The passage

ALSO BY JUSTIN CRONIN The Summer Guest Mary and O’Neil For my children No bad dreams Contents Other Books by this Author Title Page Dedication Part I - The Worst Dream in the World Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Part II - The Year of Zero Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Part III - The Last City Chapter Eighteen Part IV - All Eyes Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Part V - Girl from Nowhere Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Part VI - The Night of Blades and Stars Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Part VII - The Darklands Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four Chapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-Six Part VIII - The Haven Chapter Forty-Seven Chapter Forty-Eight Chapter Forty-Nine Chapter Fifty Chapter Fifty-One Chapter Fifty-Two Chapter Fifty-Three Chapter Fifty-Four Chapter Fifty-Five Part IX - The Last Expeditionary Chapter Fifty-Six Chapter Fifty-Seven Chapter Fifty-Eight Chapter Fifty-Nine Chapter Sixty Chapter Sixty-One Part X - The Angel of the Mountain Chapter Sixty-Two Chapter Sixty-Three Chapter Sixty-Four Chapter Sixty-Five Chapter Sixty-Six Chapter Sixty-Seven Chapter Sixty-Eight Chapter Sixty-Nine Chapter Seventy Part XI - The New Thing Chapter Seventy-One Chapter Seventy-Two Chapter Seventy-Three Chapter Seventy-Four Postscript - Roswell Road Acknowledgments About the Author Copyright When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defac’d The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-raz’d, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay; Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate That Time will come and take my love away —W ILLIAM S , Sonnet 64 HAKESPEARE I “It means either somebody figured out how to fix those batteries, which I seriously doubt, or they’re not drawing any current.” Alicia frowned “That doesn’t make any sense Why wouldn’t they?” Michael hesitated; Peter could see the truth in his face “Because somebody turned the lights off,” he said They spent a restless night in the bunker and set out in the morning By halfday they had made their way through Banning and begun to ascend When they stopped to rest beneath the shade of a tall pine, Alicia turned to Peter “Just in case Michael’s wrong and we’re arrested, I want you to know I’m going to say I was the one who killed those men I’ll take whatever’s coming to me, but I’m not going to let them have you And they’re not touching Amy or the Circuit.” This was more or less as he had expected “Lish, you don’t have to that And I doubt Sanjay will anything at this point.” “Maybe not But just so we’re clear I’m not asking, either Be ready Greer? Understood?” The major nodded But this warning was for naught They knew it by the time they reached the final switchback in the road, above Upper Field They could see the Wall now, rising through the trees, the catwalks unoccupied, no sign of the Watch An eerie stillness over all The gates stood open and unmanned The Colony was empty • • • They found two bodies The first was Gloria Patal She had hanged herself in the Big Room of the Sanctuary, among the empty cribs and cots She had used a tall stepladder, ascending to affix the rope to one of the rafters, near the door The ladder now lay on its side beneath her pointed feet, freezing the moment when she had put the noose around her neck and pushed off, sending the ladder swooning to the floor The other body was Auntie’s It was Peter who found her, sitting in a kitchen chair in the small clearing outside her house She had been dead many months, he knew, and yet very little seemed to have altered in her appearance But when he touched her hand where it lay in her lap, he felt only the cold stiffness of death Her head was tipped backward; her face wore a peaceful expression, as if she had simply fallen asleep She had gone outside, he knew, when darkness had come and the lights did not go on She had carried a chair into the yard, to sit and watch the stars “Peter.” Alicia touched his arm as he crouched beside the body “Peter, what you want to do?” He pulled his eyes away, realizing only then that they were full of tears The others were standing behind her, a silent chorus of witness “We should bury her here Near her house, her garden.” “We will,” Alicia said gently “I meant about the lights It will be dark soon Michael says we have a full charge if we want.” He glanced past her to Michael, who nodded “All right,” he said They closed the gate and gathered in the Sunspot—all except Michael, who had returned to the Lighthouse It was just twilight, the sky purpling overhead Everything seemed held in suspension; not even the birds were singing Then with an audible pop the lights came on, dousing them all with a fierce and final brilliance Michael appeared to stand beside them “We should be good for tonight.” Peter nodded They were silent for a time in the presence of