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Chapters (92)
  1. Other Books by this Author
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. The Worst Dream in the World
  5. Chapter One
  6. Chapter Two
  7. Chapter Three
  8. Chapter Four
  9. Chapter Five
  10. Chapter Six
  11. Chapter Seven
  12. Chapter Eight
  13. Chapter Nine
  14. Chapter Ten
  15. Chapter Eleven
  16. Chapter Twelve
  17. Chapter Thirteen
  18. Chapter Fourteen
  19. The Year of Zero
  20. Chapter Fifteen
  21. Chapter Sixteen
  22. Chapter Seventeen
  23. The Last City
  24. Chapter Eighteen
  25. All Eyes
  26. Chapter Nineteen
  27. Chapter Twenty
  28. Chapter Twenty-One
  29. Chapter Twenty-Two
  30. Chapter Twenty-Three
  31. Girl from Nowhere
  32. Chapter Twenty-Four
  33. Chapter Twenty-Five
  34. Chapter Twenty-Six
  35. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  36. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  37. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  38. Chapter Thirty
  39. Chapter Thirty-One
  40. Chapter Thirty-Two
  41. Chapter Thirty-Three
  42. Chapter Thirty-Four
  43. The Night of Blades and Stars
  44. Chapter Thirty-Five
  45. Chapter Thirty-Six
  46. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  47. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  48. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  49. Chapter Forty
  50. Chapter Forty-One
  51. The Darklands
  52. Chapter Forty-Two
  53. Chapter Forty-Three
  54. Chapter Forty-Four
  55. Chapter Forty-Five
  56. Chapter Forty-Six
  57. The Haven
  58. Chapter Forty-Seven
  59. Chapter Forty-Eight
  60. Chapter Forty-Nine
  61. Chapter Fifty
  62. Chapter Fifty-One
  63. Chapter Fifty-Two
  64. Chapter Fifty-Three
  65. Chapter Fifty-Four
  66. Chapter Fifty-Five
  67. The Last Expeditionary
  68. Chapter Fifty-Six
  69. Chapter Fifty-Seven
  70. Chapter Fifty-Eight
  71. Chapter Fifty-Nine
  72. Chapter Sixty
  73. Chapter Sixty-One
  74. The Angel of the Mountain
  75. Chapter Sixty-Two
  76. Chapter Sixty-Three
  77. Chapter Sixty-Four
  78. Chapter Sixty-Five
  79. Chapter Sixty-Six
  80. Chapter Sixty-Seven
  81. Chapter Sixty-Eight
  82. Chapter Sixty-Nine
  83. Chapter Seventy
  84. The New Thing
  85. Chapter Seventy-One
  86. Chapter Seventy-Two
  87. Chapter Seventy-Three
  88. Chapter Seventy-Four
  89. Postscript - Roswell Road
  90. Acknowledgments
  91. About the Author
  92. Copyright

He didn’t die. Not right away and not as the days went by. And on the third day, he told her the story.

—There once was a little girl, Wolgast told her. More little even than you. Her name was Eva, and her mother and father loved her very much. The night after she was born, her father took her from her bassinet in the room at the hospital where they were all sleeping and held her, her bare skin against his own, and from that moment on she was inside him, really and truly. His girl was inside him, in his heart.

Somebody was probably watching, listening. The camera was over his shoulder. He didn’t care. Fortes came and went. He took her blood and changed her bags, and Wolgast talked, through the hours of the third day, telling it all to Amy, the story he’d told no one.

—And then something happened. It was her heart. Her heart, you see—he showed her the place on his chest where this was—began to shrink. While around her, her body grew, her heart did not, and then the rest of her stopped growing too. He would have given her his heart if he could, because it was hers to begin with. It had always been, and always would be, hers. But he couldn’t do this for her, he couldn’t do anything, no one could, and when she died, he died with her. The man that he was, was gone. And the man and the woman couldn’t love each other anymore, because their love was nothing but sadness now, and missing their little girl.

He told her the story, told it all. And when the story was ending, the day was ending with it.

—And then you came, Amy, he said. Then I found you. Do you see? It was like she’d come back to me. Come back, Amy. Come back, come back, come back.

He lifted his face. He opened his eyes.

And Amy opened hers, too.

Chapter Thirteen


THIRTEEN

Lacey in the woods: she moved at a crouch, darting tree to tree, putting distance between herself and the soldiers. The air was cold and thin, sharp in her lungs. She stood with her back against a tree and let herself breathe.

She wasn’t afraid. The soldiers’ bullets were nothing. She’d heard them ripping through the underbrush, but they hadn’t even come close. And so small! Bullets—how could bullets hurt a person? After the long distance she’d traveled, against such odds, how could they hope to scare her away with something as meager as that?