florida, 2012.
12. Anthony Carter. Sentenced to death for one count of capital murder, Harris County, Texas, 2013.
YEAR ZERO
Bernard Kittridge, a.k.a. “Last Stand in Denver.” A survivor.
April. A survivor.
Timothy. Her stepbrother.
Danny Chayes. A school bus driver.
Lila Kyle. A doctor.
Lawrence Grey. A janitor, Project NOAH.
Horace Guilder. Deputy director, Division of Special Weapons (“The Warehouse”).
Major Frances Porcheki. Officer of the Iowa National Guard.
Vera. A Red Cross nurse.
Ignacio. A janitor, Project NOAH.
Nelson. Chief technical officer, Division of Special Weapons.
Shawna. A prostitute.
Rita Chernow. A police detective.
OTHER SURVIVORS
Pastor Don
Wood
Delores
Jamal
Mrs. Bellamy
Joe Robinson
Linda
Robinson
Boy Jr.
THE FIELD, 79 A.V.
Curtis Vorhees. Foreman of the North Agricultural Complex, Kerrville, Texas.
Delia “Dee” Vorhees. His wife.
Boz Vorhees. His brother (deceased).
Nitia and Siri Vorhees. Daughters of Curtis and Delia Vorhees.
Nathan Crukshank. Brother of Delia Vorhees; a Domestic Security (DS) officer.
Tifty Lamont. A Domestic Security officer.
OTHER FAMILIES IN THE FIELD
Tyler Vorhees family
Withers family
Dodd family
Apgar family
Cauley family
Francis family
Cuomo family
Martínez family
Wright family
Bodine family
97 A.V.
KERRVILLE, TEXAS
Amy Harper Bellafonte. The Girl from Nowhere.
Lieutenant Peter Jaxon. Officer of the Expeditionary, Army of the Republic of Texas.
Lieutenant Alicia Donadio. Officer of the Expeditionary.
Colonel Gunnar Apgar. Officer of the Expeditionary.
Major Alexander Henneman. Officer of the Expeditionary.
Lieutenant Satch Dodd. Officer of the Expeditionary.
Lucius Greer. A prisoner.
Hollis Wilson. A bouncer.
Dunk Withers. A criminal.
Abram Fleet. General of the Army.
Victoria Sanchez. President of the Republic of Texas.
Sister Peg. A nun, in charge of the orphanage.
Sister Catherine. A nun.
Caleb Jaxon. Nephew of Peter Jaxon, son of Theo Jaxon and Mausami Patal.
FREEPORT, TEXAS
Michael Fisher. Oiler first class (OFC); crew chief at Freeport refinery complex.
Lore DeVeer. An oiler.
Juan “Ceps” Sweeting. An oiler.
Ed Pope. An oiler.
Dan Karlovic. Chief engineer of Freeport refinery complex.
THE HOMELAND
Jackie. A worker.
Eustace. An insurgent.
Nina. An insurgent.
Vale. A human resources officer.
Whistler. A human resources officer.
Sod. A human resources officer.
Dr. Verlyn. A physician.
Dani. An attendant in the Dome.
Jenny. An attendant in the Dome.
Fred Wilkes. Chief of staff.
Vikram Suresh. Minister of public health.
Aidan Hoppel. Minister of propaganda.
For Leslie, foot-to-foot
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every book needs friends, and this one has many. A big ole tip of the hat to: Ellen Levine at Trident Media Group; Mark Tavani and Libby McGuire at Ballantine Books; Bill Massey at Orion; Gina Centrello, president of the Random House Publishing Group; Claire Roberts at Trident Media; the spectacular production, publicity, marketing and sales teams at Random House, Orion, and my many publishers around the world; Jennifer (“Jenny”) Smith; and the English Department of Rice University. On matters military, I am especially indebted to Adrian Hoppel. Thanks also to Rudy Ramos, sniper-dentist, and Coert Voorhees. Mark and Bill: Pour yourselves a frosty, my brothers; you’ve earned it. Ellen: No truer friend have I.
To the members of Team Cronin, large and small, I say: Without you, nothing. Thank you for my life.
My gratitude to you all.
ALSO BY JUSTIN CRONIN
The Summer Guest
Mary and O’Neil
IN THE PASSAGE TRILOGY
The Passage
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Justin Cronin is the New York Times bestselling author of The Passage, Mary and O’Neil (which won the PEN/Hemingway Award and the Stephen Crane Prize), and The Summer Guest. Other honors for his writing include a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts and a Whiting Writers’ Award. A Distinguished Faculty Fellow at Rice University, he divides his time between Houston, Texas, and Cape Cod, Massachusetts.
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