“Mr. President, if I may,” Henneman cut in. “Assuming this all works—a big if, in my opinion—we still have a couple hundred thousand virals running loose out there. We can’t stay inside the walls forever.”
“I hate to contradict you, Colonel, but that’s exactly what we did in California. First Colony stood for almost a century, with a fraction of the resources. We’re down to just a few thousand people, a sustainable population if we manage it right. Within these walls we have enough arable land for planting and livestock. The river gives us a good continuous source for drinking water and irrigation. With some modification, we can still run oil up from Freeport in smaller loads, and the refinery itself is defensible. With careful rationing, using all of our refined petroleum for the lights, we should be fine for a very long time.”
“And weaponry?”
“Tifty’s bunker can supply us for a while, and probably we can remanufacture more, at least to last for a few more years. After that, we use crossbows, longbows, and incendiaries. We made it work at First Colony. We’ll do it here.”
Silence from around the table; everybody was thinking the same thing, Peter knew. It comes to this.
“All due respect,” Michael said, “but this is bullshit, and you know it.”
Peter turned toward him.
“So maybe the mirrors slow them down. Fanning is still out there. If what Alicia said is true, the virals we saw last night are just the tip of the spear. He’s holding an entire army in reserve.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“Don’t patronize me. I’ve been thinking about this for twenty years.”
Apgar scowled. “Mr. Fisher, I suggest you stop talking.”
“Why? So he can get us all killed?”
“Michael, I want you to listen to me very carefully.” Peter wasn’t angry; he had expected the man to object. What mattered now was making sure everyone stayed on board. “I know your feelings. You’ve made them very clear. But the situation has evolved.”
“The time line has moved up, that’s all. We’re pissing away our chance sitting around like this. We should be loading buses right now.”
“Maybe it would have worked before. But we start moving people out of here now, there’ll be a riot. This place will come apart. And there’s no way we can move seven hundred people to the isthmus in daylight. Those busses would be caught in the open. They wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“We don’t stand a chance anyway. The Bergensfjord is all we have. Lucius, don’t just sit there.”
Greer’s face was calm. “This isn’t our decision. Peter is in charge.”
“I don’t believe what I’m hearing.” Michael looked around the room, then back at Peter. “You’re just too goddamn obstinate to admit you’re beaten.”
“Fisher, that’s enough,” Apgar warned.
Michael turned toward his sister. “Sara, you can’t be buying this. Think about the girls.”
“I am thinking about them. I’m thinking about everybody. I’m with Peter. He’s never steered us wrong.”
“Michael, I need to know you’re with us,” Peter said. “It’s that simple. Yes or no.”
“Okay, no.”
“Then you’re dismissed. The door is that way.”
Peter wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen next. For several seconds, Michael looked him dead in the eye. Then, with an angry sigh, he rose from the table.
“Fine. You make it through the night, you let me know. Lucius, are you coming?”
Greer glanced at Peter, eyebrows raised.
“It’s all right,” said Peter. “Somebody needs to look after him.”
The two men departed. Peter cleared his throat and continued: “The important thing is that we get through tonight. I expect every able-bodied person to man those walls, but we’ll need shelters for the rest. Ford?”
Chase rose, crossed to Peter’s desk, and returned with a rolled tube of paper, which he unfurled on the table and weighed down at the corners.
“This is one of the builders’ original schematics. Hardboxes were constructed here”—he pointed—“here, and here. All three date to the early days of the city, and none has been used in decades, not since the Easter Incursion. I don’t imagine they’re in very good shape, but with some reinforcement, we can use them in a pinch.”
“How many people can we fit?” Peter asked.
“Not many, at most a few hundred. Now, over here,” he continued, “you’ve got the hospital, which can fit, oh, maybe another hundred. Another, smaller box is underneath this building, the old bank vault. Full of files and other junk, but basically in good shape.”
“What about basements?”
“There aren’t a lot. A few beneath commercial buildings, some of the old apartment complexes, and we can safely assume there are a few in private hands. But the way the city was built, almost everything is on slab or pier. The soil by the river is mostly clay, so no basements at all. That extends from H-town all the way to the southern wall.”