“A young woman,” John said slowly.

  “An exotic-looking creature,” Paul’s wife said. “She looked Eskimo, except she had white-blond hair and pale blue eyes. I’ve never seen that combination before.”

  John looked up from the broadsheet. “I think I might know her,” he said. “Name’s Ninel.”

  “That’s her,” one of the other men said.

  John chewed on his lip. How to put this? “There have been reports of people being lured into trucks and then taken into the woods and shot,” he said. “This Ninel is reported to being one of those involved.”

  He suspected that if this was his Ninel, she was being duped into helping with this. But what he had to do now was stop this mass emigration.

  “Well, if we get to the Junction and things don’t look right, we’ll just come back here,” a man said. The others nodded agreement.

  “If you go there, they may force you to go with them,” John warned.

  Paul put his hand on John’s shoulder. “Look,” he said, “we can’t tell you how grateful we are to you and your mother and your big friend Dieter for all that you’ve done for us. But you can’t protect us from a winter that never ends.”

  “Yeah, this ain’t Narnia,” one of the women said. “If we can’t grow food and those trucks are gone for good, then we’ll starve here.”

  “That’s right,” her husband put in. “This program makes sense.” He shook his head. “We’ve got kids, John. We can’t afford to take chances.”

  But you’ll take a chance on this, John thought. “Look,” he said, “I’m just saying be careful. Maybe it would be better if you sent a couple of the guys to check it out. You know, stand at a distance and watch what happens, see how people are treated, that kind of thing. Even follow them for a ways, just to be sure.”

  The couples looked at one another. “We’ll be careful,” Paul said. He held out his hand.

  John took it. How could they know? he thought in regret. Nothing in their lives could have prepared them for what’s going to happen. And there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop them. Oh, he could try telling them the truth, but then they’d run, not walk, to Delta Junction and whatever hell Skynet had planned for them.

  “Good luck,” he said, and got back on his bike. “Can I keep this?” he asked. Smiling, they nodded and waved happily as he rode away. He could almost weep for the children; in fact, he thought he would, later. But for now, he and Dieter would have to come up with some sort of plan.

  “You think you know this girl?” Dieter said.

  “Slightly,” John said. “I’ve played chess with her.”

  “So she could be a dupe or she could be one of them.”

  “She could be both,” John said. “But I didn’t get a sense of the kind of fevered lunacy that makes an ecoterrorist from her the one time we interacted. She seemed like an interesting, normal girl.”

  Dieter suppressed a smile, thinking, But, John, most of the world thinks that you’re an ecoterrorist.

  Aloud he said, “Psychiatrists say that most terrorists aren’t insane. In fact, most groups go to some lengths to rid themselves of any psychotic elements. And, of course, they are taught to seem normal, even when they’re about to blast themselves and the people around them to kingdom come.”

  “Yeah, I know, I’ve read the literature. But I’ve also met some of them, Dieter. There’s something about them. You know what I mean.”

  The Austrian sighed. “The thing is, my friend, when you met them you knew they were terrorists, and they knew that you knew. That gave them permission to let their guard down, to perhaps strut for your benefit. I know they wouldn’t be so free in a public place.”

  John stared into the distance. “When you’re right, you’re right,” he finally said. “Maybe I’m not as quick on the uptake as I like to think I am.”

  “You’re a lot quicker than I was at your age. And I was never slow. Your upbringing will be a huge advantage to you in the coming years.”

  The younger man’s mouth twisted sardonically. “Meanwhile…” John said.

  “Meanwhile it’s time to do some triage, so to speak. We need to consolidate our allies, to get them in a place where we can do the most good. Because the fact is we’re going to have to watch Skynet kill a lot of people before anyone even suspects anything. If we told them what was going on, they might actually be more resistant to the truth. I’m afraid that no one will believe this until they see those HKs and Terminators coming for them. Even then a lot of people will just stand there and let themselves be killed rather than believe it’s really happening.”

  John looked away, frowning. “I hate to just give up on these people. Especially the kids.”

  Dieter understood that kind of stubbornness. No doubt John felt that he was losing his first real battle in the war with the machines and it galled him to see innocents suffer. “Try to remember, John, that Alaska is very big and that you’re just one man. We need allies to accomplish anything. It’s not just the machines against you and your mother now, it’s the machines against the human race. You need to adjust your way of thinking, to scale things up enormously. Yes, we may lose a lot of people to the machines. It is tragic, but not your fault, and not your failing.

  “You have to go south. Make contact with those survivalists you and your mother have been cultivating. And there are Sector agents down there who can be of help to you.”

  “Assuming they aren’t unwittingly helping Skynet,” John reminded him.

  Dieter threw up his hands. “Well, you knew the job was hard when you took it.”

  “Except I didn’t take it; it was shoved down my throat!” John glared at nothing. “Sorry,” he said a moment later.

  “I need to get to the coast,” Dieter said. “Our old friends Vera and Tricker will have Love’s Thrust waiting for me at Dilek in ten days.” He watched the younger man, waiting for a reaction.

