jefflong.yearzero-第97章
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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
