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Wind blew in like the leading edge of a hurricane, rushed into the disturbance created by the sudden disappearance of the barrier. The wind fed the flames, set small fires roaring to new heights, turned bigger fires into pillars of flame that shot high into the sky.
The population of the FAYZ, choked, terrorized, and battered, rushed in a wild panic down the highway. It was a stampede, and Sam was nearly swept along. But he held on to Astrid, held on to her and looked at her face and saw the bruises.
“Who?” he demanded.
“Sam, it doesn’t matter; it’s over,” Astrid shouted to be heard above the roar of wind and fire.
“Who?” he demanded again.
“Drake. He wasn’t dead. He may still not be dead. But Sam, there are police now, and—”
But Sam had broken free. He walked into the swirling smoke.
Astrid could barely breathe, but she would not let him walk away. Not when the end was this close. It was Edilio who left her no choice. He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her bodily down the highway until she stopped struggling.
“He told me to take care of you,” Edilio said.
Those were the last words they could speak, as the smoke thickened, choking them, blinding them. They staggered on together, seeing nothing but glimpses of people rushing by, just following the ribbon of concrete beneath their feet.
Then the smoke lessened. The wind was blowing itself out, and a countervailing breeze now flowed from the south.
And then, there they were, Astrid and Edilio, standing at the edge, at the very end of the FAYZ wall.
And then through.
Out.
One hundred and seventy-one people—babies in arms, toddlers, kids—ran and stumbled into the arms of waiting parents. They ran to be scooped up by waiting paramedics.
Some kids ran, ran down the road, down the highway, screaming past the TV trucks, past the flashing lights of emergency vehicles, pushing and shoving through th
e well-meaning and the ill-intentioned alike because there was no safe distance for them, not until they could no longer hear or see any part of the place.
THIRTY-TWO
0 MINUTES
SAM FELT THE heaviness in his lungs lessen. His eyes were still on fire, but he was able to open them.
He didn’t know where to look, only the person he was looking for.
“Drake!” he yelled. “Come out and fight me, Drake!”
The person who appeared was not Drake. Lana and Patrick stepped out of the smoke.
“The barrier is down,” Sam said. “Fire’s coming fast. Have you seen Drake?”
“Last I heard he was dead. But in this place . . .” She shook her head and looked somewhere between amused and resigned. “Sam, if the barrier’s down, you don’t have to do this.”
“He hurt Astrid,” Sam said. “She’s alive. But he took her. He hurt her.”
“And here you are the tragic hero, after all,” Lana said dryly. She was unusually droll for Lana. The world was ending and she was being witty. “You may find you need this. And you know what? I think I’m done with it.”
She slipped something heavy into the waist of his jeans, and then walked away with her dog.
Sam felt the butt of Lana’s automatic pistol. Was it true? True that he didn’t have to do this? True that he needed the gun?
“Drake!” he yelled.
