The City of Mirrors: A Novel (Book Three of The Passage Trilogy)

by Justin Cronin

  So there it was. “What does he want with her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you lie to me.”

  “Where is she, Peter?”

  “I have no idea. Nobody’s seen Amy in over twenty years.”

  Alicia’s tone had shifted; all her bluster was gone. “Listen to me, please. There’s no stopping this. You’ve seen what he can do. He’s not like the others. The others were nothing.”

  “We have walls. We have lights. We’ve fought them before. Go back and tell him that.”

  “Peter, you don’t get it. He doesn’t have to do anything. You have, what, just a few thousand soldiers? And how much food? How much gas? Give him what he wants. It’s your only chance.”

  “Private Wilson, step forward please.”

  Hollis moved into the lights.

  “You remember Hollis, don’t you, Lish? Why don’t you say hello.”

  Her head was bowed. “Why do you even ask me that?”

  “How about his daughter, Kate? She would have been a little girl the last time you saw her.”

  Alicia nodded.

  “Say it. Say you remember Kate.”

  “Yes, I remember her.”

  “I’m glad you do. She grew up to be a doctor, just like her mother. Two little girls of her own. Then one of your friends bit her last night. Want to know what happened next?”

  Alicia was silent.

  “Do you?”

  “Just get on with it, Peter.”

  “All right, I will. That little girl you remember? She shot herself.”

  Her silence infuriated him. What had happened to her? What had she become?

  “You don’t have anything to say for yourself?”

  “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? You can do what you want with me, but that won’t stop a thing.”

  Peter’s pulse was pounding; his hands were clenched. He jabbed a finger at her. “Look at him. I’ll get Sara out here, Kate’s daughters, too. You can tell all of them how fucking sorry you are.”

  Alicia said nothing.

  “Two hundred thousand people, Lish. And you come here and talk about surrender? Like he’s your friend?”

  Her shoulders shook. Was she crying?

  “I’ll ask you again. What does Fanning want with Amy?”

  Her head rocked from side to side. “I don’t know.”

  “Gunnar, give me your sidearm.”

  Apgar drew his pistol, spun it in his hand, and passed it to Peter. Peter released the magazine, checked it, and shoved it back into the well, making a loud show of it.

  Michael said, “Peter, what the hell are you doing?”

  “This woman is a viral. She’s in league with the enemy.”

  “It’s Alicia! She’s one of us!”

  Peter strode forward and leveled the barrel at Alicia’s temple. “Tell me, goddamnit.”

  “I know she’s here,” Alicia murmured. “I can hear it in your voice.”

  He thumbed back the hammer and spoke through gritted teeth. He was running on instinct now, a blind white fury, obliterating all thought. “Answer the question or I am going to put a bullet through your head.”

  “Wait.”

  He turned. Amy, clutching Greer’s arm for balance, was standing at the edge of the circle.

  “Lucius, get her the hell out of here.”

  Two soldiers moved to block their path. One pressed a hand against Greer’s chest. The man tensed, then, apparently changing his mind, permitted this.

  “Let me talk to her,” Amy said.

  The idea was ludicrous. The woman could barely stand; a puff of wind would have knocked her to her knees.

  “I mean it, Greer.”

  “I understand you’re angry,” Amy said, “but there’s more to this than you know.”

  She spoke to him as one might address a dangerous animal or a man poised at the lip of an abyss. Peter was suddenly conscious of the pistol’s slick weight in his hand.

  “Lucius can stay where he is,” Amy said, “but if you want answers, you need to let me through.”

  Peter looked back at Alicia. The woman’s head hung in submission; she seemed small, frail, broken. Had he really been about to shoot her? This seemed impossible, yet in the moment, something had taken him over, beyond his control.

  “Please, Peter.”

  The moment stretched; everyone was staring.

  “All right,” he said. “Let her pass.”

  The soldiers stepped back. Amy’s shadow lay long on the ground as she approached Alicia’s cowed figure. Using her body to shield Alicia’s face from the light, Amy crouched before her.

