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  Organized mayhem.

  The French ambassador was spitting out his plea with remarkable conviction. “We are truly the victims of these barbarous terrorists—we, the innocent people of France! Our government has acted only in the best interest of our own citizens and the world community. No matter how impossible it might seem—no matter how suicidal, even—to not yield to their demands would be our true death. Better to live to fight another day than die over a cache of arms!”

  A dozen voices shouted in defiance as soon as the translation in their earpieces was complete. Some in agreement, it seemed to Robert; some in vehement opposition. The word “traitor” was in there somewhere—clear enough.

  He removed his earpiece. Majority leader Dwight Olsen had been on hold for the past minute. He picked up the black phone in front of him. “Okay, patch me through.”

  “The president will take your call now.”

  “Thank you,” Olsen’s voice crackled. “Good morning, Mr. President.”

  “I’m up in five minutes. What do you have, Dwight?”

  “I understand you’re considering declaring martial law.”

  “I’ll do what I think is necessary to keep Americans alive.”

  “I urge you to remember that people still have their rights. Martial law is pushing too far.”

  “Call it what you want. I’m calling out the National Guard today. Defense has drawn up a simple plan to deal with various contingencies. Curfew goes into effect tonight. I’m not going to get caught putting down a revolt at home while France is breathing down our necks.”

  “Sir, I strongly recommend—”

  “Not today. I took this call as a courtesy, but my course is set. We’ll all be dead in ten days if we can’t secure the antivirus. Our best hope for finding it died three days ago with Thomas Hunter—a man you dismissed out of hand, if you remember. Let’s hope his death bought us what we need. If not, I don’t know what we’re going to do. Our ships are halfway across the Atlantic. I’ve got five days to make the call, you understand. Five days! In that time we keep our citizens alive and we keep them from tearing up the country. Everything else takes a backseat.”

  “Still—”

  “In a few minutes I’m addressing the United Nations,” Blair continued. “A copy of my speech will be faxed to you then, but let me give you the gist of it. I’m going to tell them that the United States will do whatever we deem necessary to protect the lives of our citizens and the lives of all who stand with us in the respect of human life. Then I’m going to call upon France to make known to the world the exact methods and means by which it will administer an antivirus in exchange for the weapons that are now streaming to its northern shores. A guarantee. Without any such guarantee, the United States will be forced to assume that the New Allegiance intends to let us die a terrible death after we have been stripped of our weapons.”

  Dwight wasn’t reacting. They both knew where this was heading.

  “Under no circumstances will I lead my people to a needless death. If we are to be killed like sheep at the slaughter, then I will deal in kind to those who would threaten my people. With this in mind I’m authorizing the targeting of Paris and twenty-seven other undisclosed locations with nuclear weapons. In five days, short of receiving a guarantee that the United States will indeed be given an antivirus for the Raison Strain, much of France will cease to exist. The innocent citizens will have been fairly warned—make for the south. In a nutshell, you now have my speech. In light of our situation, martial is the least of your concerns.”

  An aide whispered softly in his ear. “Sir, I have Theresa Sumner from the CDC.”

  He nodded. The senate majority leader was still silent, reeling.

  “If you have a problem with this, take it up with me in the morning briefing. Thank you, Dwight. I have to go.”

  He set the phone down and took a cell phone from the aide. The deputy secretary of state, Merton Gains, was walking toward him carrying a red folder. Judging by the man’s face, the folder undoubtedly contained more bad news. The secretary of state was on his way to the Middle East for a summit with several Arab nations, but it was too soon for news from his meetings. What else could have prompted Gains’s entry? Too many possibilities to consider.

  The president lifted the cell phone to his ear. “Hello, Theresa.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. President.” Her voice sounded thin.

  “Any word on the tests?”

  “Yes.” She paused.

  Blair took a deep breath. “This isn’t sounding good.”

  “It’s not. Monique’s encoding survived the vaccine’s mutation, but I’m afraid it’s no longer effective in neutralizing the virus.”

  “Meaning it doesn’t work.”

  “Basically, yes.”

  “Well, does it or doesn’t it? Don’t give me ‘basically.’”

  “It doesn’t work. And to make matters worse, she’s gone missing.”

  “How could she go missing?”

  “We’re working on it. She didn’t show up this morning. Kara Hunter is frantic. Something about Monique being able to find Thomas.”

  It was the worst possible news he could have received two minutes before his address. Blair lowered his head and closed his eyes.

  “Um, sir?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I just wanted to apologize. I let some details about the Strain slip to—”

  “Yes, we know, Theresa. It’s okay; it had to come out sooner or later anyway. It worked out. Find Monique. As soon as you do, I want to see her in Washington.”

  He paused. This was a bad day for news. “And if you don’t mind, tell Kara that our forces found the farm Monique described to us outside of Paris. It’s deserted. There’s no sign of her brother. They also found the lean-to in the quarry, but no body. We had to pull our people. My condolences.”

  “Okay, I will. There’s still hope, sir. We have over ten thousand scientists working on a—”

  “Please. You’ve already done a good job persuading me that finding a solution in time is highly unlikely. We’re going to have to find the antivirus that already exists. Assuming they have it.”

