“I’d bet not a single one of them is in their bedroll like they ought to be.”
Zhang grinned. Together they stepped around the row of carriages to look at the rest of the camp. The soldiers had been trying to act nonchalant, leaning against the wagon wheels or thoughtfully examining their weapons, but as soon as Zhang and Malik appeared against the dim sky, all of them snapped to immediate attention. Every single one on their feet, in five neat rows. Even the horses pricked their ears toward the two men.
Zhang turned to Malik and smiled. “Let’s move out!” he cried, to resounding cheers.
THE ARMY CAME SOUTH INTO LOUISIANA THROUGH THE remains of Bogalusa, then Covington. The entire area had flooded from overflow off the Old Pearl River, and the roads were ankle-deep in water. The horses slogged carefully, trying to stay on the asphalt and away from the mud. At every corner, wooden buildings sagged, roofs long succumbed to moss and rot. The wind was completely still, and there was a strange fog floating over the water, making the land appear as if it was gently steaming. Alligators, Zhang thought, but he had no idea how rational a fear that was. Or if he’d even recognize one if he saw it—who knew what they looked like now. His carriage was in front this time, so he supposed he’d know soon enough, if they were lurking. “No one goes any deeper than the ankles,” Zhang ordered softly. “And no one goes wandering into flooded houses or down any sloped streets.” He hoped that as long as they stayed away from the deeper water, they’d be all right.
Malik and Ahmadi patrolled carefully alongside the procession, eyes searching for any flicker of movement, but they saw nothing. Covington was completely empty.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Ahmadi said to Zhang as her horse fell into line with Holmes.
“Me too,” he agreed. “Looks like it’s been abandoned for months, at least.”
She looked at Zhang again, and he nodded back. They didn’t need to say it to know what the other was thinking. That it either meant very good news about New Orleans or very, very bad.
“As soon as we make it out of this town, we’ll be officially within New Orleans limits,” Malik said on the other side of Zhang’s carriage. “When we see Lake Pontchartrain, we’ll have made it.”
That’s when they cleared the last few ramshackle buildings and suddenly could see the outline of the distant walls.
“Holy . . . ,” Ahmadi said, trailing off. They stared.
After the last stretch of land and glistening water of the lake, the city rose. Walls that had not been there before the Forgetting towered like shimmering cliffs around it. They were so perfectly straight and unbroken, it was as if a smooth, sheer mountain made of crystal had erupted from the earth on the other shore. From somewhere inside, vague tendrils of smoke curled up into the warm, gray air of morning. Zhang could only guess from so far away, but the walls looked to be forty feet tall at least, and so long that they disappeared into the humid, muggy horizon before he could see the end. He guessed they probably encircled the entire city, so that the only way in or out was the long, narrow bridgeway that spanned the lake.
New Orleans. Zhang felt his heart start to race. We made it.
Without a word, they all began to move. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, until all the horses were galloping.
The Lake Pontchartrain Causeway bridge was double-wide, with a gap between the two sides of traffic. The army streamed into the right lanes on instinct, even though it didn’t matter—there was no one else on the bridge, in either direction. Their half was three lanes and a shoulder, and Malik and Ahmadi stayed on either side of Zhang’s carriage as they raced over the dark, rippling water. The lake was miles across—almost a marathon’s length with no emergency exit, no cover at all.
“Weapons?” Ahmadi called across the front wheels as they neared, and Malik struggled for an answer. The hooves drummed like thunder.
“I don’t know!” he cried back at last.
Zhang looked up at the walls again. It meant one of two things. Either the ones inside, the ones with The One Who Gathers, “The Creature”—that possible new name their hostage had contributed—were civilized and maintained law and defense, or they allowed no one from the outside and would shoot on sight. Zhang tried not to think about the second possibility as their carriages clattered past the halfway point, toward the narrow end of the bridge.
“Weapons out?” one of the soldiers yelled nervously from behind a few minutes later. They had all had the same thought as Ahmadi. The army was less than a mile away now, and Zhang could see much better. The walls jutted straight up from the first hint of shore and overtook the exit of the bridge. Once the carriages reached the end, there was nowhere to go—no landing, no small field before the gates. If New Orleans decided to shoot, they’d never get the horses turned and moving again before they were all dead.
“I don’t know yet!” another answered the first.