“Not now, when they’re just a bunch of squatters. But when the storms come, they gather in herds, and once they get into their trance state, it’s all hive mind and no mercy.”

Or so it was said.

“The lunatic fringe,” Rubio mused. “The city’s always had one, but now they’ve found a god that appears to them on a regular basis.” He sounded envious.

“Told you there was weather coming. Can we leave now?”

As the Stormies rattled and banged their way east toward Second, we slipped west along the fencing until their noise receded.

Rubio was grinning, mostly with relief. “Nothing like a bit of excitement . . .”

“The kind I don’t need.” At Lex, I turned north. “I’m out of here.”

“Yep. Keep an eye out. If there’s real weather coming, the Stormies will be stirring.”

“Maybe you should pay the Gimme herbalists a visit. You’ll be right there.”

“Maybe I will.”

But I knew he wouldn’t. Those earthy women seemed to intimidate him. I watched him slink west along 21st Street. He coughed a long string as he vanished into the night. No question his health was worsening. Maybe it wasn’t just malaria. Maybe it was TB. Rousseau’s medics said a lot of the old diseases were showing up again, along with all the new ones. People lacked immunity and it was so hard to find drugs, never mind current vaccines. Maybe at the Souk I could trade the old book for the up-to-date meds Rubio needed. First, I’d better learn what they were.

Tucking that idea away, I went along up Lex. Even two long blocks to the east, I could smell the damp green of Madison Square, the home of Gimme Shelter. More of a farm than a den, and vulnerable, living in scattered commercial buildings around the square. But as long as enough grass grew to feed their livestock and their vegetable gardens stayed dry enough to plant, they swore to stick it out. Gimme Shelter took in only women, mostly who’d been abused or terrorized by men, but also pregnant den ladies about to deliver. Unca Joe’s shrink had once asked if I’d feel more comfortable there. I’d said I wasn’t scared of men in general, just the ones who hit on me. After all, a man had saved my life and I was grateful. I had none of the Gimmes’ special skills for herbal healing or midwifery. They were strong and independent but, y’know . . . not denned up. I worried for their safety.

The moist night air diffused light, so I could see the Causeway’s glow from blocks away. Day-shift pickers avoided it, with its patrols of Murray Hill’s private police watching out for Mainland tourists who stopped by for lunch on their way to gawk at the Empire State Building and other landmarks of Manhattan’s glorious past.