this unspoken truth: one more night, and the lights of First Colony would darken forever “So now what?” Alicia asked In the stillness, Peter felt the presence of his friends around him Alicia, whose courage was a part of him Michael, grown lean and hard, a man now Greer, his wise and soldierly countenance And Amy He thought of all that he had seen, and those who had been lost—not just the ones he knew of, but those whom he did not—and he knew what his answer was He said, “Now we go to war.” SEVENTY-FOUR The last hour before dawn: Amy crept from the house, alone The house of the woman called Auntie, who had died; they had buried her where she’d sat, wrapping her body in a quilt from her bed On her chest Peter had placed a photograph he had taken from her bedroom The ground was hard, it had taken them many hours of digging, and when they were done, they had decided to sleep the night there The woman’s house, Peter had said, would be as good as anyplace He had a house of his own, Amy knew But he did not seem to want to go back there Peter had stayed up most of the night, sitting in the old woman’s kitchen, reading from her book His eyes squinted in the light of the lantern as he turned the pages of her small, neat script He had made a cup of tea but did not drink it; it sat beside him on the table, untouched, forgotten as he read At last Peter slept, and Michael, and Greer, who had traded the watch with Alicia after half-night; she was up on the catwalk now Amy stepped onto the porch, holding the door so it wouldn’t bang behind her The earth was cool with dew under her bare feet, soft with a pillow of needles atop the hardpan She found the tunnel under the trunkline without difficulty, dropped through the hatch, and wriggled through She had felt him for days, weeks, months She knew that now She had felt him for years, since the beginning Since Milagro and the day of the nottalking and the big boat and long before, through all the years of time that stretched inside her The one who followed her, who was always nearby, whose sadness was the sadness she felt in her heart The sadness of missing her They always went home, and home was wherever Amy was She emerged from the tunnel Dawn was moments away; the sky had begun to pale, the darkness dissolving around her like a vapor She moved away from the walls, into the cover of the trees, and sent her mind outward, closing her eyes —Come to me Come to me Stillness —Come to me, come to me, come to me She felt it then: a rustling Not heard but sensed, gliding atop every surface, every part of her, kissing it like a breeze The skin of her hands and neck and face, the scalp under her hair, the tips of her eyelashes A soft wind of longing, breathing her name Amy —I knew you were there, she said, and wept, as he was weeping in his heart, for his eyes could not make tears.—I knew you were there Amy, Amy, Amy She opened her eyes to see him crouched before her She stepped toward him, touching his face where the tears would have been; she put her arms around him And as she held him, she felt the presence of his spirit within her, different from all the others she carried, because it was also her own The memories poured through her like water Of a house in the snow and a lake and a carousel with lights and the feel of his big hand wrapping her own on a night when they soared together beneath the eaves of heaven —I knew, I knew I always knew You were the one who loved me Dawn was breaking above the mountain The sun was sweeping toward them like a blade of light over the earth And yet she held him as long as she dared; she held him in her heart Above her on the catwalk, Alicia was watching, Amy knew But this didn’t matter What she was witnessing would be a secret between them, a thing to know and never speak of Like Peter, what he was For Amy believed Alicia knew that, too —Remember, she told him Remember But he was gone; her arms held only space Wolgast was rising, he was lifting away A shudder of light in the trees POSTSCRIPT ROSWELL ROAD From the Journal of Sara Fisher (“The Book of Sara”) Presented at the Third Global Conference on the North American Quarantine Period Center for the Study of Human Cultures and Conflicts University of New South Wales, Indo-Australian Republic April 16–21, 1003 A.V [Excerpt begins.] Day 268 Three days since the farmstead We crossed into New Mexico this morning, just after sunrise The roadway is in very bad shape, but Hollis is sure this is Route 60 A flat, open country, though we can see mountains to the north From time to time a huge, empty sign by the roadway, abandoned cars everywhere, some blocking the way, which makes for slow going The baby is restless and crying I wish Amy were here to quiet him We had to spend last night out in the open and so everybody is exhausted and snapping at one another, even Hollis Fuel is getting to be a worry again Down to what we have in the tank plus one extra from the cache Hollis says we’re looking