  “Monique thinks they do,” Theresa said. “She seems quite confident it’s a combination of her code and the information Thomas Hunter gave them.”

  Merton Gains eased into a chair next to him and shot him a glance.

  “Yes, of course. Hunter. It all goes back to Hunter.” He sighed. “Okay, thank you. If anything new comes up, tell them to interrupt me.”

  He closed the phone, mind swimming.

  “It looks like it’s started,” Gains said. “We have reports of widespread rioting in Jakarta and Bangkok.” He opened the folder. “There are a number of cities on this report, sir.” He stopped and looked up at Blair. “Including Tel Aviv.”

  The skin at the back of Blair’s neck tingled. Israel? He’d spent a full hour on the phone with Isaac Benjamin early this morning, and it was all he could do to keep the man from hanging up on him. Israel was fracturing on every fault line inherent in their delicate political system. They were the only nation with nuclear weapons not to meet France’s schedule for compliance, and they’d received a new demand overnight, threatening a first strike if Israel didn’t ship their weapons from where they’d been gathered in the ports of Tel Aviv and Haifa.

  “Get Benjamin on the phone,” he said. “If he’s unavailable, I want you to speak to the deputy. We can’t stop the rioting, but we’d better keep the Israelis in line.”

  The UN’s secretary general was introducing him at the podium.

  “My address is only two minutes; you tell them to sit tight until I can talk to Benjamin.”

  “The president of the United States.”

  There was no applause.

  Blair approached the podium, shook the secretary general’s hand, and faced the circle of countries gathered in New York for answers to this, the world’s greatest crisis since man first formed nations.


  “Thank you. We’re gathered . . .”

  It was as far as he got. One of the doors to his right slammed open. The room was deadly silent and every head instinctively turned. There in the doorway stood his chief of staff, Ron Kreet, with an expression that made Blair think he’d swallowed a bitter pill. His face was pale.

  Kreet didn’t offer a hint of apology. He simply tapped his lips. Meaning he needed to speak to the president. Now.

  Blair glanced at the delegates. It was highly unusual, clearly, but Kreet knew this better than most—he’d spent two years as their ambassador to the United Nations.

  Something had happened. Something very bad.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Blair said and walked off the platform.

  32

  TWELVE ADULTS and five children. Seventeen. That was how many had entered the lake and escaped as outcasts.

  They rode for five hours in a strange silence. Slowly the others began to talk about their experience in the lake. Slowly the others’ sorrow over having lost Rachelle was replaced by the wonder of their own resurrection in the red waters. Slowly Thomas and Marie and Samuel were left to their own lingering sorrow.

  In the sixth hour, Thomas began to speak to Marie and Samuel about their mother. About how she had saved their lives and the lives of the others by leading them all to the lake. About her courage in placing them on the horses first and then saving his life by coming back for him. About Rachelle’s place now, with Elyon, though he really didn’t understand this last thing.

  They reached the forest’s northern edge after seven hours, and all signs of the pursuit were gone.

  There they rolled Rachelle in a blanket and buried her in a deep grave as was customary when the circumstances did not favor cremation. They set fruits and flowers by her body and then filled in the grave.

  “Mount!” he cried and swung into his saddle.

  A fresh determination had filled him over the hours. His destiny was now with Elyon. With every waking moment he would now honor the memory of his wife, and he would cherish the two children she’d given him, but his path was now beyond him.

  He sat on his horse and stared at the blistering, red-hued dunes. They’d stopped at a creek and filled the canteens sewn into all saddles. It was spring water, clear and fresh. They wouldn’t use it for bathing. Even then, they had only enough to keep them for two or three days at most.

  Johan eased his horse next to Thomas. “Now where?”

  He cleared his throat. “They won’t expect us to leave the forest.”

  “No, because there’s no sense in leaving the forest,” Mikil said from behind. “We’ve never lived in the desert. Where will we find water? Food?”

  “I’ve lived in the desert,” Johan said.

  “The desert,” Thomas said. “All I know is that we ride into the desert.”

  Johan looked at him. “You say that as if you know something more.”

  “Only that we are meant to be there.”

  “The sand will show our tracks,” Mikil said.

  “Not in the northern canyon lands,” Johan countered. “We could lose them for good there.”

  “We could lose ourselves for good there.”

  The others had mounted and now sat on their horses in a long line, staring out at the desert.

  “Do you think the lakes in the other forests are . . .” Jamous stopped.

  “Red?” Thomas said. “I don’t know. But they won’t work the way they used to. The only way to defeat the disease now is to follow Justin in his death.”

  “And the disease is gone forever,” Lucy said.

  Thomas turned to the little girl with bright green eyes. “You know this?”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “From whom?”

  “From Justin. In the lake.”

  He exchanged a knowing grin with the girl’s mother, Alisha.

  “She’s right,” Marie said.

  “Well. Then maybe Lucy should lead us. Where do you say we should go?” he asked.

