He dropped to his knees and straddled Alicia’s waist; his fingers wrapped her throat. His eyes and mind filled with the loathsome sight of her. “He was my friend!”
More voices, not just Amy’s, were yelling at him, but this was a matter of no importance. They might just as well have been calling to him from the moon. Alicia was making a gurgling sound; her lips were paling to a bluish color. She was squinting into the morning light. Through these narrow slits, their gazes met. In her eyes, Peter saw not fear but fatalistic acceptance. Go ahead, her eyes said. We’ve done everything else together, why not this? Beneath the pads of his thumbs, he felt the stringy gristle of her trachea. He shifted them downward, positioning them in the spoonlike depression at the base of her throat. Hands had grabbed him. Some were tugging at his shoulders, others attempting to pry his fingers from her neck. “He was my friend and you killed him! You killed all of them!” One hard push to crush her larynx and that would be the end of her. “Say it, you traitor! Say you knew!”
A tremendous force yanked him away. He crashed onto his back in the dust. Hollis.
“Take a breath, Peter.”
The man had positioned himself between Peter and Alicia, who had begun to cough. Amy was kneeling beside her, cradling her head.
“We all heard her,” Hollis said. “She was trying to warn us.”
Peter’s face was burning; his hands, clenched into fists, shook with adrenaline. “She lied to us.”
“I understand your anger. We all do. But she didn’t know.”
Peter’s awareness expanded. The others were watching him in mute incomprehension. Caleb. Chase. Jock, leaning on his crutches. The old man, who was, for some reason, still carrying his bucket.
“Now, do I have your agreement to leave her be—yes or no?” Hollis said.
Peter swallowed. The fog of fury had begun to dissipate. Another moment and he nodded.
“All right, then,” said Hollis.
He extended a hand and pulled Peter to his feet. Alicia’s coughing had eased somewhat. Amy looked up. “Caleb, run and get Sara.”
Amy waited by Alicia until Sara arrived. At the sight of Alicia, she startled.
“You’re kidding me.” Her voice was dispassionate, lacking all pity.
“Please, Sara,” said Amy. There were tears in her eyes.
“You think I’m helping her?” Sara scanned the others. “She can go to hell.”
Hollis took her by the shoulders to make her look at him. “She’s not our enemy, Sara. Please believe me. And we’re going to need her.”
“What for?”
“To help us get out of here. Not just you and me. Pim. Theo. The girls.”
A moment passed; Sara sighed and broke away. She crouched beside Alicia, passing her eyes quickly over her without expression, then looked up. “I’m not doing this with an audience. Amy, you stay. The rest of you, a little space, please.”
The group backed away. Caleb took Peter aside.
“Dad? Okay?”
He wasn’t sure what to say. His anger had faded, but not his doubt. He glanced past his son’s shoulder. Sara was moving her hands over Alicia’s chest and stomach, pressing with her fingertips.
“Yeah.”
“Everybody understands.”
Caleb said nothing more; neither did anyone else. A few more minutes went by before Sara rose and went to them.
“She’s broken up pretty badly.” Her tone was indifferent; she was doing a job, that was all. “I can’t really tell the full extent. And in her case, things will probably happen differently. A couple of the gunshot wounds have closed up already, but I don’t know what’s happening inside. She’s got a broken back, and about six other fractures I can detect.”
“Will she live?” Amy asked.
“If she were anyone else, she’d be dead already. I can sew her up and set her leg. She needs to be immobilized. As for the rest …” She shrugged without feeling. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Caleb and Chase returned with a stretcher; they carried Alicia inside. All the survivors had been brought out of the shelter and had gathered in the staging area. Jenny and Hannah were moving through the group with buckets of water and ladles. Here and there, a person was sobbing; others were talking quietly or just gazing into space.
“So what now?” Chase asked.
Peter felt unattached to everything, almost floating. Particles of ash, bitter-smelling, drifted down. The fires had begun to spread. Leaping from building to building, they would sweep down to the river, consuming everything in their path. Other parts of the city, spared from the flames, would take longer—years, decades. Rain, wind, the devouring teeth of time—all would do their work. Peter could see it in his mind. Kerrville would become one more ruin in a world of them. He was suddenly crushed by the simplicity of it all. The city had fallen; the city was gone. He felt it keenly: the stab of defeat.
“Caleb?”
“Here, Dad.”
Peter turned. His son was waiting; everyone was. “We need vehicles. Buses, trucks, whatever you can find. Fuel, too. Hollis, you go with him. Ford, what do we have for power?”