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ld　upon　their　mix　of　trades；　scientists　and　soldiers　working　together；　the　Cross　and　the　Sword；　faith　and　steel。　Each　day　saw　them　more　ready　for　what　was　to　e。
　Each　day　her　body　ripened。　Her　belly　swelled。　Her　breasts　startled　her　in　the　mirror；　taut　and　round。　They　had　bee　identical　to　the　breasts　on　Nathan　Lee's　Matisse　nude；　which　she　kept　with　her　other　mementos；　the　gold　necklace　her　mother　had　left；　a　treasured　seashell；　a　snapshot　of　her　Monarch　butterflies；　her　map　of　chromosome　16。
　Tara　adored　the　movements　in　Miranda's　womb。　Every　day；　she　visited。　The　Captain's　wife　said　the　baby　was　going　to　be　a　girl；　and　while　the　thought　of　a　little　sister　could　not　replace　the　horse　for　Tara；　it　did　help。　What　did　not　help　was　the　horse　itself；　which　would　neither　go　away　nor　e　in　from　the　wilds。
　When　she　looked　out　from　the　edge　of　the　mesa；　Miranda　no　longer　envisoned　a　valley　of　death。　It　was　still　early　for　wildflowers　at　this　elevation。　But　the　first　expeditions　had　descended　five　weeks　ago；　and　had　reported　that　the　plains　grasses　were　knee…high；　and　wild　cattle　were　calving；　and　the　rivers　were　chocolate　with　run…off。　Their　dispatches…sent　by　shortwave　from　distant　places…were　like　old…time　radio；　or　broadcasts　from　Mars；　filled　with　crackling　static　and　cosmic　whistles　and；　ultimately；　silence。　It　had　been　nearly　two　weeks　since　they'd　heard　a　word　from　〃out　there。〃　Nevertheless；　Los　Alamos　was　still　able　to　track　the　explorers'　progress　via　satellite。　Three　of　the　expeditions　had　reached　their　targets　and　turned　around；　and　were　now　making　their　way　homeward。　What　tales　they　would　tell。
　For　a　doomed　people；　the　citizens　of　Los　Alamos　were　joyful　and　industrious。　Each　of　them　was　terminal　now。　They　had　voluntarily　been　inoculated　with　the　Sera…III。　Their　three…year　countdown　had　begun。　After　that；　short　of　a　cure；　the　virus　would　take　them。　But　that's　where　their　faith　came　in。　Survivors　had　been　contacted　and　were…slowly…being　brought　in。　The　harvest　had　begun。　The　answer　was　near。　They　believed　that。
　It　was　not　an　easy　faith　to　hold。　All　through　the　winter；　glass　people　had　strayed　into　Los　Alamos。　That's　what　Tara　called　them。　Some　had　been　pilgrims　and　wayward　travelers　drawn　by　the　city's　lights。　Others　had　been　their　former　neighbors　and　coworkers　who　had　returned　on　foot；　castaways　from　the　now　infamous　convoy。　They　were　not　the　survivors　whom　Los　Alamos　longed　for；　only　more　plague　victims。　There　was　no　need　to　use　moon　suits　with　them　nor　cage　them　in　the　bio…safety　labs。　Immune　for　the　time　being；　Miranda　and　others　had　set　up　a　hospice　to　feed　and　care　for　the　victims　in　their　final　days。　Certainly　there　was　no　lack　of　spare　beds　in　the　city。
　It　had　been　grim　work　nursing　the　victims；　and　yet　purifying　in　a　way。　As　they　watched　bones　appear　through　their　patients'　glassy　flesh　and　saw　hearts　beating　in　living　chests　and　tracked　the　sunset　of　memories；　they　came　to　accept　that　one　day　that　might　be　them。　By　April　the　refugees　had　all　passed　away。　The　cemetery　in　the　golf　course　bore　markers；　some　with　names；　those　who　had　remembered　them；　many　without。　At　any　rate；　their　passage　had　signaled　the　end　of　the　great　die…off。　Shortly　after　that；　five　expeditions　had　set　off　into　America。
　While　they　waited　for　the　explorers'　homeing；　the　people　of　Los　Alamos　continued　to　foster　their　city。　There　was　so　much　to　do；　supplies　to　inventory；　research　to　review；　experiments　to　design；　greenhouses　to　build；　the　reactor　to　tweak；　satellites　to　monitor；　radio　signals　to　broadcast。　The　word　to　spread。　Just　keeping　the　lightbulbs　changed　was　a　task；　but　Miranda　insisted。　They　were　a　beacon。　That　was　her　mandate。　Every　night　the　city's　bright　lights　repelled　the　darkness。
　Not　all　the　darkness　lay　out　there。　On　the　chance　Cavendish　might　have　left　clues　behind；　Miranda　had　visited　his　office　in　South　Sector　three　months　ago；　when　she　was　more　mobile。　She'd　wanted　to　review　everything　he　had；　and　had　not；　done　during　and　after　his　reign；　to　see　inside　his　head。　〃Something　about　him　doesn't　add　up；〃　she　said　to　the　Captain；　who　acpanied　her。　〃He　knew　more　than　he　wanted　us　to　know；　I'm　sure　of　it。〃
　The　first　thing　they　had　noticed　upon　breaking　into　his　office　was　the　smell。　His　wheelchair　was　there；　pointed　out　at　an　executive　view　of　the　Sangre　de　Christos。　Still　sitting　upright；　the　rebel　scientist　had　shriveled　to　a　dry　husk。　Glass　pipettes　had　been　driven　through　the　optic　cannula　in　each　eye　socket。　The　pipettes　were　fragile。　His　impaling　must　have　taken　great　care。　His　murderer　could　have　been　anyone。
