"Does it get used?" she asked.

"Used to, once a year. But lightning struck the steeple. In the year of the Wave, in fact. It's been closed up ever since. Here we go, then."

He swung the car hard left past a row of five stark and somber-looking whitewashed buildings, all of them exposed to the weather. The narrow gravel driveway opened up into a generous parking lot in which sat two civilian cars and an army Land Rover. A couple of soldiers, much older and more grizzled than the draftees they had passed earlier, walked from one building shell to another, cupping their hands around lit cigarettes as they went. Neither gave Dalby's car more than a glance, and he made nothing of their presence.

"We're over here in the old inn," he said as the car crunched to a halt in front of a long, low-rise building that obviously predated the council flats they had seen.

"Looks old enough that Shakespeare might have stayed a night himself," she said.

"Mmm. Would have had a thatched roof and all once upon a time. The walls are genuine wattle and daub. You can even see the handprints of the original builders here and there, and there's some quite charming touches inside, old reed lamps and suchlike, but I'm afraid the accommodations are quite basic otherwise. It's hardly boutique these days."

She followed Dalby out of the car and in through the old wooden doors. A fat, cold drop of rainwater plopped right on the end of her nose. Inside, the outline of the old public bar was visible on the dark wooden floor as a lighter area. Very little else remained of the building's history. Most of the long rectangular space was taken up with cheap government desks, plastic chairs, and a few filing cabinets. Dalby nodded to a middle-aged black woman typing at a computer. She smiled back but didn't break rhythm at the keyboard.

"They downstairs, then, Jude?"

"Yes, Mister Dalby. In the old keg room."

"Thanks, luv. Don't forget to take your lunch break today. Can't have you going all light-headed on us, can we?"

It must have been an old in-joke. Jude snickered and rolled her eyes but carried on.

"If you'll follow me, Caitlin, our Mister Richardson is down here."

She expected to follow him into the rear of the inn, but Dalby picked his way between a couple of desks, bent over, and hauled up a trapdoor. From its position relative to the outline of the old bar, she assumed it must have been where the cellarmen passed up supplies.

"The keg room?" she asked.

"Aye," Dalby confirmed as he swung around and went backward down a very steep wooden ladder. "Watch how you go, Caitlin. It's not an easy climb for an old duffer like me or a woman in your condition."

"My condition is fine," she said as she swung over the hole in the floor and slid down the ten-foot drop with her boots on the outer rails of the ladder and her hands only lightly gripping the side. Her breasts did ache a bit as she landed, but she would never admit that to anyone.

"Indeed, my mistake, then," Dalby said with one raised eyebrow. "Through this way."

Huge oaken barrels still lined two walls of the cellar, and dusty bottles, some hidden away behind spiderwebs, filled two wooden shelves along a third. A couple of men in casual clothes playing cards at a fold-up table greeted Dalby and waved him through to the end of the cellar space, where a wedge of yellow light spilled over the flagstones from a room obscured from view by an especially large wooden cask.

One of the two guards winked and blew a kiss at Caitlin as she walked past.

She stopped and smiled warmly, picked up his cards, and cocked an eye at his mate.

"He's holding both red queens, a nine of hearts, and fuck all," she said.

The other man roared with laughter as she walked on.

Dalby stood waiting for her at the entrance to a small, damp room that ran off the end of the cellar. Illuminated by a naked lightbulb, it contained two silent hovering guards and one chair, on which sat Richardson, the man who'd tried to kill or take her family a few hours earlier. Richardson was shaking and attempting to blink away runnels of fear sweat before they stung his eyes. His dreadlocks were matted with mud and leaves, and the right leg of his jeans had been cut away. A dirty, bloodstained bandage encircled his upper thigh, and his left arm had been roughly splinted after she'd broken it at the elbow.

His eyes went wide when he recognized her, but it was Dalby he should have been watching. The quiet gray-suited man moved up beside the prisoner and swung a hard, vicious sword-hand strike into his nose. Richardson screamed as he went over backward, a few drops of crimson blood spraying the slimy whitewashed brickwork.

"Righty oh, then," Dalby said softly, turning to one of the guards, who hadn't reacted in the slightest to the assault.

"I could just murder a cup of tea. I don't suppose you could fetch us a brew, do you, lad? I fear we may be some time down here. What about you, miss?" he asked Caitlin.

She regarded Richardson without obvious emotion in spite of the bloodlust roaring through her head. His eyes were huge with terror.

"Got any coffee?" she asked.

Texas Administrative Division Miguel slept through the night until just before dawn. He awoke wishing he hadn't. Nightmares had haunted him almost from the moment he'd closed his eyes, visions of his family dying while he stood in the middle of the slaughter unable to move, unable to lift as much as a finger to stop it while the road agents laughed and pointed at him, mocking his impotence. When he finally stirred in the dim gray light, he felt as though he had been awake for days. There was no gift of forgetting. He did not wake up thinking himself home in his own bed, even for the briefest of moments, lying next to Mariela, waiting for the first of the children's footfalls to thunder through the house. He simply woke from dreams of loss and horror into the reality.

Sofia twitched and mumbled in her sleep on the bedroll next to his where they lay behind the counter. He resisted the urge to stroke her head, to calm her thoughts. She cried while she slept or during the day when she didn't think he would notice. He suspected she was trying to keep up a brave front for his benefit. As troubled as her dreams would be, however, he preferred her to sleep. They would have another long day in the saddle.

He lay still for a minute, then stretched carefully before inching away from his daughter and standing. He had taken off his jacket and his boots but remained dressed in the clothes he had worn yesterday. They both did. He leaned over and picked up Sofia's bear, which was lying on the floor a short distance from her. After tucking it in next to her, he moved away quietly. The pop of his knees and a cracking back told him that his body would not thank him for the night on a hard floor. His sore ribs, combined with the cold air, made breathing a chore. Whatever aches and pains he may have felt in his body, they were nothing compared with the agonies of his soul, a torment that he had no choice but to ignore.

To add to the discomfort of an aching back and stiff legs, Miguel's bladder was full, but he took the time to pull on his boots and gather his weapons before pushing quietly through the front door of Leona's general store. The sun was peeking over the eastern horizon, washing everything in a soft yellow light that only emphasized the sense of abandonment as he walked down to the intersection at the top of the main road.

As he looked back over the ghost town, burned-out husks of buildings glinted where the dawn's rays struck broken glass or exposed metal and dewdrops glistened like a billion diamonds on grass that had grown wild and high in untended fields and gardens. Certain he was not being observed, he finally relieved himself at the side of the road by the fence where they had secured the horses overnight. Red Dog joined him at the fence, wagging her tail and panting in anticipation of breakfast.