And then, not wanting to prolong the farewell any further, she thanked her again before turning her back on the study in blue that was Cindy French, tossing a wave back over her shoulder, and striding away in the direction of the federal government outpost. She didn’t look back, even though it seemed like a long time before the Kenworth went into gear and pulled away, gradually building up speed as it disappeared down I-35. The deep growl of the massive eighteen-wheel semitrailer was audible for another minute or so afterwards.

Temple was not a ghost town, but apart from the federales stationed here because of the Mandate, there was no other activity to be seen. The avenue down which she walked was clear of the sort of wreckage or debris that inevitably choked the streets of any settlement larger than a hamlet or small village. But Sofia could see that many of the side streets were still impassable, with great piles of burnt-out automobiles and, in one instance, a twin-bladed military helicopter. Here and there, she passed the shells of buildings that had gone up in flames after the Disappearance. Sometimes whole blocks lay in ruins. But for some reason, Temple had been spared the heavy-handed destruction that had fallen on so many larger towns and cities. She had no idea why, and did not much care. She supposed that the authorities in Seattle had chosen this place for the outpost because its centre needed relatively little cleaning up before they could move people in; and because Temple was convenient to Blackstone’s headquarters, but still far enough away from him that it didn’t feel as though his boot was on your neck.

Wary of being spotted by one of the patrols Cindy had mentioned, Sofia ducked into the next side street she passed. It appeared as though an old school bus had collided with a refrigerated truck when the drivers and all the children had Disappeared. She felt sad about the kids and hoped they’d been unaware of the horror that fell upon then. Not like her brother and sisters. The intersection was completely blocked by the wreckage, which snaked away down the street in a concertina of mangled steel and rusted flame-ravaged car bodies. Weeds and thigh-high grass, course and wiry, choked the pavement and covered most of the road surface. The ruins of small commercial buildings she’d passed near the junction with the highway now gave way to a more suburban setting. The small houses and bungalows, many of them with broken windows and slumping roofs, looked as though no human being had set foot in them for many years.