23

Kevin and Carla headed south by west, taking the same Refugee Trail used by Caleb and Zeke. A quarter moon rose above tall pines separating them from Charlotte’s perimeter wall. Some of the other travelers carried lanterns, which was good, because Kevin had not been this way in over a year. There were more people than he remembered, especially given the hour. These travelers were mostly silent—even the younger children gave off little more than a whimper. They journeyed in every possible manner of conveyance, even some trucks whose innards had been torn out to make way for steam engines. Their belching wheezes were by far the loudest noise.

Carla clearly had a destination in mind, where he assumed they would meet Pablo. For the moment it was enough. They followed other horses riding along the right-hand boundary, hurrying.

Mostly to take his mind off his throbbing leg and the drumbeat of worries, Kevin asked, “What happened before you and Pablo arrived in Charlotte?”

Carla replied in brief snatches, halting whenever other riders moved in close enough to overhear. Life in Richmond sounded fairly good to Kevin’s ear, though the couple had lived under the constant threat of Pablo’s brigade being called away to the border disputes with Mexico. His company protected the arteries connecting Richmond to the Appalachian townships and the surrounding farms, which were vital to Washington’s survival. Carla taught school. Their mothers met and quarreled as mothers do, and planned the wedding. Until the day Pablo brought home rumors of new sweeps. Some new way had been developed by the Washington scientists to uncover specials. What precisely, no one knew. Rumors were rife, none of them pleasant.

Refugees journeying from Washington and townships farther north confirmed the reports. Then Pablo’s troop was ordered to set up new barricades along the Washington highways. His company was placed under grim-faced Washington bureaucrats. They erected roadside camps with tall electrified fences topped by barbed wires and guard towers.

Pablo came for Carla and told her what was happening, and they ran.

The first sign Kevin had of change was a great smear of smoke that drifted over the moon. Then he smelled the camp, a strong mixture of people and animals and grilling meat. They rounded a corner and came upon a large clearing that extended west from the road. People began turning off, searching for an empty spot where they could rest.

Carla slipped from her mount and said quietly, “We leave the road here.”

To Kevin’s astonishment, she took a narrow trail leading east and north, back toward the perimeter fence. Kevin resisted the urge to tell her how dangerous that was. He sensed it would merely be wasted breath.

The path meandered through a forest of pine and oak before fading entirely away. Somewhere up ahead, Kevin knew, rose the township’s outermost boundary wall. He had heard they lined such remote sections of the city’s perimeter with traps intended to kill and maim.

Even so, smugglers got through. Overpass was home to families who passed down secret paths to trusted members of each new generation. Kevin suspected the trail they followed was one such route. And yet it vanished up ahead, lost to weeds and a pair of young dogwoods sprouting summer blooms.

He decided he had no choice but to say, “We should turn around.”

In reply, Carla lifted her face as though sniffing the night breeze that rattled the branches overhead. Then she lashed her horse’s reins to nearby branches and slipped between the young trees and continued on. Kevin hesitated, then followed.

The trail opened up again on the other side, only now it was merely an indentation in the weeds. Carla stepped carefully, and Kevin placed his footsteps directly upon her own. Two hundred paces farther, a guard tower’s searchlight flickered over the treetops directly ahead of them. Still Carla continued on. When the tower came into view and the light shone upon armed men patrolling the balcony, Kevin hissed, “We can go no farther.”

This time Carla halted. She raised her face once more and shut her eyes. The sweeping light shone upon her clenched fists and taut features. They waited there for what seemed like hours.

Then the searchlight went out.

Shouts rose from the soldiers stationed on the tower as a siren sounded in the distance. The electronic wail rose and fell, spurring the militia to action. Kevin could see their silhouettes as they clattered down the steep stairs. All the lights in this part of the city went out, which made the moon appear brighter still. A second Klaxon began to wail, this one farther away. The soldiers piled into a truck parked beneath the tower, only to discover the engine would not start. Kevin could not make out their words, but the soldiers were clearly frantic. Confused. Angry. An officer shouted above the fray, drawing the dozen or so troops into some semblance of order. They marched away.

Carla whispered, “Here they come.”

Kevin found no need to point out that whoever approached would still be on the other side of a triple fence topped with razor wire. Not to mention the possibility of dogs patrolling the no-man’s-land between the fences. Or mines and steel traps. Or . . .

Carla pointed. “They’re behind that first building.”

It appeared this area of Charlotte’s perimeter held small factories and warehouses. But there were a good two hundred yards separating the nearest structures from the fence. And another hundred yards of cleared terrain between the fence and the forest. A killing ground, Kevin’s combat instructor had called such areas. Bare space stripped of all cover, so that anyone who dared venture across would be decimated by fire from the tower.

Kevin could still see nothing move up ahead. Which was a good thing, because over to his right, high upon the darkened tower, two soldiers still stood guard. He was about to warn her, ask if there was any way for her to halt a suicidal rush by her fiancé, when the impossible happened.

The moon became shielded by a cloud that twenty seconds ago had not existed. A dark mist pushed toward them. The fog grew and extended until it covered the killing ground. Soon nothing inside the perimeter fence was visible. It drifted about the tower’s lower supports like a silent tide. If the soldiers up top noticed anything, they did not give any sign. From their perspective, they might have been simply observing a thick ground fog.

Then a head popped from the earth at Kevin’s feet.