She took a step toward him.

“Lucy!”

“Shut up. I know what I’m doing, Whitman.”

Preach smiled benignly. “Of course she does.” He held out his hand. The instant she took it, he jerked hard, pulling her to him, against him. Whitman saw the knife emerge from her fist, but Preach did, too, and he tried to wrench it out of her hand. “What are you doing, you little fool?”

Off to their left, the hunting lodge that had been smoldering from the missile strike now flamed up and began to burn in earnest.

“Charlie!” Whitman shouted. “Charlie! Where are you? Get out of there, the whole house is going up!”

Smoke was billowing, but Preach and Lucy, oblivious, continued to struggle. Then, all at once, she ceded control of the knife to him, lifted her arms, and began to press her thumbs into his eyes.

Preach’s lips moved silently, a shadow fanned across the spot where they stood, and Lucy cried out, then stood paralyzed, as if she had been turned to stone.

“I schooled you, trained you, gave you the power you wanted most, and still you betray me.” He made a gesture, and the shadow deepened and spread over Lucy, turning her skin white as milk. “Why would you betray me? I was your mentor, the font of your power. Without me you were nothing. Less than nothing.” With every beat of her heart, her life’s blood seemed to be evaporating inside her.

“Stop it!” Whitman cried. “Preach, leave her be. You’re turning her into—”

“I know what I’m turning her into,” Preach said.

In the extreme periphery of his vision Whit saw Charlie emerge from the house, holding her partly singed backpack by one of its straps, and his heart lifted. She was coughing, her eyes streaming. She leaped off what was left of the ruined porch, stumbled, and regained her footing. Behind her, the house was in flames, steaming like an engine, the rain not yet strong enough to slow the fire.

Preach spun in her direction, but his eyes did not focus on her. “Who is this?” The shadow left Lucy and moved toward Charlie. As it did, the rain came, spattering Lucy’s upturned face. Her lids trembled.

The shadow crossed over Whitman, and he shivered.

“Who are you?” Preach yelled out to Charlie. “You don’t belong in this future.”

“It’s no longer the future,” Whitman said. He tried to move closer to Preach, but the air had turned glutinous. Each step felt like wading in water with the tide going out. He kept getting sucked back in the direction from which he’d come.

“God.” Lucy blinked. She murmured, as if to herself, “Jesus help me.”

“Charlie,” Whitman called, “stay away. You don’t know—”

“He doesn’t see me, Whit.” She continued coming on toward Preach. “Even now, he doesn’t know who I am.”