  “Why did we bother to set up supply dumps here if we were just going to abandon them?” John demanded.

  “To keep in practice and because one day we might need them.” He waited, but John seemed disinclined to say more. “It is a hard fact that sometimes you have to retreat to have a chance at winning.”

  “I know.”

  “And sometimes a commander must sacrifice a lot of lives in order to achieve victory.”

  “Yeah,” John said. “Can I hitch a ride down the coast with you guys?”

  Surprised, Dieter nodded.

  “See,” John said. “I can be ruthlessly practical.”

  Chapter 9

  BLACK RIVER RELOCATION CAMP,

  MISSOURI

  Mary held the Stratzman baby, Sonya, rocking her gently. The poor little thing was no longer able to drink on her own; the only sound was the tiny labored breathing and the creak of the canvas camp chair beneath her.

  And I don’t think the IV is doing any good.

  Sonya’s fever was a hundred and six the last time it had been checked and it felt hotter by the moment; her face was withered and thin, like a tiny grandmother’s. Mary no longer noticed the smell; it was all-pervasive through the clinic now.

  Sonya’s four-year-old brother was doing a bit better than she was, but not much. He lay in the next cot, eyes half-shut; they were dull and sunken in a hollow-cheeked face. The lids barely flickered as one of the volunteers changed the soiled pad under his hips and rolled him to one side to straighten the bedclothes beneath; there were bedsores where the bones of his pelvis and shoulder were wearing through the skin.

  Mrs. Stratzman had labored over her children to the point of exhaustion, leaving her with little in reserve when she came down with cholera. She’d died this morning. Her husband was delirious, but he was the most likely to survive. Though with this kind of fever, there were no guarantees.

  Mary herself was very tired, that limbs-filled-with-wet-sand, burning-eyed, hard-to-talk exhaustion that almost made her want to weep.

  As if I didn’t have enough reasons to cry, she thought. And then: You’re healthy, you’ve got no one to lose anymore, you’re young enough to probably throw off the infection if you do get it.

  Right now it felt as though she was stealing this time from other patients, but babies responded better if they were held occasionally. And it gave the nurses, both professional and volunteer, a chance to sit down.

  She opened her eyes slowly and realized that she’d dropped off for a moment. It could only have been a few seconds because Matron was still with the same patient, in much the same posture as she had been. Mary yawned, then looked down at little Sonya. The baby’s eyes were half-open and her mouth was slack. A spear of anxiety shot through her and she quickly checked the baby’s pulse. The infant’s skin was already cooling, and where the pulse had been far too rapid, now it was utterly gone.

  She sighed. At least someone was holding her when she died; she didn’t go alone in her crib.

  Yet Mary regretted that she hadn’t noticed. Not that there would have been anything she could have done about it.

  Nurse Mary Shea rose and took the baby’s chart off her crib, carrying it and the small body outside. Beside the clinic there was a large tent where the bodies were stored prior to being buried. She handed Sonya to a soldier wearing a hazard suit and respirator; he glanced at Mary and she could see the misery in his eyes through the buglike lenses of his mask. She shook her head and shrugged and he nodded; sadly, she thought. Then Mary made a note on the chart of the child’s time of death and gave him the paper.

  She returned to the clinic only for a moment, just long enough to inform the head nurse of little Sonya Stratzman’s death. Matron looked her over.

  “Take a break,” she said. “Don’t come back for twenty minutes or so. We won’t fall to pieces.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said, from the heart.

  She turned and walked away, grabbing her jacket on the way out. Outside the clinic she paused, but not for long. I’ve got to get away from the smell of this place, she thought, and headed for the gate. She just had to get somewhere that didn’t stink of death and disease.

  As she approached the gate a soldier stepped out of the guard shack. “Identify yourself, please,” he said.

  He was one of the odd ones that Mary had noticed around the camp. They had this low-affect manner and they looked at you with these dead eyes that seemed to measure you for your scrap value.

  “Mary Shea,” she answered. “I’m a nurse at the clinic. I’m going for a short walk; I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Theoretically, civilians were free to leave the camp anytime they wanted. Up until now, though, she’d been too busy to test the theory.

  I hope he’s not going to give me an argument, she thought. I am so not in the mood.

  “I don’t think you should do that,” the guard said. “It’s very dangerous out there.”

  “It’s pretty damn dangerous in here at the moment,” she said crossly.

  “Maybe you should just take a walk around the perimeter of the fence,” he said, standing in her way.

  “I just need to get away from the smell around here, okay? I’m not going far; I’ve only got ten minutes and I’d rather not waste it arguing with you.” Her voice had risen toward the end there and now the guard was looking stubborn.

  “Something the matter?” a voice asked.

  She turned to see a lieutenant standing there. He was a good-looking young man with light brown eyes and dark brown hair.

  “I just want to go for a short walk outside the fence, but this fellow thinks it’s a bad idea.”

  “No one here is a prisoner, Corporal,” the lieutenant said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The lieutenant turned to her and smiled slightly. “Would you like some company?”