at five days to Roswell, maybe six Day 269 Spirits lifting We saw our first cross today—a great red splash on the side of a grain silo, fifty meters high Maus was up top and saw it first Everyone started to cheer We’re spending the night in a concrete bunker just behind it Hollis thinks it used to be some kind of pumping station Dark and dank and full of pipes There’s fuel stacked in drums, just like Greer said, which we siphoned off into the Humvee before bolting down for the night There’s nothing much to sleep on, just the hard cement floor, but we’re close enough to Albuquerque now that no one thinks we should sleep in the open Strange, and nice, to be sleeping with a baby in the room Listening to the little noises he makes, even when he’s asleep I haven’t told Hollis my news yet, wanting to be sure Part of me thinks he already knows How could he not know? I’m sure it’s written all over my face Whenever I think about it, I can’t stop smiling I caught Maus staring at me tonight when we were moving the fuel and I said, What? What are you staring at? And she said, Nothing Just, you know, anything you want to tell me, Sara? I did my best to look innocent, which wasn’t easy, and told her no and what are you talking about and she said, laughing, Well, okay That’s certainly okay with me I don’t know why I’m thinking this but if it’s a boy, I want to name it Joe, and if it’s a girl, Kate After my parents It’s strange how being happy about one thing can make you just as sad about another We are all wondering about the others, hoping they’re okay Day 270 Tracks all around the Humvee this morning It looks like there were three of them Why they didn’t try to break into the bunker is a mystery—I’m sure they could smell us Hoping to make Socorro in plenty of time to lock down for the night Day 270 (again) Socorro Hollis is pretty sure the bunkers are part of an old gas pipeline system We are bolted down for the night Now we wait [illegible] Day 271 They came again More than three, a lot more We could hear them scratching at the walls of the bunker all night long Tracks everywhere this morning, too many to count The windshield of the Humvee was shattered, and most of the windows Anything we’d left inside was scattered over the ground, smashed and torn to pieces I’m afraid it’s just a matter of time before they try to break into one of the bunkers Will the bolts hold? Caleb cries half the night no matter what Maus does, so it’s no secret where we are What’s stopping them? It’s a race now Everybody knows it Today we are crossing the White Sands Missile Range to the bunker at Carrizozo I want to tell Hollis but I don’t I just can’t, not like this I will wait until the garrison, for luck I wonder if the baby knows how afraid I am Day 272 No sign tonight Everyone is relieved, hoping we lost them Day 273 The last bunker before Roswell A place called Hondo I fear this will be my last entry All day long they were following us, tracking us in the trees We can hear them moving around outside and it’s barely dusk Caleb won’t be still Maus just holds him to her chest, crying and crying It’s Caleb they want, she keeps saying They want Caleb Oh, Hollis I’m sorry we ever left the farmstead I wish we could have had it, that life I love you I love you I love you Day 275 When I look at the words in my last entry, I can’t believe we’re alive, that we somehow got through that terrible night The virals never attacked When we opened the door in the morning, the Humvee was lying on its side in a puddle of fluid, looking like some great broken-winged bird fallen to earth, its engine smashed beyond repair The hood was lying a hundred meters away They’d ripped off the tires and torn them to shreds We knew we were lucky to have made it through the night, but now we had no vehicle The map said fifty more kilometers to the garrison Possible, but Theo could never make it Maus wanted to stay with him but of course he said no, and none of us were going to allow it anyway If they didn’t kill us last night, Theo said, I’m sure I can make it through another if I have to Just get moving and use all the light you can and send back a vehicle when you get there Hollis rigged a sling out of some rope and a piece of one of the seats for Maus to carry Caleb and then Theo kissed the two of them goodbye and drew down the door and sealed the bolts and we left, carrying nothing but water and our rifles As it turned out, it was more than fifty kilometers, a lot more The garrison was on the far side of town But it didn’t matter because a little after half-day we were picked up by a patrol Of all people, Lieutenant Eustace He seemed more perplexed than anything to see us, but in any case they sent a Humvee back to the bunker and now we are all safe and sound, behind the walls of the garrison I am writing this in the civilian mess tent (there are three, one for enlisted, one for officers, and one for civilian workers) All the others have already gone to