“Yes. We helped build half of New York, or at least the bones of most of the buildings. Shame what happened to it.” A beat. “I mean before this whole outbreak thing. Used to be a decent place, once upon a time. People you met on the street could speak English, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes,” said the woman. Church smiled up at her, and damn if she didn’t smile back.

“What are you doing?” asked Dahlia in a tiny whisper.

“Roll with it,” he said, hardly moving his lips. In a much louder voice he said, “My niece wasn’t exaggerating about the Rovers. They’re quite a savage bunch. Unwashed, unintelligent, uncouth, but there are a lot of them and they are coming.”

The woman was still unconvinced. Dahlia saw her eyes roving over the rest of the Pack. There were people of all colors in her group, and they looked pretty raw and wild, too.

Before the woman on the walls could answer, there was a sudden shrill blast of whistles from the woods. Not one, but many.

Church pointed to the forest. “That’s them. They’re coming. Either let us in and we can fight them together, or we’ll get out of here before they show up. I certainly don’t like the idea of fighting all of them in an open field.”

The whistles were still distant, but it was clear they were drawing closer. Dahlia wondered if it was intended to spook the people behind the walls, or to gather the various gangs of Rovers together. Or both.

The woman on the wall pursed her lips, giving her face a pinched, shrewish cast. The same man who’d whispered to her earlier now produced a pair of binoculars and handed them to her, pointing to a section of the forest three hundred yards to the west. The woman looked for a moment through the glasses and then jerked them away from her eyes, her shrewish expression instantly replaced by one of naked fear.

Before she could speak, Church turned away and said, very loudly and clearly, “Okay, kids, we need to move. Everyone head to the east woods. We don’t want to be here for this and—”

“No!” cried the woman. “No, please, come inside.”

The gates began to swing outward.

Church gave Dahlia a wink, but he sustained his drama for a bit. He stopped, glanced up at her with a troubled, doubtful face; then cut looks at the woods and at the Pack.

“Maybe we’ll do better on our own,” he said slowly.

“Please,” cried the woman, “they’re coming. I can see them.”

Dahlia had to fight to keep a smile off her face. She understood how Church was playing this. Instead of begging, he made her ask. Made her, in fact, beg.