　Cavendish's　killing　had　bee　just　one　more　of　a　million　secrets　that　Los　Alamos　held。　Everyday；　foraging　parties　made　new　discoveries：　warehouses　brimming　with　food　and　supplies；　lab　notes　with　buried　insights；　bio…safety　labs　with　forgotten　subjects；　chalkboards　scrawled　with　hieroglyphs。　Over　a　hundred　thousand　people　had　vanished　in　one　night　last　December；　and　yet　they　still　whispered　to　those　they'd　left　behind。　Every　laptop　contained　a　hidden　personality。　Apartments　yielded　love　letters。　Diaries　spoke。　Windows　looked　across　into　other　windows。　Telescopes　on　tripods　peeked　between　curtains。　Los　Alamos　had　always　been　a　city　of　dreams；　good　and　bad。　That　was　in　the　nature　of　science。　What　surprised　everyone　was　that　it　had　also　been　a　city　of　such　desire。　It　made　them　long　for　their　panions　who　had　fled　into　the　earth。
　Weeks　ago；　on　their　way　south；　the　New　Orleans　expedition　had　visited　the　silent　WIPP　sanctuary；　hoping　to　make　contact　with　their　lost　brethren。　But　they　had　found　only　mummies　for　sentinels　in　the　surface　fortification；　and　the　big　elevator　shafts　leading　into　the　depths　echoed　back　their　own　shouts。　There　was　little　they　could　do　to　unravel　the　colony's　disappearance。　They　didn't　have　ropes　long　enough　to　descend　the　vertical　half…mile；　so　they　dropped　messages　in　canisters　down　the　holes；　then　proceeded　on　their　journey。　Their　mission　was　to　search　for　the　living；　not　mune　with　the　dead。
　It　was　known　that　survivors　remained。　The　hunt　for　them　had　started　in　earnest　in　February；　using　satellites；　as　the　last　of　the　great　cities　gasped　out　their　red　death　clouds。　The　thermal　imaging　had　been　programmed　to　highlight　any　body　measuring　98。6　degrees；　and　immediately　the　surveillance　team　had　begun　sighting　human　activity。　As　of　the　last　count　yesterday；　there　were　twenty…six　survivors　within　a　thousand…mile　radius；　the　projected　range　of　their　first　wave　of　expeditions。
　You　could　see　the　survivors　near　the　logical　food　sources；　the　cities　and　towns；　but　also　out　in　the　farmlands　and　mountains。　Over　the　past　month；　Los　Alamos　had　watched　one　character　plow　and　seed　an　entire　thousand　acres　outside　Cortez　Heights；　Kansas。　The　Milwaukee　expedition　had　not　yet　reached　him。　For　all　the　farmer　knew；　he　was　the　last　man　alive。　He　probably　had　no　idea　he　might　be　immune。　And　yet；　all　alone；　with　his　future　a　dark　uncertainty；　the　man　had　chosen　to　plant　corn。　That；　thought　Miranda；　was　hope。　She　couldn't　wait　to　shake　his　hand。
　It　wouldn't　be　long。　The　expeditions　were　returning。　The　Billings　expedition　was　going　to　be　first。　Last　night's　satellite　image　had　showed　them　camping　on　Raton　Pass；　on　the　Colorado　border；　along　old　I…25。　Everyone　in　the　city　was　excited。　Miranda　wasn't　the　only　one　sitting　along　the　rim；　watching　the　road　that　wound　up　from　the　valley。
　Depending　on　conditions；　the　expedition　might　e　in　today　or　tomorrow；　or　the　next　day。　Their　estimated　time　of　arrival　was　anyone's　guess。　Since　dawn；　the　satellite　had　lost　them　to　albedo　effect。　It　was　not　unusual　for　the　satellites　to　go　blind　during　daylight　hours。　That　was　when　most　of　the　surveillance　team　got　to　sleep。
　Miranda　looked　out　across　the　gap　at　a　section　of　highway　cut　into　the　mesa　wall；　and　it　was　empty。　She　took　a　drink　of　cold　water；　and　closed　her　eyes。　The　water　seemed　more　delicious　every　day。
　Then　she　looked　again；　and　something　was　flickering　along　the　top　of　the　far　peninsula；　a　white　shape；　quick　among　the　pi？on　and　scrub。　Miranda　raised　her　binoculars　and　found　it　easily；　their　day　ghost；　the　Appaloosa。　She　was　galloping　hard；　one　more　mystery　that　would　probably　never　get　explained。
　They　knew　from　the　remote　cameras　that　Nathan　Lee　had　ridden　her　down　to　the　river；　but　crossed　on　foot。　In　the　aftermath　of　the　bomb　and　evacuation；　everyone　had　forgotten　all　about　the　horse。　One　day　in　January　she　had　simply　reappeared。　It　was　cold；　but　she　wouldn't　take　their　shelter。　The　bomb　had　permanently　spooked　her。　She　carried　burn　scars；　and　wouldn't　let　anyone　e　near。　Through　the　rest　of　winter；　every　week　or　so；　someone　would　throw　a　hay　bale　out　for　her；　and　that　kept　her　alive。　Tara　had　tried　chasing　the　horse；　or　laying　out　apples　and　hiding。　But　the　horse　had　gone　wild；　or　half　wild。　She　seemed　to　enjoy　their　proximity；　though　not　enough　to　ever　be　caught　or　ridden　again。
　Miranda　watched　her　for　another　few　minutes。　The　horse　slalomed　through　the　low　trees；　cutting　right　and　left；　muscles　flashing。　Her　dust　plume　sparkled　in　the　sunlight。　The　fool　thing　was　going　to　go　flying　right　off　the　cliff　someday；　people　said。　Or　run　itself　to　death。　Circles　within　circles；　that's　all　people　saw。