The City of Mirrors
Page 170“Coming to get you.” There were scratches on his arms and face; one of his elbows was bleeding.
“What about Pim and Theo?” Peter couldn’t help it; he was talking in bursts.
“They’re safe. We got here a few hours ago.”
Peter was suddenly overcome. Thoughts crowded his mind from all directions. He was exhausted, he needed water, the city was under attack, his son and his family were safe. Two medics appeared with a stretcher; Greer and Michael lifted Amy onto it.
“I’ll go with her to the aid station,” Greer said.
“No, I’ll do it.”
Greer took his arm above the elbow and looked at him squarely. “She’ll be fine, Peter—we did it. Just go do your job.”
They bore her away. Peter looked up to see Apgar and Chase striding toward him. Above them, the gunfire had fallen to random spattering.
“Mr. President,” said Apgar, “I would appreciate it if in the future you did not cut it quite so close.”
“What’s our status?”
“The attack appears to have come only from the north. We’ve got no sightings elsewhere on the wall.”
“What do we hear from the townships?”
“What do you mean nothing?”
“Everybody’s off the air. We ran patrols this morning as far west as Hunt, south to Bandera and as far north as Fredericksburg. No survivors, and almost no bodies. At this point, we have to assume they’ve all been overrun.”
Peter had no words. Over two hundred thousand people, gone.
“Mr. President?”
Apgar was looking at him. Peter swallowed and said, “How many people do we have inside the wall?”
“Including military, four, maybe five thousand, tops. Not a lot to fight with.”
“What about the isthmus?” Michael asked the general.
“As a matter of fact, we got a call on the radio from them a couple of hours ago. Someone named Lore, wondering where you were. They didn’t know anything about last night’s attack, so I guess the dracs missed them. That or they were too smart to try to cross that causeway.”
Above them, the guns fell silent.
“Maybe that’s it for tonight,” Chase said. He scanned their faces hopefully. “Maybe we scared them off.”
Peter didn’t think so; he could tell that Apgar didn’t think so, either.
The idea suddenly seemed absurd. “I’m not leaving these people undefended, Michael. This thing has started. Right now, I need everybody who can hold a pitchfork on that wall.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
From the catwalk: “Contact! Two thousand yards!”
—
The first thing they saw was a line of light in the distance.
“Soldier, give me your binoculars.”
The spotter handed them over; Peter brought the lenses to his eyes. Standing beside him on the platform, Apgar and Michael were also scanning north.
“Can you tell how many there are?” Peter asked the general.
“They’re too far out to tell.” Apgar unclipped the walkie on his belt and brought it to his mouth. “All stations, what are you seeing?”
A crackle of static, then: “Station one, negative.”
“Station two, no contact.”
And so on, around the perimeter. The line of light began to stretch, though it appeared to come no closer.
“What the hell are they doing?” Apgar said. “They’re just waiting out there.”
“Hang on.” Michael pointed. “Thirty degrees left.”
Peter followed his aim. A second line was forming.
“There’s another,” Apgar said. “Forty right, near the tree line. Looks like a large pod. More coming in from the north, too.”
The main line was now several hundred yards long. Virals were streaming in from all directions, moving toward the central mass.
“This is no scouting party,” Peter said.
Apgar bellowed, “Runners, get ready to move!” He turned to Peter. “Mr. President, we need to get you to safety.”
Peter addressed one of the spotters: “Corporal, hand me that M16.”
“Peter, please, this is not a good idea.”
The soldier passed Peter the weapon. He freed the magazine, blew on the top round to clear any dust, reseated it in the well, and pulled the charging handle. “You know, Gunnar, I think that’s the first time in ten years you’ve called me by my first name.”