  She returned the smile. “Another time, perhaps. But right now I really just need to be alone for a few minutes.”

  “Another time, then.” He watched the attractive young nurse walk away. Then he turned to the corporal. “Have the orders changed recently?” he asked. “Are there now restrictions on who can leave the camp?”

  “No, sir.” The corporal looked surly. “I just hate to see girls go out there alone. There’s some rough characters out there.”

  “There are rough characters lurking a five-minute walk from this fence, Corporal?” Reese gave the soldier a hard look. “Considering that’s well within our patrol range, I’d have to say that you and your friends aren’t doing a very good job. Wouldn’t you, soldier?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a trooper with an attitude problem and this guy has one in spades, Reese thought. Granted, the world has come to an end, hundreds of millions are dead, and we’ve got an epidemic, but…

  He looked the corporal over in the patented intimidating style that good officers learned early and utilized often. “You forgot to have her sign out,” Reese pointed out. “That was your oversight, not hers. So I don’t want you giving her a hard time when she gets back. Just note that a young woman left at this time and have her sign in when she returns. Don’t forget it again, and don’t restrict the movements of civilians. If someone wants to leave, we can’t stop them. Like I said, this isn’t a prison.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Reese continued on his way. He glanced down the road, but the girl was already out of sight behind some trees. He frowned, wondering how many other soldiers were getting the idea that the civilians in the camp were prisoners. He’d felt damned uncomfortable when the captain referred to them as inmates, even though he knew Yanik was only kidding. At least he thought the captain was kidding.

  Then there were the thugs who claimed to have been beaten up by the guards. Ordinarily he’d have rejected such accusations out of hand. But there was something in the atmosphere of the camp lately that made their story hard to discount. Which made a soldier refusing to let someone take a walk outside the fence somewhat worrying.

  Spring was moving on and the grass was growing, still looking thin and uncertain, but pushing up to the light anyway.

  It doesn’t seem right, somehow, Mary thought, obscurely disturbed by the returning life. She took a deep breath of air that only smelled of cool and green.

  Some trees wore a fuzz of red at the tips of their branches; others were just putting forth new leaves, all pale green, with silvergray fuzz on the outside. It was still too early for flowers, though. Maybe there were snowdrops and crocuses blooming somewhere, but there were none around here.

  Given that it was colder than usual, it was probably still too early for the young leaves that were already showing. But nature was resilient; if these leaves got burned, others would replace them.

  All her life Mary had thought that if the bombs ever dropped, the world would just end—no more spring, no more people, no more anything. And here things like grass and trees were carrying on much the same as they always did.

  People, however, are screwing up as usual.

  Maybe that was unfair. To date, no one had been able to discover where the cholera had come from and why it continued to spread. Poor little Sonya. And her poor brother, too.

  Poor me, she thought. She wasn’t used to losing patients like this. I’m used to treatments that work. People died of cancer, or degenerative diseases. Apart from a few stubborn exceptions, they didn’t die of bacteria!

  She’d lost patients, of course. Death was a part of life and there were some diseases they hadn’t yet eradicated. But this! This was a nineteenth-century-style epidemic. Or a third-world one. Funny to think that was what they were now. As third world as anybody else.

  That was probably an exaggeration. But I’m in an exaggerated mood—hypersensitive, exhausted, uncomfortable in my own skin.

  Still, things were going from bad to worse at the moment. They really were…

  On top of everything else, four men had entered the clinic in the last week to be treated for what looked like one hell of a beating. Three of them had accused the guards of jumping them; the fourth was in a coma. But everyone knew the four men had been involved in selling drugs, or bootleg alcohol, or black-market goods. So their word was taken with a grain of salt. Besides, the accused guards were able to call on witnesses who placed them elsewhere when the beatings were supposed to have been administered.

  People! she thought, feeling close to despair. They just never stop. They make an accusation, which the accused deny, someone demands an investigation, the investigators claim they’re being impeded, the accused say the investigators aren’t going far enough, the accusers shout “whitewash!” the accused “persecution!”

  Mary stopped and plopped down under a tree with a discouraged sigh. She was in the middle of a hydrangea thicket and she looked for the clusters of buds on the tips of the branches. They were still tightly wound in their protective winter coating, not a hint of petal showing.

  Taking a deep breath redolent with the scent of cool, damp air and earth and growing things, she started to let down her guard. Mary allowed her eyes to tear up; she’d come out here to have a good cry in private. It was the sort of thing that helped her survive.

  “The cholera is doing a great job.”

  With an effort of will Mary swallowed her tears, though it felt like they were going down inside a cardboard box. But then, she’d been startled, both by the voice and what he’d said. She hadn’t heard anyone walking. How long had they been there?

  “Yeah. It’s really helping things along. And they’re all still sniffing the toilets and boiling water and things like that.”

  The two men laughed; she wasn’t sure, but she thought there might have been a third voice.

  “I toldja nobody would believe that anthrax would occur naturally.”

  “Maybe not, but it spreads like crazy.”

  “Yeah, but it’s pretty obviously not natural.”

  “Cholera’s more treatable.”