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〃Miranda；〃 said the Captain。 〃They're dangerous。 Let us do our job。〃
Where had she heard that before？ Her father； she remembered； at the pond； long ago。 And Ochs； that time； stealing the child； throwing her into darkness。Never again。 She held her ground。 She glanced outside； through the front door； at the milling people。 〃You came back；〃 she mented。
The Captain frowned。 He followed her gaze。 〃Them？ They never left。 We're the ones who stayed。〃
〃But the city was empty。 I saw it。〃
〃People hid in their houses。 It was nighttime。 A terrible night。 We waited for daylight。〃 He added； 〃Not you； though。 I should have known。〃
So the convoy had gone。 〃How many are there？〃
〃A few hundred。 Mostly scientists。 We're still going house to house。 People are in shock。 They can't believe what they've done to themselves。 They're afraid。 We don't know who stayed and who left。 We were starting to think maybe you'd gone； too。〃
〃Why？〃 she said。 〃Why did you stay？〃
The Captain frowned at her。 〃You told us；〃 he gestured with his rifle； confused。 〃You said； the sun。〃
Miranda's eyes stung。 It was the riot gas； she told herself。 And the snow was so bright。They were waiting for her。
〃We'll start over；〃 she spoke suddenly。
〃Yes；〃 the Captain encouraged her。 〃Now will you e away from there？〃
He didn't understand。 〃All of us together；〃 she continued more loudly for others to hear。 〃We'll begin in the beginning。 There aren't many of us。〃 She swept her hand at the awful violence； the body dangling in the window。 〃We can't afford this。 It will take everyone。〃
〃Miranda；〃 the Captain pleaded。 〃Clear away。〃
They still didn't see。 She had to show them。 She returned to the elevator filled with cowering men and reached inside。 She took Ben's hand and he took another man's hand。 Like that she ushered in the new day； guiding out the string of their ancestors who were their monsters； but their children； too。
37
Strange Bedfellow
DECEMBER 31
The tall man whistled while he worked； neatly laying out the razor blade and towel； the needle and thread。 Handel。The Messiah。 What else？ 'Twas the season。
〃Shut your hole；〃 someone growled from a lower bunk。 Day 10； and tempers had frayed。 Sleep was precious。 The haven was not quite what people had prayed for。
Theirsanctum sanctorum was a study in sodium chloride。 The floors were milled flat。 The ceilings were thirteen feet high。 Levels Five to Eight were still being expanded after yet another collapse in the salt bed； and wouldn't be pleted for months。 Until then； the colony slept in shifts。 Each of them got a bunk…and the petite privacy that went with it…for twelve hours at a time。 It was like a homeless shelter： A bed； a meal； then back on your feet； Joe。
He kept his curtain drawn。 There was just enough headroom to sit upright。 Each bunk had a small wall light of its own。 He had shed his jumpsuit。 Now he examined his scar。 The wound in his thigh had healed nicely over the past three months。 He prodded the long seam。
Their dayroom walls were thin plastic。 He could hear a woman in the neighboring cubicle crying； and men whispering angrily。 The culture shock was savage。 Streams of people circumambulated outside the rows of barracks； waiting their turns。 Their shuffling sounded like a small river。 Like a river； their feet had already started to wear a channel into the salt floor。
The air was radically dry。 In the space of a few days； their lips and cuticles had already split。 Their eyes were red。 People couldn't seem to drink enough water。 They were in a desert far beneath the desert； this concealed elite。 They were literally being the salt of the earth。 When it was quiet； the sound of flaking crystals whispered on the plastic roofs。 The sanctuary was alive。 It was filling in around them。
He rubbed his scar。
Back in Los Alamos； forty years had not seemed insurmountable。 It wasn't going to be easy； nobody had said that。 There was bound to be some cabin fever。 Deprivations。 Adjustments。 Internal politics。 But overall； they'd envisioned a long night of the soul with great downtime。 They were finally going to get to catch up with their families； kick back； do some science； teach and be taught； breed； raise the grandkids。 Anchor the species。 When they emerged someday； they would be old men and women。 Future generations would remember them as giants； that was the idea。