bed The CO here is someone named Crukshank A general, like Vorhees, but that’s where the similarity stops With Vorhees you could tell there was a real person in there, behind all that military sternness, but Crukshank looks like the sort of man who’s never cracked a smile in his life I also get the feeling Greer is in a lot of trouble, and this seems to extend to the rest of us But tomorrow at 06:00, we’re going to be debriefed, and we can tell the whole story then The Roswell Garrison makes the one in Colorado seem flimsy by comparison I think it’s nearly as big as the Colony, with gigantic concrete walls supported by metal struts that extend down into the parade ground The only way I can think to describe it is to say that it looks like an inside-out spider A sea of tents and other fixed structures Vehicles have been coming in all evening, huge tanker trucks and five-tons full of men and guns and crates of supplies, their cabs rigged with banks of lights The air is full of the roar of engines, the smell of burning fuel, the showering sparks of torches Tomorrow I’m going to go find the infirmary and see if there’s anything I can to help There are a few other women here, not many but some, mostly with the medical corps, and as long as we stay in the civilian areas, we’re free to move as we please Poor Hollis He was so worn out I never got the chance to tell him the news So tonight will be the last night for me to be alone with my secret, before someone else knows I wonder if there’s anyone here who can marry us Maybe the CO can it But Crukshank doesn’t seem the type, and I should wait until Michael’s with us, in Kerrville He should be the one to give me away It wouldn’t be fair to it without him I should be exhausted, but I’m not I’m much too keyed up to sleep Probably it’s my imagination, but when I close my eyes and sit very still, I swear I can feel the baby inside me Not moving, nothing like that, it’s far too early Just a kind of warm and hopeful presence, this new soul my body carries, waiting to be born into the world I feel … what’s the word? Happy I feel happy Shots outside I am going to look *****END OF DOCUMENT***** Recovered at Roswell Site (“Roswell Massacre”) Area 16, Marker 267 33.39 N, 104.50 W 2nd striation Depth: 2.1 meters Accession BL1894.02 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS For advocacy, encouragement, counsel, inspiration, expertise, friendship, camaraderie, patience, shelter, sustenance, and the general tossing of meat through the bars, thanks and ponies to: Ellen Levine and Claire Roberts at Trident Media Group; Mark Tavani and Libby McGuire at Ballantine Books; Gina Centrello, president of the Random House Publishing Group; Bill Massey at Orion; the spectacular publicity, marketing, and sales teams at Ballantine and Orion; Rich Green at Creative Artists Agency; Michael Ellenberg and Ridley Scott at Scott Free Productions; Rodney Ferrell and Elizabeth Gabler at Fox 2000; my brilliant and intrepid readers, Jenny Smith, Tom Barbash, Jennifer Vanderbes, and Ivan Strausz; my many wonderful colleagues and students at Rice University; Bonnie Thompson; John Logan; Alex Parsons; Andrea White and The House of Fiction; ACC, best boy ever; IAC, the girl who saves the world; Leslie, Leslie, Leslie ABOUT THE AUTHOR Born in New England, is the award-winning author of The Summer Guest and Mary and O’Neil Having earned his MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, Cronin is now a professor of English at Rice University and lives with his family in Houston, Texas JUSTIN CRONIN The Passage is a work of fiction Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental Copyright © 2010 by Justin Cronin Map copyright © 2010 by David Lindroth, Inc All rights reserved Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York B ALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc Grateful acknowledgment is made to HarperCollins Publishers for permission to reprint five lines of “The Wild Iris” from The Wild Iris by Louise Gluck, copyright © 1992 by Louise Gluck Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA Cronin, Justin The passage : a novel / Justin Cronin p cm eISBN: 978-0-345-51686-2 Vampires—Fiction Human experimentation in medicine—Fiction Virus diseases—Fiction United States—Fiction I Title PS3553.R542P37 2010 813′.54—dc22 2010007455 www.ballantinebooks.com v3.0 ... face there, too, reflected in the window, hovering over the image of all the people outside But as she stood there, these ideas seemed like they belonged to a different person entirely Now there... warm grape pop to drink, and then the two of them went out to the highway where the bus had let Jeanette off She remembered seeing, on the ride back to the motel, the big stone church with its... Amy’s jacket and put the knapsack on her while the bus pulled away She looked and saw the other sign then, the one she remembered from the night before, hanging on a post at the edge of a driveway