"What's wrong?" Francine repeated.

He twisted around to face forward again, and leaned over the wheel to peer up at the skies above San Francisco and the Bay Area.

"More asteroids, Dad!" Marty cried out. "More explosions!"

These were a lot closer and a lot brighter, however, as sharp as blowtorches, leaving red spots in his vision. The Bay Area was still over twenty miles away, and these flashes were high in the night sky. Some kind of action, another battle, was taking place perhaps no more than a hundred miles above San Francisco.

Francine started to get out of the car but he stopped her. She stared at him, face twisted with fear and anger, but said nothing.

Four more high flares, and then the night returned.

Arthur was almost surprised to find himself weeping. His anger was a frightening thing. "Those bastards," he said, pounding the wheel. "Those goddamn bloody fucking bastards."

"Daddy," Marty whimpered.

"Shut up, goddammit," Arthur shrieked, and then he grabbed his wife's arm with his left hand and reached for Marty in the rear seat with his right. He shook them firmly, repeating over and over again, "Don't ever forget this. If we survive, don't you ever, ever forget this."

"What happened, Art?" Francine asked, trying to keep calm. Marty was screaming now, and Arthur closed his eyes in grief and sorrow, the anger turned inward because he had lost control. He listened to a few of the voices on the network, trying to piece things together.

"Seattle's gone," he said. Trevor Hicks, all the others.

"Where's Gauge, Dad?" Marty asked through his tears. "Is Gauge alive?"

"I think so," Arthur said, shaking violently. The enormity. "They're trying to destroy our escape ships, the arks. They want to make sure there are no humans left."

"What? Why?" Francine asked.

"Remember," he repeated. "Just remember this, if we make it."

It took him almost twenty minutes to become calm enough to pull back into the slow lane. San Francisco and the Bay Area had been adequately protected. Suddenly, and without reservation—without any persuasion whatsoever—he loved the Bosses and the network and all the forces arrayed to protect and save them. His love was fierce and primal. This is what a partisan feels like, watching his countryside get pillaged.

"They bombed Seattle?" she asked. "The . . . aliens, or the Russians?"

"Not the Russians. The planet-eaters. They tried to bomb San Francisco, too." And Cleveland, which had survived, and Shanghai, which had not, and who knows how many other ark sites? A fresh shiver worked down from his shoulders to his sacrum. "Christ. What will the Russians do? What will we do?"

The car's steering wheel vibrated. Above the engine noise, they heard and felt a shuddering groan. The rock-borne vibrations of Seattle's death passed under them.

Chapter 63

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