jefflong.yearzero-第88节

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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