“Get down! That’s it!”

“No.” The smallest boy, whose name Blake couldn’t recall, stared out an open window past Blake and Father Reilly.

“That’s Batman,” he said.

Blake spun around to see the Bat thundering out of the heart of Gotham, coming in their direction, dragging a blazing star behind it. Smoke rose from a busted skyscraper that looked as if a missile had hit it. The cop squinted at the radiant globe hanging from the aircraft. He knew what it had to be.

But where was Batman taking it?

The Bat flew toward the river, growing nearer by the second. Father Reilly crossed himself as the aircraft curved dangerously close to the demolished bridge before heading for the mouth of the river. . . and the bay.

And the ocean beyond. Moving at uncanny speed.

The Bat and its fiery cargo receded into the distance. Shielding his eyes against the glare, Blake watched as the core appeared to shrink to a tiny point of light— before bursting like an exploding star.

A hellish mushroom cloud blossomed on the horizon. Nuclear thunder could be heard from miles away. For just a second, winter turned into summer. Blake and Father Reilly hurled themselves to the ground moments before the shock wave rushed over Gotham, carrying a ferocious blast of wind, heat, dust, and ash that blew through the entire city, from Blackgate to City Hall. Blake guessed that even the stately walls of Wayne Manor were shaking.

He huddled on the ground, wondering if this was the end.

But then the blast subsided, and he was still there. He lifted his eyes cautiously and saw the city still standing. If anything, it looked as if the blast had scoured away some of the grime that had accumulated over the years. He heard the boys on the bus shouting in excitement.

A grin broke out across his face.

He did it, Blake realized. He saved us all.

Army helicopters appeared in the air, coming from the mainland, and boats began to appear on the river, now that the danger had passed. Now that Batman had sacrificed himself. Blake shook his head, took out his badge, and gazed at it thoughtfully.

He threw it into the river.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

“‘I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss.…’”

The gardens were blooming on the Wayne estate. Gordon read solemnly from his copy of A Tale of Two Cities. Lucius Fox, his arm in a sling, stood beside him, along with John Blake, whose expression was grim. A fourth man stood off to one side, lost in his own grief.

“‘I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of the descendants, generations hence. It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done.’”

Gordon closed the book. He gazed down at a simple grave, its marker bearing the name of Bruce Wayne. His throat tightened as he recited the final words.