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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 thought of Theo, lifted up. He thought of his father, standing at the edge of the sea, and of the sea and stars. He thought of the girl, covering his body with her own, the warmth and sweetness of her breath on his neck and on his cheek where she had kissed him.

His friends were calling and waving from below, the virals were coming up the stairs, the axe was in his hand.

Not now, he thought, not yet, and he closed his eyes and jumped.

Chapter Twenty-Three


TWENTY-THREE

It was summer again and she was alone. Alone with no one but the voices she heard, everywhere and all around.

She remembered people. She remembered the Man. She remembered the other man and his wife and the boy and then the woman. She remembered some more than others. She remembered no one at all. She remembered one day thinking: I am alone. There is no I but I. She lived in the dark. She taught herself to walk in the light, though it was not easy. For a time it pained her, made her sick.

She walked and walked. She followed the mountains. The Man had told her to follow the mountains, to run and keep on running, but then one day the mountains ended; the mountains were no more. She never could find them again, those same ones. Some days she went nowhere at all. Some days were years. She lived here and there, with these and those, with the man and his wife and the boy and then the woman and finally with no one at all. Some of the people were kind to her, before they died. Others were not so. She was different, they said. She was not like them, not of them. She was apart and alone and there were no others like her in all the world. The people sent her away or they did not, but in the end they always died.

She dreamed. She dreamed of voices, and the Man. For some time of months or years she could hear the Man in the howl of the wind and the scrape of the stars if she listened just so, and it gave her a longing in her heart for his care. But over time’s passage his voice became all mixed in her mind with the voices of the others, the dreaming ones, both there and not there, as the dark was a thing but not a thing, a presence and an absence joined. The world was a world of dreaming souls who could not die. She thought: there is the ground below my feet, there is the sky over my head, there are the empty buildings and the wind and rain and stars and everywhere the voices, the voices and the question.

Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?