“Mei, come here,” he told her.
She shook her head, withdrawing. Park looked down and saw that she was pregnant. She asked, “What’s happened to you? You’re—”
“I’m what I have to be!” he shouted. “To save you. Now come on!”
For a moment he thought he had her. She took a tentative step forward.
Then he heard clanging footsteps on the stairs behind him, and knew it was over.
The Commander strode into the hall, his rifle raised. Behind him came the skull-faced girl and Greavey. The handcuffs dangled from Greavey’s right wrist, and half his left hand was gone—he’d chewed it off to get free.
The Commander stared at Park with baleful eyes. There was a long silence. Then the Commander barked, “Get away from there!”
Park took a few steps back.
“Keep going! Move!” The Commander advanced. When he was even with the cell, he glanced at its occupants. “You brought us so many,” he said slowly, to himself. “Why a change of heart?”
Park glared back, said nothing.
“No,” the Commander declared then, with sudden triumph. “You’re not the compassionate sort. You only care about… one.” He swung his rifle around so that it menaced the skinny man in the cell, and demanded, “Who’s he here for?”
The man shrank back, holding up his hands defensively. “Her! The girl! Please.”
Park inched forward, but instantly the gun was back on him. The Commander said to Greavey, “Get her.”
Greavey strode into the cell and with his good hand snatched Mei by her long dark hair and dragged her stumbling into the corridor. He stood her there in the middle of the hall, then stepped aside. She trembled.
Behind the Commander, the skull-faced girl said softly, “Dustin, she’s pregnant.”
“Not for long.” He leveled his rifle at Mei’s belly.
Park stared at Mei, his sister, as she stood there right in front of him after so long, and he knew there was nothing he could do to save her.
Then the skull-faced girl shoved the Commander as hard as she could.
His rifle discharged, spraying rounds into the cement as he sprawled. The gun flew from his grasp and skittered across the floor, coming to rest at Mei’s feet. She spun and kicked it to Park, but not hard enough. The rifle slid to a stop near Greavey, who fell to his knees, grasping for it.
Park leapt forward and tackled him, and they went down together, grappling. Park wrapped both arms around Greavey’s meaty right bicep, pinning it. The man’s mutilated left hand brushed over the rifle’s stock, but couldn’t get a grip on it. The Commander scrambled to his feet.
Park pushed against the floor with his heels, pivoting him and Greavey. Park kept hold of Greavey’s bicep with one arm while with the other he reached out and snatched the rifle. He shoved the muzzle up under Greavey’s chin and held down the trigger. Chunks of the man’s fleshy jowls spattered across the floor, and his body went limp.
Park rolled off him and came up in a crouch with the rifle aimed at the Commander, who slid to a halt just a few feet away. “Back!” Park said, and the Commander slowly retreated, holding up his hands.
Park said, “Mei! Come here.”
She staggered toward him. “Park… we can’t—”
He held out the keys to her and said, “Get these goddamn cells open. Now.”
The skull-faced girl approached him. The prisoners watched her with a mix of unease and wonder. She said quietly, “And the children. Please.”
Park considered this. “All right,” he told her. “And the children.”
An hour later Park returned to the cell block with a duffel slung over his shoulder. The prisoners were free now, around twenty of them, and were armed with weapons from the trunk of his car. The skull-faced girl had fetched the children, each of whom was being carried by an adult. The guards had fled, and Park had taken care of the Commander.
Park said to the crowd, “You know the city’s under attack by an army of the living. They’re called the Sons of Perdition. You all know who they are?”
The crowd was somber.
“Anyone want to join them?” Park said. “Now’s your chance.”
No one moved.
“All right,” he said. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
They formed a convoy of vehicles and set out north, away from the fighting. Park drove his car, and the others followed. On the seat beside him rested the duffel, and in the back seat sat Mei and the skull-faced girl, each of them holding a child. At first Park was forced to barrel through clusters of moaners, but once he got away from the palace the streets were mostly deserted.
The skull-faced girl stared out the window. One time she spoke faintly, “I said I wanted children. I was just… I didn’t think… He wanted to—when they got older—make them like us. He—”
“It’s okay,” Park said. “It’s over.”
The girl fell silent.
“What’s your name?” Mei asked her.