  “Hello, sister. It’s good to see you.”

  “I’m sorry, Amy.” Her shoulders shook. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Tenderly, Amy lifted Alicia’s chin with the tips of her fingers. “Do you know how proud I am of you? You’ve been so very strong.”

  Tears were coursing down Alicia’s cheeks, cutting bright streaks in the dirt. “How can you say that to me?”

  Amy smiled into her face. “Because we’re sisters, isn’t that so? Sisters in blood. My thoughts have never been far from you, you know.”

  Alicia said nothing.

  “He comforted you, didn’t he?”

  Her lips were wet, tears rolling off her chin. “Yes.”

  “He took you in, cared for you. He made you feel that you were not alone.”

  Alicia’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”

  “Do you see? That’s why I’m so proud of you. Because you didn’t give in, not in your heart.”

  “But I did.”

  “No, sister. I know what it’s like to be alone. To be outside the walls. But that’s over now.” Without breaking Alicia’s gaze, Amy lifted her voice to the assembly. “Everyone, are you listening? You can put your guns down. This woman is a friend.”

  “Hold your positions,” Peter commanded.

  Amy swiveled her face toward him. “Peter, didn’t you hear me? She’s with us.”

  “I need you to step away from the prisoner.”

  In confusion, Amy looked back at Alicia, then at Peter once more.

  “It’s okay,” Alicia said. “Do as he says.”

  “Lish—”

  “He’s only doing what he has to. You really need to back away now.”

  An uncertain moment passed; Amy got to her feet. Another pause, her expression tentative, and she backed away. Alicia dropped her head.

  Peter said, “Colonel, go ahead.”

  Henneman approached Alicia from behind. He had donned a pair of heavy rubber gloves; in his hands was a metal rod wrapped with copper wire, one end connected by a long cord to the generator powering the lights. As the tip of the rod made contact with the base of Alicia’s neck, she jerked upright, her shoulders pulled back and her chest thrust forward, as if she’d been impaled. She made no sound at all. For a few seconds she stayed that way, every muscle taut as wire. Then the air let out of her and she toppled face-first into the dirt.

  “Is she out?”

  Henneman nudged Alicia’s ribs with the toe of his boot. “Looks like it.”

  “Peter, why?”

  “I’m sorry, Amy. But I can’t trust her.”

  A truck was backing toward them. Two men jumped down from the cargo bay and dropped the tailgate.

  “All right, gentlemen,” Peter said. “Let’s haul this woman to the stockade. And watch yourselves. You don’t want to forget what she is.”

  * * *

  60

  0530: Peter stood with Apgar on the catwalk, watching the day come on. An hour before dawn, the horde had departed—a vast, silent retreat, like a wave beating back from shore to enfold itself in the dark bulk of the sea. All that remained was a wide swath of trampled earth and, beyond, fields of broken corn.

  “I guess that’s it for the night,” Apgar said.

  His voice was heavy, resigned. They waited, not talking, each man al
one in his thoughts. A few minutes went by, and then the horn blasted—an expansion of sound like a great intake of breath, followed by the inevitable exhalation, sighing over the valley, then gone. Across the city, frightened people would be emerging from basements and shelters, out of closets and from under their beds. Old people, neighbors, families with children. They would look at each other wide-eyed and weary: Is it over? Are we safe?

  “You should get some sleep,” Apgar said.

  “So should you.”

  Yet neither man moved. Peter’s stomach was sour and empty—he couldn’t remember when he’d eaten last—while the rest of him seemed numb, almost weightless. His face felt tight, like paper. The body’s demands: the world could end, yet you’d still have to take a piss.

  “You know,” Apgar said, and yawned into his fist, “I think Chase was onto something. Maybe we should leave this to the kids to sort out.”

  “It’s an interesting idea.”

  “So, would you have actually shot her?”

