“It’s Amy,” he said.

She gave Alicia half the vial. Through the day and into the night they waited. Alicia had lapsed into a kind of twilight. Her skin was dry and hot. The wound at her neck had sealed, taking on a bruised appearance, purple and inflamed. From time to time she would seem to awaken, emerging into a kind of twilight, moaning. Then she closed her eyes again.

They had dragged the corpses of the dead virals outside, with the others. Their bodies had fallen quickly into a gray ash that was still swirling in the air, coating every surface like a layer of dirty snow. By morning, Peter thought, they would all be gone. Michael and Hollis had boarded up the windows and set the door back on its hinges; as darkness fell, they burned what was left of the bureau in the fireplace. Sara stitched up Greer’s head, wrapped it in another bandage made from bed linens. They slept in shifts, two to watch Alicia. Peter said he would stay up all night with her, but in the end his exhaustion got the better of him and he slept as well, curled on the cold floor by her bed.

By morning, Alicia had begun to strain at the straps. All color had drained from her skin; her eyes, behind her lids, were rosy with burst capillaries.

“Give her more.”

“Peter, I don’t know what I’m doing,” Sara said. She was worn down, threadbare; they all were. “It could kill her.”

“Do it.”

They gave her the rest of the vial. Outside it had begun to snow again. Greer and Hollis left to scout the woods and returned an hour later, half frozen. It was really coming down, they said.

Hollis pulled Peter aside. “Food’s going to be a problem,” he said quietly. They had taken an inventory of Lacey’s cupboard; most of the jars were smashed.

“I know.”

“There’s another thing. I know the bomb was underground, but there could be radiation. Michael says that at the very least it’s in the water table. He doesn’t think we should stay here much longer. There’s some kind of structure on the other side of the valley. It looks like there’s a ridge we can use to cut to the east.”

“What about Lish? We can’t move her.”

Hollis paused. “I’m just saying we could get stuck here. Then we’re in real trouble. We don’t want to try it half-starving in a blizzard.”

Hollis was right, and Peter knew it. “You want to scout it out?”

“When the snow lets up.”

Peter offered a concessionary nod. “Take Michael with you.”

“I was thinking of Greer.”

“He should stay here,” said Peter.

Hollis was silent a moment, taking Peter’s meaning. “All right,” he said.

The squall blew through with the night; by morning, the sky was crisp and bright. Hollis and Michael gathered their gear to go. If all went well, Hollis said, they’d be back before nightfall. But it could be as long as a day. In the snowy yard, Sara hugged Hollis, then Michael. Greer and Amy were inside with Alicia. In the last twenty-four hours, since they’d given her the second dose of the virus, her condition seemed to have reached a kind of stasis. But her fever was still high, and her eyes had gotten worse.

“Just don’t… let it go too long,” Hollis told Peter. “She wouldn’t want you to.”

They waited. Amy was staying close to Alicia now, never leaving her bedside. It was clear to all what was occurring. The merest light in the room made her flinch, and she had begun to strain at the straps again.

“She’s fighting it,” Amy said. “But I’m afraid that she is losing.”

Darkness fell, with no sign of Michael and Hollis. Peter had never felt so helpless. Why wasn’t it working, as it had with Lacey? But he wasn’t a doctor; they were only guessing about what to do. The second dose could be killing her, for all he knew. Peter was aware of Greer watching him, waiting for him to act. And yet he could do nothing.

It was just past dawn when Sara shook him awake. Peter had fallen asleep in a chair, his head rocked forward onto his chest.

“I think… it’s happening,” she said.

Alicia was breathing very rapidly. Her whole body was taut, the muscles of her jaw twitching, a fluttering beneath the surface of her skin. A low, effortful moan issued from the back of her throat. For a moment she relaxed. Then it happened again.

“Peter.”

He turned to see Greer, standing in the doorway. He was holding a blade.

“It’s time.”

Peter rose, positioning his body between Greer and the bed where Alicia lay. “No.”

“I know it’s hard, but she’s a soldier. A soldier of the Expeditionary. It’s time for her to take the trip.”

“I meant no, it’s not your job.” He held out his hand. “Give me the blade, Major.”

Greer hesitated, searching Peter’s face with his eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.” He felt no fear, only resignation. “I gave her my word, you see. I’m the only one who can.”

Reluctantly, Greer surrendered the knife. A familiar heft and balance: Peter saw that it was his own, the one he’d left at the gate with Eustace.

“I’d like to be alone with her, if that’s all right.”

They said their goodbyes. Peter heard the door to the house open and close again. He went to the window and yanked one of the boards free, dousing the room with the soft gray light of morning. Alicia moaned and turned her head away. Greer was right. Peter didn’t think he had more than a couple of minutes. He remembered what Muncey had said at the end, how quickly it comes on. How he wanted to feel it coming out of him.

Peter sat on the edge of the bed, the blade in his hand. He wanted to say something to her, but words seemed too small a thing for what he felt. He sat for a quiet moment, letting his mind fill with thoughts of her. Things they’d done and said, and what still lay unspoken between them. It was all he could think to do.

He could have stayed that way a day, a year, a hundred years. But he could wait no longer, he knew. He rose and positioned himself above her on the bed, straddling her waist. Holding the blade with both hands, he placed its tip at the base of her breastbone. The sweet spot. He felt his life dividing into halves: that which had come before and all that would come after. He felt her rise against him, her body clenching against the restraints. His hands were trembling, his vision blurry with tears.

“I’m sorry, Lish,” he said, and closed his eyes as he lifted the blade, gathering all his strength inside himself before finding the will to bring it down.

SEVENTY

It was spring and the baby was coming.

Maus had been having contractions for days. She would be cleaning in the kitchen, or lying in bed, or watching Theo work in the yard, when suddenly she felt it: a quick tightening across her midriff that made her breath catch in her chest. Is this it? Theo would ask her. Is he coming? Is the baby coming now? For a moment she would look away, her head cocked to the side, as if listening for some distant sound. Then she would return her attention to him, offering a reassuring smile. There. You see? It was nothing. Just the one. It’s all right. Go back to what you were doing, Theo.

But now it wasn’t nothing. It was the middle of the night. Theo was dreaming, a simple, happy dream of sunlight falling on a golden field, when he heard Maus’s voice, calling his name. She was in the dream, too, but he couldn’t see her; she was hiding from him, she was playing some kind of game. She was ahead of him, then behind, he didn’t know where she was. Theo. Conroy was yipping and barking, bounding through the grass, racing away from him and tearing back again, urging him to follow. Where are you, Theo called, where are you? I’m wet, Mausami’s voice was saying. I’m wet all over. Wake up, Theo. I think my water’s broken.

Then he was awake and standing up, fumbling in the dark, trying to put his boots on. Conroy was up too, wagging his tail, shoving his damp nose in Theo’s face as he knelt to light the lantern. Is it morning? Are we going out?