“They’re waking up, Tim. Hunting. Moving through the tunnels.”

Fanning continued reading.

“Are you listening?”

He looked up with a frown. “Well, what of it?”

“That’s not our agreement.”

His attentions had returned to his book, though he was only pretending to read. She got to her feet. “I’m going to see Soldier.”

He yawned, showing his fangs, and gave her a pale-lipped smile. “I’ll be here.”

Alicia cinched on her goggles, exited onto Forty-third, and headed north on Madison Avenue. Spring had come on sluggishly; only a few trees were budding out, and pockets of snow still lay in the shadows. The stable was located on the east side of the park at Sixty-third, just south of the zoo. She removed Soldier’s blanket and led him out of his stall. The park felt static, as if caught between the seasons. Alicia sat on a boulder at the edge of the pond and watched the horse graze. He had taken on the years with dignity; he tired more easily, but only a little, and was still strong, his gait firm. Strands of white had appeared in his tail and whiskers, more on the feathers at his feet. She watched him eat his fill, then saddled him and climbed aboard.

“A little exercise, boy, what do you say?”

She guided him across the meadow, into the shade of the trees. A memory came to her of the day she’d first seen him, all that coiled wildness inside him, standing alone outside the wreckage of the Kearney garrison, waiting for her like a message. I am yours as you are mine. For each of us there will always be one. Past the trees she brought him to a trot, then a canter. To their left lay the reservoir, a billion gallons, lifeblood of the city’s green heart. At the Ninety-seventh Street Transverse, she dismounted.

“Back in a jiff.”

She made her way into the woods, removed her boots, and scaled a suitable tree at the edge of the glade. There, balanced on her haunches, she waited.

Eventually her wish was granted: a young doe tiptoed into view, ears flicking, neck bent low. Alicia watched the animal approach. Closer. Closer.

—

Fanning hadn’t moved from the table. He looked up from his book, smiled. “What’s this I see?”

Alicia heaved the doe off her shoulders, onto the bar top. Its head hung with the looseness of death, the pink tongue unspooling from its mouth like a ribbon.

“I told you,” she said. “You really need to eat.”

* * *

29

The first gunshots rang out on schedule, a series of distant pops from the end of the causeway. It was one A.M. Michael was concealed with Rand and the others outside the Quonset hut. The door swung open with a blaze of light and laughter; a man stumbled out, his arm draped over the shoulders of one of the whores.

He died with a gurgle. They left him where he fell, blood darkening the earth from the wire’s incision around his neck. Michael stepped up to the woman. She wasn’t one he knew. Rand’s hand was covering her mouth, dampening her terrified shrieks. She couldn’t have been a day over eighteen.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you, if you keep quiet. Understand?”

She was a well-fed girl with short, red hair. Her eyes, heavily made up, were open very wide. She nodded.

“My friend is going to uncover your mouth, and you’re going to tell me what room he’s in.”

Cautiously, Rand drew his hand away.

“The last one, at the end of the hall.”

“You’re certain?”

She nodded vigorously. Michael gave her a list of names. Four were playing cards in the front room; two more were back in the stalls.

“Okay, get out of here.”

She dashed away. Michael looked at the others. “We go in in two groups. Rand with me; the rest of you hover in the outer room until everybody’s ready.”

Eyes flicked up from the tables as they entered, but that was all. They were comrades, no doubt stopping by the hut for the same reasons everyone did: a drink, some cards, a few minutes of bliss in the stalls. The second group spread out across the room while Michael and the others faded to the hallway and took their positions outside the doors. The signal was passed, the doors were flung open.

Dunk was on his back, naked, a woman busily rocking astride his hips. “Michael, what the fuck?” But when he saw Rand and the others, his expression changed. “Oh, give me a break.”

Michael looked at the whore. “Why don’t you take a walk?”

She snatched her dress from the floor and ran out the door. From elsewhere in the building came an assortment of screams and shouts, the sound of glass breaking, a single gunshot.

“It was going to happen sooner or later,” Michael said to Dunk. “Might as well make the best of it.”

“You think you’re so fucking smart? You’ll be dead the minute you walk out of here.”

“We’ve pretty much cleaned house, Dunk. I was saving you for last.”

Dunk’s face lit with a phony smile; beneath the bluster, the man knew he was looking into an abyss. “I get it. You want a bigger share. Well, you’ve certainly earned it. I can make that happen for you.”

“Rand?”

The man moved forward, gripping the wire in his fists. Three others grabbed Dunk as he attempted to rise and shoved him hard onto the mattress.

“For fucksake, Michael!” He was squirming like a fish. “I treated you like a son!”

“You have no idea how funny that is.”

As the wire slipped around Dunk’s neck, Michael stepped from the room. The last of Dunk’s lieutenants was putting up a bit of a struggle in the second stall, but then Michael heard a final grunt and the thump of something heavy striking the floor. Greer met him in the front room, where bodies lay strewn amid overturned card tables. One of them was Fastau; he’d been shot through the eye.