  The question had plagued him all night. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, don’t beat yourself up. I wouldn’t have had a problem with it.” A pause, then: “Donadio was right about one thing. Even if we manage to hold them back, we don’t have the gas to keep the lights burning for more than a few nights.”

  Peter stepped to the rampart. A gray morning, the light indifferent and worn: it seemed suitable. “I let this happen.”

  “We all did.”

  “No, this is on me. We never should have opened those gates.”

  “What were you going to do? You can’t keep people locked up forever.”

  “You’re not letting me off the hook here.”

  “I’m just pointing out the reality. You want to blame someone, blame Vicky. Hell, blame me. The decision to open the townships was made long before you came along.”

  “I’m the one in that chair, Gunnar. I could have stopped it.”

  “And had a revolution on your hands. Once the dracs disappeared, this was a done deal. I’m surprised we kept this place running as long as we did.”

  No matter what Gunnar said, Peter knew the truth. He’d let down his guard, allowing himself to believe that it was all in the past—the war, the virals, the old way of doing things—and now two hundred thousand people were gone.

  Henneman and Chase came clomping down the catwalk. Chase looked like he’d slept under a bridge somewhere, but Henneman, always a stickler for appearance, had somehow managed to get through the night with barely a hair out of place.

  “Orders, General?” the colonel asked.

  It was not the time to drop their defenses, but the men needed rest. Apgar put them on a four-hour rotation: one-third on the wall, one-third patrolling the perimeter, one-third in their racks.

  “So what now?” Chase asked, as Henneman moved away.

  But Peter had ceased listening; an idea was forming at the back of his mind. Something old; something from the past.

  “Mr. President?”

  Peter turned to face the two men. “Gunnar, what are our weak points? Besides the gate.”

  Apgar thought for a moment. “The walls are sound. The dam’s basically impregnable.”

  “So it’s the gate that’s the problem.”

  “I’d say so.”

  Would it work? It just might.

  “My office,” said Peter. “Two hours.”

  —

  “Open the door.”

  The officer keyed the lock; Peter stepped inside. Alicia was sitting on the floor of the cell. Her arms and legs were shackled in front; a third chain connected her hands to a heavy iron ring in the wall. Thick fabric had been used to cover the window, muting the light.

  “About time,” she said drolly. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

  “I’ll knock when I’m done,” Peter told the guard.

  He left them alone. Peter sat on the cot facing Alicia. A silent moment, the two regarding each other across a distance that felt far vaster than it was.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Oh, you know.” A shrug, dismissive. “Beats a bullet to the brain. You had me going for a second there.”

  “I was angry. I still am.”

  “Yeah, I sensed that.” Her eyes took slow measure of his face. “Now that I have a chance to really look at you, I’ve got to say, you’re holding up nicely. That snow on the roof suits you.”

  He smiled, just a little. “And you look the same.”

  She glanced around the tiny box of a room. “And you’re really running the show here? President and all that.”

  “That seems to be the case.”

  “Like it?”

  “The last couple of days haven’t been so hot.”

  These wry exchanges, like a dance to a song that only the two of them could hear: he couldn’t help himself; he’d missed them.

  “You’ve put me in a bind, Lish. That was a pretty big splash you made last night.”

  “My timing wasn’t the best.”

  “As far as this government is concerned, you’re a traitor.”

  She looked up. “And what does Peter Jaxon think?”

  “You’ve been gone a long time. Amy seems to believe you’re on our side, but she’s not the one calling the shots.”

  “I am on your side, Peter. But that doesn’t change the situation. In the end, you’re going to have to give her up. You can’t beat him.”

  “See, this is where I have a problem. I’ve never heard you talk that way, not about anything.”

  “This is different. Fanning is different. He’s been controlling everything from the start. The only reason we were able to kill the Twelve was because he let us. We’re all pieces on a board to him.”

  “So why would you trust him now?”

  “Maybe I’m not being clear. I don’t.”

  “ ‘He comforted you.’ ‘He took care of you.’ Am I remembering this correctly?”