But already their dreams had unraveled。 The journey across New Mexico to just this side of Texas had been its own special bit of hell； sixty…seven straight hours locked in with raw sewage washing at their feet； the weak ones going to pieces。 Of the six hundred trucks the convoy started with； fully half had not made it。 There had been breakdowns； icy roads； a freak dust storm； and land mines galore。 Through triple layers of rubber； he had heard the flat whumps of explosions ahead or behind them。 Not a pleasant ride； at all。 But even mechanical failure； guerrilla ambushes； and gas needles on E did not explain what was being estimated as a fifty percent attrition。 The dark rumor was that half of them had been sacrificed along the way。 The tall man in the upper bunk didn't believe it； but the rumor did happen to fit the facts。 There was coincidentally just enough room for those who were here。
He regretted the lost trucks and their tens of thousands of passengers。 He had hoped to have every single last one accounted for。 At present； no one was sure who had and had not made it。 Paul Abbot； their king； roamed through the salt corridors； calling his daughter's name。
The convoy's castaways were doomed； that much was certain。 Those fortunate enough to break out of their locked trailers would have had nowhere to escape。 He took some solace in that。
The man considered the razor blade。 It was not as sharp as he would have liked。 Over the past few days； before he gained ownership of the contraband razor； four people were said to have used it。 They'd been clumsy； dulling it on their carpal tendons and bone。 But it had worked for them； and was the best to be had。
He laid the edge just so on his scar； and drew the blade。 The lips of flesh opened。 As the first time； there was surprisingly little blood。 The adipose layer was white。 The meat was red。
He worked the wound deeper。 It ran parallel with the muscle fibers； which…months ago…had allowed a deep envelope without laming him。 With time； gravity and muscle movement had worked the glass vial lower between the quadriceps。 He had to go searching。 It hurt。 He resented that。
Part of the entry procedure had been a final purification。 Everyone had submitted to multiple blood and urine tests。 They had stripped； scrubbed； and walked through an ultraviolet tunnel to piles of sterilized jumpsuits。 Their suitcases and duffel bags had never even left the Mesa。 Naked as babes； they had entered their crystalline Eden。 Quarantine was absolute。 The virus didn't stand a chance down here。 That was the idea。
He could hear the family next door； through the wall； prepping the young ones for sleep。 A bedtime story。Goodnight； Moon。 Then prayers。 〃Our Father； who art in heaven。。。。〃
I'll teach it to them properly；he thought。In the original。 Aramaic。 Whisper it through the wall into their sleep。 Why not？
In his short lifetime； he had been many things to many people； a mentor to lost scientists； a psychiatrist to raving soldiers； a friend to the lonely； a guide to the cunning。 He had sown false hope； false love； false dreams； even false messiahs。 Little by little； he had led them into the pit。
At last he found it nestled against the anterior cruciae。 The glass was slippery。 He put it in his mouth for safekeeping； then wiped his fingers and started sewing。 His suture kit had gone the way of their luggage。 He could have made a fuss； being a Cavendish and all。 But standing on his authority was exactly what Adam didn't want。 Anonymity； that was the ticket。 And so it was an ordinary needle and a spool of green cotton thread he used。 The wound was bound to get infected； but not soon enough to save them。 He would get miles and miles before they discovered him。 He meant to cover every inch of the place。
He bit down。 The glass cracked。 The liquid seemed warmer than his body temperature； and that was fitting； this being the the hottest strain Los Alamos had every captured。 To his surprise； the virus had a pleasing taste。 He was reminded of oranges； but with a hint of sea salt。No； no； Adam decided； it was more like the bead of a lover's sweat at that crucial moment； nearing oblivion； when she is just begging to be finished off。
Epilogue
Harvesting the Wind
MAY
The big； black cast iron chair occupied a sandstone slab near the outermost tip of the mesa。 There Miranda sat； with a pair of binoculars resting in her lap； or what was left of it。 It was midday and warm。 Her glass of ice water was beaded with dew。 A baseball cap shaded her eyes。 It could have been an island in the sky out here。
Summer was ing。 Miranda had willed it with all her heart。 The snows had melted； the noon sun towered； the city was healing。 Almost three hundred people had stayed behind。 They were all types。 Like an old Spanishentrada； they were learning to build upon their mix of trade