Hollis was bracing the door with his shoulder. Caleb sprang forward and pushed; others did the same. Still, the gap began to widen. An inch, then two more. Half a dozen men were piled against the door. Caleb swiveled his body so his back was braced against it and dug the heels of his boots into the earth. But the end was ordained; even if they could hold the door a few minutes longer, the virals’ strength would outlast them.

He saw a way.

Caleb dropped his hand to his belt. He hated grenades; he could not put aside the irrational fear that they would detonate of their own accord. Thus it was with some psychological effort that he freed one from his belt and pulled the pin. Holding the striker lever in place, he angled his face to the edge of the door. He needed more space; the gap between the door and its frame was too narrow. Nobody was going to like what he was about to do, but he had no time to explain. He stepped back; the door lurched inward six inches. A hand appeared at the edge, clawed fingers curling with a searching gesture around the lip. A chorus of yells erupted. What are you doing? Push the goddamn door! Caleb relaxed his grip on the grenade, freeing the striker lever.

“Catch,” he said, and shoved it through the opening.

He thrust his shoulder against the door. Eyes closed, he counted off the seconds, like a prayer. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…

A boom.

The ping of shrapnel.

Dust falling.

* * *

58

“We need a corpsman over here right now!”

Peter lowered Amy to the ground. Her lips moved haltingly; then she asked, very softly, “Are we inside?”

“Everyone’s safe.”

Her skin was pale, her eyes heavy-lidded. “I’m sorry, I thought I could make it on my own.”

Peter looked up. “Where’s my son? Caleb!”

“Right here, Dad.”

His boy was standing behind him. Peter rose and drew him into a fierce hug. “What the hell were you doing out there?”

“Coming to get you.” There were scratches on his arms and face; one of his elbows was bleeding.

“What about Pim and Theo?” Peter couldn’t help it; he was talking in bursts.

“They’re safe. We got here a few hours ago.”

Peter was suddenly overcome. Thoughts crowded his mind from all directions. He was exhausted, he needed water, the city was under attack, his son and his family were safe. Two medics appeared with a stretcher; Greer and Michael lifted Amy onto it.

“I’ll go with her to the aid station,” Greer said.

“No, I’ll do it.”

Greer took his arm above the elbow and looked at him squarely. “She’ll be fine, Peter—we did it. Just go do your job.”

They bore her away. Peter looked up to see Apgar and Chase striding toward him. Above them, the gunfire had fallen to random spattering.

“Mr. President,” said Apgar, “I would appreciate it if in the future you did not cut it quite so close.”

“What’s our status?”

“The attack appears to have come only from the north. We’ve got no sightings elsewhere on the wall.”

“What do we hear from the townships?”

Apgar hesitated. “Nothing.”

“What do you mean nothing?”

“Everybody’s off the air. We ran patrols this morning as far west as Hunt, south to Bandera and as far north as Fredericksburg. No survivors, and almost no bodies. At this point, we have to assume they’ve all been overrun.”

Peter had no words. Over two hundred thousand people, gone.

“Mr. President?”

Apgar was looking at him. Peter swallowed and said, “How many people do we have inside the wall?”

“Including military, four, maybe five thousand, tops. Not a lot to fight with.”

“What about the isthmus?” Michael asked the general.

“As a matter of fact, we got a call on the radio from them a couple of hours ago. Someone named Lore, wondering where you were. They didn’t know anything about last night’s attack, so I guess the dracs missed them. That or they were too smart to try to cross that causeway.”

Above them, the guns fell silent.

“Maybe that’s it for tonight,” Chase said. He scanned their faces hopefully. “Maybe we scared them off.”

Peter didn’t think so; he could tell that Apgar didn’t think so, either.

“We need to make some decisions, Peter,” Michael cut in. “The window’s closing fast. We should be talking about getting people out of here.”

The idea suddenly seemed absurd. “I’m not leaving these people undefended, Michael. This thing has started. Right now, I need everybody who can hold a pitchfork on that wall.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

From the catwalk: “Contact! Two thousand yards!”

—

The first thing they saw was a line of light in the distance.

“Soldier, give me your binoculars.”

The spotter handed them over; Peter brought the lenses to his eyes. Standing beside him on the platform, Apgar and Michael were also scanning north.

“Can you tell how many there are?” Peter asked the general.

“They’re too far out to tell.” Apgar unclipped the walkie on his belt and brought it to his mouth. “All stations, what are you seeing?”

A crackle of static, then: “Station one, negative.”

“Station two, no contact.”