  “He did, Peter. But that’s not the same thing.”

  “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “Why? So you’ll believe me? The way I see it, you don’t have a choice.”

  “Who am I talking to here? You or Fanning?”

  Her eyes sharpened with anger; his words had hit the mark. “I took an oath, Peter. Same as you, same as Apgar, same as every man on that wall last night. I stayed with Fanning because I believed he’d leave Kerrville alone. Yes, he was good to me. I never said he wasn’t. Believe it or not, I actually feel sorry for the guy, until I remember what he is.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “The enemy.”

  Was she lying? For the moment, it didn’t matter; that she wanted him to believe her was leverage he could use.

  “Tell me what we’re up against, how many dracs are out there.”

  “I think what you saw last night.”

  “The rest of Fanning’s forces are in New York, in other words. He’s holding them in reserve.”

  Alicia nodded. “I wasn’t followed, if that’s what you mean. The rest are in the tunnels under the city.”

  “And you don’t know what he wants with Amy?”

  “If I knew, I’d tell you. Trying to understand Fanning is a fool’s errand. He’s a complicated man, Peter. I was with him for twenty years, and I never figured him out completely. Mostly, he just seems sad. He doesn’t like what he is, but he sees a kind of justice in it. Or, at least, he wants to.”

  Peter frowned. “I’m not following.”

  Alicia took a moment to form her thoughts. “In the station, there’s a clock. Long ago, Fanning was supposed to meet a woman there.” She looked up. “It’s a long story. I can give you all of it, but it’d take hours.”

  “Give me the short version.”

  “The woman’s name was Liz. She was Jonas Lear’s wife.”

  Peter was caught short.

  “Yeah, it surprised me, too. They all knew each other. Fanning loved h
er since they were young. When she married Lear, he pretty much gave up on the whole thing, but not really. Then she got sick. She was dying, some kind of cancer. Turns out she loved him, too; she had all along. She and Fanning were going to run away, spend her last days together. You should hear him tell the story, Peter. It’d just about rip your heart out. The clock was where they were going to meet, but Liz never showed. She’d died on the way, but Fanning didn’t know that; he thought she’d changed her mind. That night he got drunk in a bar and went home with a woman. She was a stranger, nobody he knew. He killed her.”

  “So he’s a murderer, in other words.”

  Alicia made an expression of demurral. “Well, it was sort of an accident, the way he tells it. He was half out of his mind; he thought his life was basically over. She pulled a knife on him, they struggled, she fell on it.”

  “Putting him on death row, like the Twelve.”

  “No, he got away with it. He actually felt awful about the whole thing. He was plenty mixed up, but he was no hardened killer, at least not yet. It was later that he went to South America with Lear, which is where the virus comes from. Lear had been looking for it for years; he thought he could use it to save his wife, though that was a moot point by then. Fanning describes the guy as totally obsessed.”

  “Was that how Fanning caught the virus?”

  Alicia nodded. “As far as I can tell from Fanning’s story, it happened by chance, though in his head Lear was responsible. After Fanning got infected, Lear brought him back to Colorado. He was still hoping to use the virus as a kind of cure-all, but the military got involved. They wanted to use it as a weapon, make some kind of super-soldier out of it. That was when they brought in the twelve inmates.”

  Peter thought for a moment. Then, his thoughts crystallizing: “What about Amy? Why did the Army make her?”

  “They didn’t; that was Lear. He used a different virus, not descended from the one Fanning carried. That’s why she’s not the same as the others. That, plus she was so young. I think he maybe knew that the whole thing had gone bad and was trying to make it right.”

  “It’s a strange way of doing it.”

  “Like I said, Fanning is pretty much of the opinion that the man was off his rocker. Either way, in Fanning’s mind, Amy is the fish that got away. Killing the Twelve was a test—not of us, since we never stood a chance against them. Fanning was testing her. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it at the time, his positioning them all in one place like that. He was never particularly fond of them, to put it mildly. A bunch of psychotics, is how he puts it.”