  Lucy laughed. His own daughter managed a smile, which brought him hope, considering her loss. Thomas returned her smile. Her eyes watered and she turned away.

  He faced the red dunes again, resisting his own sorrow.

  “Will the Horde find us here, Johan?”

  “Not tonight. Tomorrow they will.”

  “Is . . .” Samuel asked the question no one had asked yet. “Is Justin dead?”

  “It depends on what you mean by Justin,” Thomas said.

  “I mean the Justin who drowned. Not Elyon, but Justin.”

  Justin. They all pondered the question.

  “We saw him drown,” Johan said. “And I watched the lake for several hours. He didn’t come up. If his body is gone, Ciphus may have stolen it to cast blame on Thomas. But does it matter if Justin is dead or not? It’s just a body he was using. Right? We all know that Elyon isn’t dead.”

  Johan had been the one who’d shoved his sword into that body—perhaps he was easing his guilt.

  They let the matter rest.

  Thomas looked down the line of horses. Five experienced warriors including William and Suzan, five children, and six civilians including Jeremiah, the converted old man who’d once been a Scab. Ronin and Arvyl, of course. And the last three were from the Southern Forest as well.

  An unlikely crew, but one he suddenly felt supremely proud of. From so many, these were the few who’d responded to Justin’s cry. The fate of the world now rested on the shoulders of people like Marie and Lucy and Johan. Thomas glanced at his arm. The disease would never gray it again. They were truly new people. No longer Forest People, certainly not the Horde. They were outcasts.

  They were the chosen. Those who had died. Those who lived.

  I love you, Rachelle. I love you dearly. I will always love you.

  He wanted to cry again.

  “Then we make camp here tonight,” he said, looking out at the red hills. “No fires.”

  “You’re saying we waste the rest of the day?” Mikil asked. “What if I’m wrong? What if they do come after us?”

  “Then we will post guards. But we wait here.”

  “What’s that?” Samuel asked.

  Thomas followed his gaze. A dot on the sand. A rider.

  His heart rose into his throat. The horse was riding hard, straight toward them from the desert. A scout?

  “Back!” Mikil said, pulling her horse around. “Take cover. If they see us, they’ll report it.”

  The horses responded to the tugs on their reins and retreated behind a row of trees.

  They peered from their hiding. The rider was moving as fast as Thomas had ever seen, down the slope of the last dune, leaving a trail of disturbed sand in his wake. A black horse. The rider was dressed in white. His cloak flapped behind him and he rode on the balls of his feet, bent over.

  “It’s him!” Lucy cried. She dropped off her mother’s horse and was running before Thomas could stop her.

  “Lucy!”

  “It’s Justin!” she said.

  Thomas blinked, strained for a better view. His heart hammered. And then he knew that the man on the black horse riding pell-mell toward them was Justin.

  His shoulder-length hair flew with his cape, and even at this distance, Thomas was sure he could see the brilliant green of his eyes. His passion was immediately infectious.

  Thomas was frozen by the sudden realization that Justin was actually alive.

  Had he come to give Rachelle back to him?

  Justin’s horse stamped to a halt twenty feet from the trees. His eyes were on Lucy, who was running out to him.

  This was Elyon, and Elyon leaned over the side of his horse, grabbed Lucy under her arms, swept her up into his saddle, and spurred his horse into a full sprint. Lucy squealed. He swung the horse back less than fifty paces out and rode in a wide circle, now laughing aloud with the girl.

  Thomas urged his horse forward, but he wasn’t the only one; they were
all rushing from the trees and dismounting.

  Justin rode in, lowered Lucy to the ground, and measured them all with a bright, mischievous glint in his eyes.

  “Good afternoon,” he said.

  None of them replied.

  “How did you like the lake?”

  Thomas slid off his saddle, dropped to one knee, and lowered his head. “Forgive me.”

  Justin dismounted and walked up to him. “I have. And you followed me, didn’t you?” He touched Thomas’s cheek. “Look at me.”

  Thomas lifted his head. There wasn’t a blemish on Justin’s face to show for the pounding he’d taken. Except for his eyes, he looked every bit human. Yet in those deep emerald eyes Thomas could see only Elyon.

  “I knew I could depend on you. Thank you,” Justin said.

  Thomas wasn’t sure he’d heard just right. Thank you? He lowered his head, swamped with emotion. What about Rachelle?

  “Look at me, Thomas.”

  When he looked up, he saw that tears were running down Justin’s face. Thomas began to cry. He didn’t know there was anything left in him to cry, but there, kneeling, staring into Elyon’s crying eyes, he began to shake with long, desperate sobs.

  “You understand what you’ve done, and it’s tearing at your mind. You want your wife back, I know. But that’s not what I have in mind.”

  “I’m sorry!” He sounded foolish, but at the moment he only wished he could say whatever was needed to earn Justin’s complete forgiveness for his doubt.

  “You’re a prince to me,” Justin said. “I’ve shown you my mind and my way, but soon I will show you my heart.”

  “But Rachelle . . .” Thomas’s heart felt as though it might explode.

  “Is in good hands,” Justin finished. “Laughing like she used to in the lake.”