Miguel shrugged.

"We are all heading north." he said to the two men. "It is a dangerous path we take, especially for Sofia. If you help us through Blackstone's land, I will help you through this. Is that a fair trade?"

The dogs sniffed at the feet of both men and wagged their tails, pronouncing them acceptable. D'Age looked the more pained of the two, and Miguel remembered he had lost someone to the raiders.

"Why do you think they will stay in Crockett?" he asked.

Sofia spoke before Miguel could. "To rape the women and enjoy the spoils," she said. "That is what they did to Mama."

Miguel felt sick. He'd hoped to have protected Sofia from that knowledge.

"Come," he said. "We have much to do."

New York Some people were just lucky, but Ryan Dubois wasn't one of them. The mortar round that exploded and blew him into three large, messy pieces of burned meat merely tossed Julianne through a store window that had already been shattered. She tumbled through the air, eerily detached, recalling a childhood misadventure involving a trampoline and a dislocated shoulder. Her sense of time passing stretched like a rubber band, and then-snap! The world sped up again in a violent, jaggy swirl of color and pain and the loudest noise she had ever heard in her life.

Jules screamed in agony as she hit something hard and immovable and the same shoulder was wrenched out of place with a grinding pop. She rolled across a wooden floor, every turn a flaring supernova of pain in her back and side, dark purple blossoms opening in front of her eyes as she fought to hold on to consciousness. Impact knocked the wind out of her, and she had trouble taking a breath, as though she'd just been gut punched by Lennox Lewis. Attempting to push herself up off the floor, she collapsed, screaming again as white-hot flames seemed to shoot down one side of her body. The rolling thunder of rocket fall and mortar fire lashed at the street outside, and she was oddly certain the Rhino was dead, disassembled at high speed just like poor Ryan, but then he unexpectedly landed feet first on the floor next to her. His filthy bloodstained boots crushed a small glass figurine a few inches from her face as he knelt down to help her up.

She tried to cry out, to warn him that she was injured, but he had his arms around her and was dragging her away from the open window before she could protest. The pain was grotesque, unbearable, nauseating, and she did pass out for a few minutes. Another white dwarf of agony exploding somewhere inside her woke her up again to a world filled with death and horror and the screaming of a small child.

After a few seconds she realized the small child was herself and the Rhino had done something to her shoulder. She felt a sting in her neck and then the most delicious warmth as a soothing bath of soft analgesic pleasure flowed out from that point to gently wash away all of her many hurts and outrages. Her eyelids felt heavy and her chin dropped down onto her chest as the Rhino heaved her up off the floor and away into a long, dark tunnel. Jules came to consciousness slowly, in fits and starts. She was dreaming. A nightmare, actually. Some penny dreadful horror, probably from eating too much Brie and watching that awful 28 Days Later with Fifi. They'd put the bloody thing in the DVD player only because Mr. Lee had brought a copy back from a trip ashore in Kupang and they simply couldn't sit through another fucking session of The English Patient. Now she was fighting to drag herself out of the dreadful nightmare of a world emptied of people-no, haunted by them. The world was haunted by millions of souls who had disappeared, and now they were back, returned from some hell dimension with every trace of humanity sucked from their souls. They had eyes like the milky orbs of dead fish and lips rotted away from yellow teeth, and they were coming for her. Of course, she couldn't run from them. She tried, but she never moved, not an inch, no matter how fast she pumped her legs.

Jules forced herself out of the half-waking state with great effort, pushing back against the vision of hell as if bench-pressing a huge weight away from herself. She finally woke up in her hotel room in New York on fresh white Egyptian cotton sheets, with the prospect of a day's shopping in front of her and a night at the theater with Paul, and dinner at Gabriel's. She would wear her new Kate Spade slingbacks and perhaps the Karen Millen Black Silk Bird Dress, but definitely the Kate Spades, because they were gorgeous and she'd just bought them and the shop was wonderful; it was as if she were floating through it again, turning over and over in the air, with a thousand jagged shards of glass and the disembodied head and upper torso of Ryan Dubois, and she was falling, slamming into the floor, and hurting the same shoulder she had dislocated on a trampoline, and again playing hockey at school, and screaming…

Screaming.

She came fully awake at last with a gasp. Still groggy and disoriented and feeling as though she were at the end of a tumbling free-fall through her personal history.

Paul?

Dear Paul. God, how long had it been since they had dated?

And Fifi was dead.

And she had not shopped in New York for many years.

And those shoes were lost somewhere back in England.

And then she knew where she was. She'd been blown through the front window of a Kate Spade store on the corner of Broome and Mercer streets. She had never shopped there. For an infuriating, irrational moment she could not recall where she'd bought the gorgeous slingbacks her sister had stolen so many years ago. And then she remembered. It was in San Francisco, way back in 2000, at the opening of the store. She levered herself up against a display case, groaning a little at the sudden throbbing ache in her shoulder. This was the third time she'd popped the thing, and every time recovery took longer and was less complete.

"Rhino," she said, coughing as she choked on the dust in her mouth and throat. "Rhino? Are you there?"

"Quiet," he said softly. "Pirates."

That one word brought her rushing back to full consciousness, or close enough that it made no difference. It was dark in the store and outside on the street. She calculated quickly that she must have been out of action for most of the day. She remembered the sudden fall of the rockets, the way a tsunami of explosive fire had rushed toward them up the narrow street, and the weirdly familiar sensation of being blown clear through the air. It was like standing on a ship's deck in a fierce storm and being catapulted through space by the impact of a rogue wave. She remembered with shuddering horror how Ryan, who had been standing a good ten yards away from her, closer to the blast, had simply come apart and spewed his inner life all over the whitewashed facade of the store on the corner.

She understood then that they had not been attacked by pirates or caught in one of their mortar barrages. They'd been mistaken for pirates and targeted by the army. Or maybe not. Perhaps they were just firing blindly into this part of Manhattan because it was crawling with freebooters. She pawed at her chest, seeking the reassurance of the weapon she'd set out with a dozen or so blocks back on Duane Street.

"I've got it," the Rhino said in a low voice. "You're in no state to fight anyone. I put your shoulder back in and doped you up. Now just lie still and try not to get us both kilt."

Kilts, she thought, somewhat baffled. Why would she be looking for kilts?

Her eyelids drooped again, and she dozed off.

It was very dark when she next awoke, but her head was much clearer. The morphine must have leached out of her bloodstream. She blinked her eyes open and shut a few times and carefully rolled her injured shoulder. It was stiff and sore, but she could move the arm even though the Rhino had fashioned a basic sling out of what had once been a very expensive silk scarf.