I thought about that for a moment, then shook my head. “I don’t think that’s right. I think these people were always like that. Hatred, misogyny, racism, sexual abuse, and all the violence that goes with those things aren’t a byproduct of Lucifer 113. No, I think what happened is that the comprehensive failure of the infrastructure took the cultural and legal shackles off of people who have always harbored those appetites. It’s just now there’s no one left to stop them or punish them.”

She turned and gave me a long, appraising look. “There are people like you.”

“Oh, hush now,” I said.

The stars above us seemed to move as the world turned.

“It’s a gift,” said Abigail after a pause so long I thought she’d drifted off.

“What is?”

“The stars.”

Above us the roof of the world was painted with ten trillion chips of diamond dust. Some were planets, some were stars, and some, I knew, were whole galaxies. We could see the sweep of the Milky Way, too.

She said, “Before the plague there were always lights and most people—most of us—never really knew how much those lights washed away most of the stars. Even in the small town where I lived, there were lights. Street lights, stop lights, car lights.” She turned to me, her face edged with silver starlight. “Have you ever seen stars like this?”

“Before all this? Yes, but only in pretty remote places,” I said. “On ships far out to sea, in Death Valley, couple of deep deserts. And Antarctica once. A few other places. It’s humbling.”

“It’s everywhere now,” said Abigail. “A new twist on the Dark Ages, I suppose. And maybe that’s what this will be called. The New Dark Ages.”

“And yet,” I said, “look at how much light there is.”

She said nothing. When I glanced over at her I saw she was crying.

***

Later—much later—we got up and began walking along the road. Baskerville ranged ahead, silent for all his bulk, to make sure that we were not walking into danger. The world was full of monsters, but they were not everywhere all the time.

“Why are you out here, Joe?” asked Abigail. “What are you looking for?”

“Would it be corny to say I’m looking for hope?”

“A little.”

I grinned. “I’m looking for a man that I think is someone I used to know. Maybe you’ve run into him out here. Older man, very tough, exceptionally smart. Maybe wears black gloves . . . ?”

“Oh!” she said, smiling. “Mr. Church.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “You’ve met him?”

She walked three paces more, then turned. “Yes. A lovely man.”

“Wait, wait, stop,” I said, touching her arm. “This is important to me. I need to know if we’re really talking about the same person. Describe him to me.”