He hoped the people wouldn't notice he didn't belong and force him back uptown before he saw Mr. Flynn. All his life he'd had moments of feeling like an outsider —in his family because he loved school so much, at school because his family had so little money. But he'd never felt like an outsider in New York before. Now he did and it frightened him.

As he walked south of Central Park, he found there were no corpses and no rats. Either people were healthier midtown or the body collecting was more efficient. Either way, it showed that there was more than one New York, and this was the one that counted.

He fingered Mr. Flynn's business card like rosary beads. He couldn't even be sure Chris's father was still in New York.

But there was no one left Alex could turn to who might possibly help. Bri's and Julie's lives depended on it. He paused for a moment outside the office building, prayed to Christ for strength and mercy, then straightened his tie and walked in.

There was a sole security guard in the otherwise empty lobby. "Yeah?" he said.

"I'm here to see Robert Flynn," Alex said. "Danforth Global Insurance. He's a vice president."

"He expecting you?" the guard asked, his hand starting for the gun in his holster.

"He knows who I am," Alex said. "I'm a friend of his son's. I have his business card."

"Well, that means a lot," the guard said. "Let me frisk you."

Alex walked over and stood absolutely still as the guard ran his hands over him. At least he wasn't armed with a can of pineapple.

"Okay, I guess you won't kill him," the guard said. "Let me check. Yeah, Flynn's a level six. You'll find him on the sixth floor somewhere. Stairs are over there."

"Are the elevators running?" Alex asked.

"Don't matter," the guard said. "Elevators are only for executives. You take the stairs."

"All right," Alex said. He walked over to where the guard had pointed and began the climb. So far so good.

He opened the fire door to the sixth floor, then checked all the doors until he found one with a handwritten sign saying, dgi, Robert flynn. He knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Alex opened the door. He didn't know what to expect, but he'd thought there'd be some people, maybe a receptionist, waiting behind the door. Instead there was that same look of desertion he'd become accustomed to: no people, but boxes filled with papers covering the furniture and the floor. But the room was warm, maybe as warm as sixty-five. One office door was open and Alex walked over to it.

"Mr. Flynn?" he asked, but there was no need. The man behind the desk looked like an older, much wearier version of Chris. It shook Alex up to see him, as though he'd caught a glimpse of what Chris was going to look like in thirty years. Assuming Chris was alive in thirty years.

"Yes?"

"My name is Alex Morales. I don't know if you remember, but I was in school with Chris. St. Vincent de Paul Academy?"

Mr. Flynn stared at Alex. "Oh yes," he said. "Alex. Chris's friend. Chris spoke of you often."

"How is Chris?" Alex asked. "Does he like South Carolina?"

"Does anyone like anything these days?" Mr. Flynn replied. "He's fine, I suppose. I haven't heard anything in a while, but the last I knew he was in school. How are things at Vincent de Paul? Is it still open?"

"Yes sir," Alex said. "There aren't a lot of teachers left, but we're still learning."

"Good, good," Mr. Flynn said. "Sit down, Alex. I'll be sure to tell Chris I saw you."

"Please do," Alex said. "I apologize for bothering you, sir, but Chris told me if I ever had a problem, a really big one, I could turn to you for help. That was right before he left."

"I hope it's a problem I can solve," Mr. Flynn said. "It feels like a long time since I've been able to solve a problem."

"It's my sisters," Alex said. "Briana and Julie. Bri's fifteen and she has asthma. It began this summer and it's left her very weak. Julie's thirteen and she's tough, but she's a girl, it you know what I mean, sir."

"Where are your parents?" Mr. Flynn asked. "Can't they help?"

"They're gone," Alex said, surprised at how much it still hurt to say it. "They've been gone since the beginning. We have a brother, but he's in the Marines. I'm the head of the family now."

"You're just a kid yourself," Mr. Flynn said. "How old are you, eighteen?"

"Next month," Alex replied. "We've been managing all right, up until now. Do you remember Chris's friend Kevin Daley? He's been a big help."

"The weaselly one?" Mr. Flynn asked with a laugh. "I haven't thought about him in months. Is that it? Kevin's all you have?"

"The church, too," Alex said. "But it's done all it can for us. I know there are evacuation centers, but Bri wouldn't survive in one, and Julie has to be protected. That's why I've come to you. I don't know where else to turn."

Mr. Flynn nodded. "We have to move fast," he said. "For your sisters' sake and for your own."

"I can stay on," Alex said. "I can manage on my own, especially if I know Bri and Julie are safe."

"You might be all right now, but not for much longer," Mr. Flynn said. "Listen to me, Alex, as if I were your father. New York City is on life support. It's being kept alive for as long as it takes to get everything out of it that must be removed. Do you have any idea how complicated it is to transport things? Papers, computers, people? Scores of embassies, all of the United Nations? Every piece of art from the Metropolitan Museum and all the other museums we used to take for granted? Gutenberg Bibles. First Shakespeare folios. Cleopatra's Needle, for God's sake. You can't just carry a Rembrandt out of town. Everything has to be labeled and cataloged and shipped to a safe location. Originally the plan was to move New York City out to Nevada. The rich and the mighty, not people like you and your sisters. The president, the mayor, the heads of the Fortune 500: All those people debated where we should go and when and how. For better or worse, our president is an optimistic person. He didn't listen when the scientists said Nevada wasn't such a good idea. Then the volcanoes started to erupt and Nevada no longer worked, and then the cold set in, and no place seemed to work, but the rich and the mighty still had to go someplace, and so did the Rembrandts. So they're keeping New York alive a little longer. But as soon as they can, they'll pull the plug and let the city die. It will anyway. It's an island, Alex, and islands can't survive in this world, not anymore. Get out while you can."

"Thank you," Alex said. "If you can get Bri and Julie to a safe place, I'll leave New York. I can manage in an evac center, until I can figure out a way of getting us all back together."

"That won't be necessary," Mr. Flynn said. "I can get all of you out if we move fast enough." He got up and walked over to the wall and removed a painting, revealing a wall safe. He spun the lock a few times, pulled out some envelopes, and then, finding the one he was looking for, put everything back in the safe, and hid it once again.

Just like in the movies, Alex thought. A perfect place for a winning lottery ticket.

"Here are three passes," Mr. Flynn said, handing Alex three cards. "They're guaranteed passage and housing for my three family members. I applied for them when this all happened, but I was able to get my wife and children out before the passes arrived. I've held on to them ever since, figuring they'd be valuable someday, and now they are."

Alex stared at the three cards that would carry his sisters and himself to a place of safety.

Mr. Flynn rifled through a sheet of papers. "People leave in convoys," he said. "I haven't kept track of where they're sending families now, because mine is safe and sound in South Carolina. But I know the safe towns are in the south, inland, and they have police and medical facilities and food and schools. That I can guarantee you. The next convoy leaves on November twenty-eighth, but reservations have to be made two weeks in advance, so that doesn't do us any good. Okay, the one after that is December twelfth. When's your birthday?"