“That means that I get to decide on the punishment. The sentence. Whatever. I get to decide and you all have to accept it.”

In the front row of the seats reserved for the defendants, Margaret Van Sloane sat straight as a ramrod, but her eyes were haunted. She was deeply afraid. No one seemed willing to offer her comfort. A lot of people gave her looks of unfiltered hate.

Dahlia continued. “If the verdict is guilty, I can decide on what’s appropriate for punishment. I could have everyone on trial here locked away forever. I could have you shot. I could even take you out to the woods and tie you up like you did to all those people. I could do that, and I have enough people here to make sure that whatever I decide gets done.”

No one spoke.

“Same goes if the verdict is not guilty. I can impose all sorts of restrictions on you and make sure you work in the fields for the rest of your life. Even if the verdict says not guilty. I’m the judge and that means I guess I get to make the rules.”

Ledger cut a look at Church, who gave a small shake of his head.

Dahlia took a breath, then tore open the envelope. She read it, nodding to herself. When she looked up at the crowd, they were all staring at her, intent and tense.

“Guilty,” she said. “I mean . . . of course they’re guilty.”

There was a sob from one of the defendants. There were sobs from some of the helpers, too.

Mr. Church cleared his throat. “And what is the sentence?” he asked.

Dahlia nodded again and let the paper fall to the floor.

“The world ended,” she said. “Maybe as much as seven billion people died. We’re pretty close to being extinct and yet you parasites dragged old thinking into this world. Hatred, intolerance, all of that. You had the chance to leave all of that behind and yet you didn’t. You tried to make it part of this world. You’re no better than the Rovers. You do know that, right?” She walked over to stand looking down at Margaret Van Sloane. “We killed the Rovers. Every last one of them we could find. And why? Because they were predators and monsters a lot worse than the living dead. All they wanted was to take, to own, to have. They weren’t going to give anything back to the world. So . . . tell me, Mayor Van Sloane, what should we do to you?”

Van Sloane tried to meet her eyes, tried to stare Dahlia down, but she could not. Not one of the defendants could do that.

“I should have you all killed,” Dahlia said to them. “I should. Hell, I know that’s what you would do.”

She hooked a finger under the mayor’s chin and forced her head up.

“Look at me,” she snarled.