Heirs to the viral lineage of Anthony Carter, Twelfth of Twelve, they were intrinsically less bloodthirsty than their counterparts; it had been remarked many times by human observers that the dopeys satisfied their appetites with an attitude of joyless obligation, and that it was this characteristic, singular among virals, that made them easier to kill. Dumb as a dopey was the phrase. This was true, while also concealing a deeper truth. Indeed they did not like it; the butchery of innocents disturbed them. Yet within them lay an unexpressed ferocity, unwitnessed by humankind. For more than a century they had waited, anticipating the day when the call would come to release this hidden power.

In their lives, they had been many things. Then they were another. Now they were an army.

First in twilight, then in blackness, beneath the Texas stars, they roared west, a wall of noise and dust. At the head of the pod, like the point of a spear, a pair of riders led the way. For Alicia, the sensation was one of pure momentum; she was leading as much as she was being led, joined to a primal force. For Amy, the feeling was one of expansion, an internal amassing of souls. The moment Carter had surrendered his forces to her command, they had ceased to be external entities. They had become extensions of her awareness and her will: her Many.

Come with me. Come with me come with me come with me…

Ahead, like lights upon a distant shore, the besieged city appeared.

—

“Weapons up!”

All along the catwalk, the snap of magazines, the clack of bolts, rounds hammering into chambers. The last shadows were gone, drowned in the gloom.

It didn’t take long.

A glowing line appeared to the east. Second by second it thickened, spreading over the land. A feeling of fate, of destiny: it hung like a fog. The city seemed meager in its face.

“Here they come!”

The horde rumbled toward them. Its speed was tremendous. Random shots split the air—men adrenalized with terror who could not restrain the urge to fire their weapons.

Peter pressed the radio to his mouth. “Hold your fire! Wait till they’re in range!”

The stars were disappearing, blotted out by the great dust cloud that ascended in the virals’ wake. The pod had taken the form of an arrowlike wedge.

“Looks like the negotiation phase is over,” Apgar said.

More panicked shots; the pod kept coming. They would drive straight through the gate, splitting it like a bull’s-eye.

“Hang on a second,” Apgar said. He was watching through binoculars. “Something’s off.”

“What are you seeing?”

He hesitated, then said, “They’re moving differently. Short leaps, long strides in between, like the older ones do.” He pulled the lenses away. “I think these are dopeys.”

Something was happening. The pod was decelerating.

From the spotting platform, a cry went up: “Riders! Two hundred yards!”

—

Prepare yourselves.

Amy slowed Soldier to a canter, then a trot.

We will defend this city. We will hold this gate, my brothers and sisters of blood.

Flowing like a liquid, her forces spread. Amy moved among them. She dared not show fear; her courage would be theirs. She rode with her back erect, Soldier’s reins held lightly in one hand, the other extended in a gesture of blessing, like a priest.

They were people once, like you. But they follow another, the Zero.

A thousand long, three hundred deep, Amy’s forces formed a protective barrier along the northern wall and turned to face the field. To the east, the first edge of moon was peeking above the hills.

Do not hesitate, for they will not. Kill them, my brothers and sisters, but always with a blessing of mercy in your heart.

She felt the eyes of the soldiers upon her, the posts and crosshairs of their guns. The great dust cloud was settling. A taste of grit was in her mouth.

Stand tall. Have courage. Show him who and what you are.

They brought their horses to a halt at the front of the line. Amy removed the pistol from her belt, passed it to Alicia, and drew the sword from over her back. The grip possessed a satisfying thickness, comfortable in the hand. She rocked her wrist to turn its blade in the air.

“This is a fine weapon, sister.”

“I was sort of guessing when I made it.”

Her mind was composed, her thoughts ordered and calm. There was fear, but also relief and, on top of this, curiosity about what would come.

“I’ve never gone into battle,” she said. “What is it like?”

“It’s very…busy.”

Amy considered this.

“Things happen fast. You won’t even be aware of them until later. Most will seem like they happened to somebody else.”

“I suppose that makes a lot of sense.” Then: “Alicia, if I don’t survive—”

“One other thing.”

“What’s that?”

Alicia met her eye. “You’re not allowed to say things like that.”

—

On the rampart, chaos reigned. Runners were dashing, fingers were twitching on triggers, nobody knew what to do. Hold fire? They’re virals! And why are they facing the wrong direction?

“I mean it,” Peter barked into the radio, “all stations, stand down now!” He tossed Apgar the radio and turned to the closest runner. “Private, get me a harness.”

“Peter, you are not going out there,” Apgar said.

“Amy can protect me. You can see it for yourself. They’re here to defend us.”