"It's an elevator," the woman said. "No, it's a stairway. We're supposed to go inside. You, me, and him." She pointed at herself, Reuben, and Ian on the upper deck. "Nobody else."

"I know," Reuben said. At least it's not rocking.

Donovan stood by the port gangway and pulled it aside as the pilot brought the boat as close to the block as he dared. Mickey wheeled a shorter gangplank to the gangway and pushed it out to the block's entrance. It was safe enough and no more. The woman crossed first, impatient, buffeted by the wind, gripping the single raised handrail tightly; then Reuben, and finally Ian.

She was already descending a spiral staircase within the block when Reuben stopped at the rear of the alcove. He peered down after her. Ian came up behind him.

"That's it?"

"That's it," Reuben affirmed.

"Better go, then."

They descended. Above them, the hatch shut with a gentle hum.

Chapter 59

59

There was a wildly canted floor, smoke coming up through the boards and tile, a gout of steam and rock, and the walls falling away. He felt himself lifted and screamed.

Sitting upright in the bed, Arthur blinked at the unfamiliar room. Marty was on his hands and knees crying hysterically in the next bed.

Francine put her arms around Arthur.

"There's nothing," she said. "There's nothing." She let him go and crawled out from under the covers to embrace Marty. "Dad was having a nightmare," she said. "He's all right."

"It was here" Arthur said. "I felt it. Ahh, God"

Marty was quiet now. Francine came back to their bed and lay next to him. "You'd think they'd help you with your dreams or something," she said, somewhat bitterly.

"I wish they'd blocked that one," he said. "I could—"

"Shhh," Francine said, wrapping her arms around him now. She was shivering. "Bad enough if we have to live through it. Why do we have to dream about it, too?"

"Have you dreamed about it?"

She shook her head. "I will, though. I know I will. Everybody will, the closer it gets." Her shivers turned into something more. Her teeth clicked together as she held him. Arthur stroked her face with his fingers and tightened his grip on her, but she was not to be consoled. Without tears, she shook violently, silently, her neck muscles locked with the effort of not making a sound, not scaring Marty.

"We-we-we wou-would die," she whispered harshly.

"Shh," he said. "Shh. I'm the one who had the nightmare."

"We would d-die," she repeated. "I w-want to scream. I n-n-need to scream, Art." She glanced at Marty, still awake, listening, watching from where he lay.

"Is Mommy all right?" Marty asked.

Arthur didn't answer.

"Mommy!" Marty barked.

"I-I'm fine, honey." Her shaking hadn't diminished.

"Your mother's scared," Arthur said.

"Stop it," Francine demanded, glaring at him.

"We're all very scared," Arthur said.

"Is it happening now?" Marty asked.