jefflong.yearzero-第97部分

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　She　felt　sleepless　and　dazed　and　guilt…ridden。　The　world　seemed　vile。　With　each　passing　minute；　it　was　increasingly　clear　that　the　nuclear　slaughter　had　been　a　gift。　In　one　stroke；　it　had　scraped　the　valley　clean；　incinerating　not　only　their　enemy；　but　the　immediate　threat　of　plague。　She　was　thankful；　but　did　not　want　to　be。
　She　placed　her　cellphone　on　the　table　beside　the　mug；　trying　to　decide　when　to　call　her　father。　She　wanted　to　punish　him。　Before　the　convoy　reached　the　WIPP　sanctuary；　she　wanted　to　tell　him　herself　that　she　had　disowned　him　forever。　It　seemed　like　a　first　step。　His　atrocity　was　not　her　reason　for　staying；　but　she　would　make　it　sound　that　way。　It　was　important　that　he　understand　the　gulf　between　them。　She　wanted　to　hate　him。　She　wanted　to　weep。　She　wanted　to　quit　thinking　about　it。
　Her　blood　sugar　spiked　with　the　hot　chocolate。　Miranda　wiped　her　nose；　raised　her　chin；　and　reached　for　the　phone。　Time　to　bear　him　the　bad　news。　Let　him　reap　what　he　had　sown。　She　braced　herself　and　pressed　the　key。
　Searching　for　service；the　window　read。　That　was　odd。　Their　cellphones　normally　worked　without　a　hitch；　even　four　stories　beneath　the　surface。　She　went　to　one　of　the　regular　phones；　and　there　was　a　dial　tone。　She　dialed　her　father's　number；　only　to　get　a　recorded　voice：All　lines　are　temporarily　busy；　please　try　your　call　again。How　could　the　lines　be　busy；　though？　There　was　no　one　left。
　For　the　next　few　minutes　she　experimented　with　the　phone　system。　Calls　worked　within　Los　Alamos。　She　reached　a　half　dozen　answering　machines　and　listened　to　the　voices　of　people　she　would　never　see　again。　It　was　the　long　distance　service　that　was　down。　At　a　satellite　recon　booth；　she　paused　to　check　the　convoy's　status。　Expecting　a　long　chain　of　thermal　images；　she　found　instead。。。nothing。　The　screens　were　all　static。　Finally　it　occurred　to　her。　The　lines　were　fried。　The　transceivers　and　microwave　stations　and　cell　towers　had　been　scrambled　by　the　bomb's　electromagnetic　pulse。　The　satellites　were　blinded。　She　was　more　alone　than　she'd　known。
　Her　isolation　came　flooding　in。　She　hadn't　really　thought　about　it；　but　now　it　was　obvious　she'd　counted　on　some　form　of　munication　with　the　WIPP　people。　Suddenly　Miranda　wasn't　sure　she　was　strong　enough　for　this。　She　could　go　mad　up　here；　wandering　the　streets；　distilling　nonsensical　potions；　talking　to　ghosts　in　their　apartments。　The　city　was　small；　but　more　than　large　enough　to　bee　her　labyrinth。　The　reactor　would　keep　pumping　out　electricity　for　decades　to　e；　but　one　by　one　the　lights　would　go　out。　She　couldn't　hope　to　maintain　the　plex；　much　less　go　out　into　the　world　searching　for　survivors。　What　had　she　been　thinking？　For　a　bad　moment；　her　resolution　crumbled。　It　wasn't　too　late。　With　a　moon　suit；　in　a　humvee；　if　she　started　now；　she　could　still　catch　the　convoy；　go　down　into　the　earth；　ask　her　father's　forgiveness。。。。
　Then　her　panic　spent　itself。　She　was　too　tired。　And　cold。　She　couldn't　seem　to　get　warm。　A　blanket；　a　little　sleep；　that's　what　she　needed。　After　that　she　could　start　to　inventory　what　was　left　of　Eden。
　　
　SHE　WOKE；　on　the　floor　of　someone's　office；　to　the　sound　of　elevator　doors　opening　and　closing　at　the　end　of　the　hallway。　Had　someone　returned？　She　almost　turned　on　the　light；　then　heard　the　crash　of　glassware。　A　door　banged　open。　More　glass　broke。　Men's　voices　filtered　down　the　corridor。
　She　edged　the　door　wider　and　darted　her　head　out。　At　the　far　end　of　the　hall；　hunched　like　a　hunter；　a　man　was　carrying　a　broken　pipe　for　a　spear。　He　disappeared　around　the　corner。Dear　god；　she　thought。Survivors。
　It　was　nearly　seven　in　the　morning。　Time　enough；　she　realized；　for　anyone　to　have　ascended　the　highway　from　the　valley。　Nathan　Lee's　words　floated　to　her。Be　careful　what　you　wish　for。　You　want　them　to　be　lambs。　But　what　if　they're　wolves。
　The　bomb　must　have　spared　hundreds；　if　not　thousands　of　the　pilgrims。　Huddled　in　their　canyons　and　arroyos　miles　away；　the　blast　might　have　passed　right　over　them。　And　now　they　had　e；　for　theirhajj　or　simply　for　their　pound　of　flesh。　They　would　destroy　the　city。　She　tasted　the　bitterness。You　destroyed　yourself。
　More　doors　crashed　open。　Furniture　tipped　over。　The　ransacking　went　on。
　Footsteps　approached。　She　tried　to　reckon　their　numbers。　One；　it　seemed。　Limping。　Images　of　Hiroshima　sprang　at　her；　flash…burned　victims；　skin　hanging。　Mad　as　hell。
　A　tall　silhouette　rippled　across　the　door's　opaque　glass。　The　footsteps　passed。　She　waited　a　minute；　then　eased　the　door　open　an　inch　at　a　time。　The　floor　was　spotted　with　bloody；　barefoot　prints。
　Glass　splintered　in　an　office　door。　Miranda　heard　yelling；　wild　men；　a　babel　of　words。　They　were　hunting。　They　would　find　her　eventually。　She　armed　herself　with　a　champagne　bottle　left　over　from　someone's　office　party；　then　put　it　down。
　Her　only　hope　was　the　elevator。　Miranda's　thoughts　raced。　Once　up　to　the　first　floor；　she　could　bolt　for　the　back　exit；　hide　in　the　forest　or　in　a　cave。　The　mesa　walls　were　pockmarked　with　them。　She　could　outwait　the　invaders；　raid　for　food；　at　night　make　a　fire。　Food！　She　stuffed　her　pockets　with　food；　little　packets　of　crackers　and　candy。　She　found　a　box　of　kitchen　matches。　An　idea　came　to　her。
　More　crashing；　more　shattering　of　glass。　They　were　searching　room　to　room。
　She　took　one　of　the　matches　and　scratched　it　on　the　box；　and　held　the　flame　beneath　the　glass　rod　on　the　fire　detector。　It　took　forever；　it　seemed。
　Abruptly；　the　sprinkler　system　bucked　on。　Chemical　mist　hissed　from　the　ceiling　nozzle。　Office　and　hall　lights　winked　off；　and　were　replaced　by　strobes。　The　alarm　began　honking　savagely。
　She　heard　men　running　past；　shouting；　bare　feet　slapping　the　wet　floor。　One　slipped；　skidded；　banged　hard　against　her　door。　His　shadow　rose　up；　ran　on。
　At　last　their　voices　dimmed。　She　opened　the　door。　The　elevator　was　only　fifty　feet　away。Walk　or　run？　She　did　both　in　small　bursts。　Broken　windows　on　office　doors　gaped　like　ragged　jaws。　Glass　lay　everywhere。　Chairs　and　desks　had　been　thrown　so　hard　against　the　walls　they　hung　from　the　dry　wall。　Books　had　been　ripped　to　shreds；　papers　scattered。　They　were　in　a　fury；　laying　waste　to　everything。　Their　hatred　made　her　weak。
　Miranda　reached　the　elevator；　hair　dripping。　The　doors　stood　shut。　She　pushed　the　Up　button；　then；　for　good　measure；　the　Down　button。　She　backed　into　the　well　of　the　door　frame　and　waited。
　The　sprinklers　went　on　raining　down。　The　alarm　was　deafening。　She　pushed　the　buttons　again。
　A　man　gave　a　shout　at　the　far　end　of　the　corridor。　They'd　spotted　her。　Two　more　rounded　the　corner。　Miranda　forced　herself　to　stay　and　wait。
　The　three　men　came　sprinting　up　the　hallway。　It　was　a　foot　race　to　reach　her　first。　The　strobes　cast　tiger　stripes　on　them；　dark；　then　bright；　then　dark。　They　had　knives；　an　axe；　a　club。
　Miranda　stabbed　the　buttons。
　Their　bare　feet　gripped　the　linoleum　like　flesh　claws。　They　were　so　fast。　She　slapped　at　the　buttons　with　her　open　palm。　Where　was　the　elevator？
　Too　late　she　saw　the　sign　to　one　side：In　Case　of　Fire；　Use　Stairs。Of　course。　Her　heart　sank。　She'd　bluffed　herself　into　a　corner。　The　building's　power　would　have　shut　down　at　the　first　alarm。　And　yet　the　buttons　were　lighted。　She　stabbed　them　again。　With　nowhere　to　run；　she　slugged　her　back　against　the　doors；　faced　her　hunters。
　It　was　only　in　the　final　thirty　feet　that　she　caught　sight　of　their　faces；　and　for　an　instant　her　terror　changed　to　surprise。　These　weren't　outsiders。　How　could　she　have　forgotten　them？
　〃Eesho？〃　she　said。
　It　was　him　in　the　lead；　the　false　messiah。　His　eyes　grew　large。　Only　now　did　he　recognize　her；　the　woman　who　had　humiliated　and　terrorized　him。　The　false　mother。
　Her　father's　word　sprang　from　the　distant　past；　Ochs's　word；　too：abominations。
　Who　had　let　them　out？　What　did　it　matter？　She　was　trapped　with　her　own　handiwork。　For　a　moment　she　felt　pity　for　them　all；　for　the　men　torn　from　their　grave；　for　herself　in　her　confusion；　but　especially　for　the　life　growing　in　her　womb。　It　was　dizzying。　Her　world　had　broken　loose　of　its　neat　orbit。　If　there　was　a　lesson　that　was　it；　the　oldest　lesson：　once　in　motion　her　creations　had　a　life　of　their　own