She heard gravel squealing under Charles's sneakers, knew he was racing to help her. She started to turn around, to tell him to stop. She didn't need his help-the dead man wouldn't attack her, not one of his own kind.

She knew she wouldn't get the warning out in time. Charles spun in the gravel beside Nilla even as she reached to push him back. He had his arms twisted around for a nasty punch right to the dead man's genitals. It connected with a sound like a side of beef being dropped from a height.

The armless dead man didn't even flinch. Instead he put one bare foot up on the side of the truck and propelled himself into space. Nilla dodged to one side but he wasn't aiming for her. Get him off, get this fucker off me! Charles wailed as the dead man collided with him, knocking him flat to the road. Nilla grabbed at the dead man's matted hair to yank his head back and keep him from getting his teeth into Charles' neck. Get him off! Charles screamed again, but Nilla couldn't hold the dead man, his hair was too greasy and even when she dug her fingers in it just came out with a noise like a zipper opening up. Get him off! Charles begged as the teeth sank deep into the fleshy part of his throat. Blood spilled out onto the roadway like a bucket of water being upturned.

Nilla kicked the dead man as hard as she could in the cheek, in the ear, in the eye. She fell down to her knees and pulled with both hands on his vest, on the nubs of bone at the ends of his shoulders. You don't want him, she protested, trying to haul him off of Charles bodily. You want me, but she knew it wasn't true.

Get him off, Charles sobbed. Get... him... off, please. Nilla got her shoulder into the narrow gap between the dead man's chest and Charles' back and heaved, pushed and pushed, tried to brace her feet against the asphalt for leverage. The armless corpse shifted but not enough-his teeth were chewing at Charles' skin, digging in deep. Nilla grunted and heaved one last time with all her strength and somehow dislodged the ghoul. She wasted no time yanking Charles up to his feet. With her shoulder in his armpit she hurried him back toward the Toyota. Behind them the corpse staggered up to its knees.

Just a little further, Nilla told Charles, he r arms around his waist. He clamped both hands against his throat. His legs shook violently and she dragged him for a second until he could get under his own power again. Just get to the car, she told him. They were barely moving forward, inching along, Nilla's slight frame no good at carrying Charles' weight.

The dead man got one foot up and started rising, only to lose his balance and tumble backwards. Nilla's mind surged with hope. Just a little further. Just a little... Charles' hand fell away from his neck and a pencil-thin jet of blood shot out ahead of him. He wheezed and choked and Nilla shoved one of her own hands against his wound. Her hand was soaked with blood instantly. It started to run down her forearm, into her shirt sleeve.

The corpse rolled back against the pickup truck and levered himself upward on its bumper. This time he ended up on his feet. He began staggering toward them. They had a head start but the dead man stumbled forward faster than Nilla's dragging pace.

Nilla looked forward again -and nearly collided with the Toyota as it came screeching up to her. In the driver's seat Shar looked stunned, paralyzed, her fingers white on the wheel, her face narrow and wrinkled with fear.

Behind them the corpse had nearly closed the gap. In a few seconds he would be on them. Nilla let Charles fall across the side of the car and wrenched open the back door. She pushed him inside and jumped in on top of him. She grabbed a bundle of fast food restaurant napkins off the floor of the car-they were filthy and probably covered in germs but it didn't matter-and stuffed them into the crook of Charles' neck. She yanked the door closed behind her.

The dead man stumbled up to the side of the car and lurched forward, his face slamming against the window only inches from Nilla's nose. She fell backwards in terror as the corpse stumbled back for another strike.

Shar! Nilla screamed. Shar! Drive! The teenaged girl threw the car into drive just as the armless guy slapped his face against the window a second time. Glass erupted into the car in a green cascade, tiny cubes of safety glass spilling down across Nilla and Charles, bouncing off the car's upholstery. Nilla spun around as the car lurched forward and saw the corpse standing in the road, his face a blurred distortion of human features. As the car raced away from him he stumbled after it, unable to stop coming for them even though it was hopeless-he would never catch them now.

There are too many of them, Archie. No, I dont mean... there are more of them than we thought, than our, our

models showed. Im talking about your computer model,

the one you... its like theyre multiplying, reproducing but... Yeah. Thats exactly what I mean. Its time for Warlock Green to come out of the closet. [Telephone conversation between the Adjutant General of the Colorado National Guard and an undisclosed second party, 4/4/05]

A hazy cobweb of vapor trails filled the big sky over Cherry Creek, left behind by planes and helicopters full of refugees headed in every possible direction. The aircraft were all gone but they left their tracks behind.

There were more infected coming up Third Avenue from the country club. Maybe two dozen. Clark gestured for the nearest squad to handle them, then spun around when someone behind him shouted Target spotted, in that window!

Somebody kill that motherfucker for me already! Horrocks screamed, his eyes huge and white. A squad of soldiers carrying M4s broke off to assault the entrance to a copy shop with wide windows overlooking Fillmore Street. A young man in a blue apron was in there pressed up against the glass, his hands white blobs against the window, the muscles of his face completely slack. Like something stuck to the wall of an aquarium. One of his cheeks was dark with torn skin and dried blood.

Clark backed up against the side of the HEMTT and reloaded his sidearm. It had been a long, haunting night and it just kept getting worse. He thought about countermanding the order-the infected boy wasn't a danger to anybody stuck inside that store. It would demoralize the troops though to leave even one of the cannibals standing.

Keeping morale alive was pretty much all Clark could hope to accomplish. For every one of the infected they cut down ten more seemed to appear out of thin air. They were making no progress at all toward their stated objectives.

Come on, come on, let's not lose the operational tempo here, Horrocks insisted.

The soldiers were still crisp, still professional. Maybe it was only Clark who was wilting after a night of violence and cold food and no sleep. They kicked the boy away from the window and butchered him and were back to the HEMTT inside of sixty seconds. On the roof of the big truck a crew-served M249 kept them covered the whole time.

The HEMTT was full of scar ed survivors, people they'd picked up along the way. Every time one of the troops discharged a weapon a collective moan of shock billowed out of the back. The sound got on Clark's nerves-he felt guilty enough already, he didn't need the infernal howling of the survivors to remind him he was slaughtering innocent civilians.

Comms, Clark called out and a specialist with a satellite cell phone came duck -walking up to him. Keeping low, just like she'd been trained-it made it less easy for a sniper to hit her. Nobody was shooting at them in Denver but she'd had proper cover procedure drilled into her so hard it stuck. She knelt down by the side of the truck with Clark and threw him a salute. What do we have? he asked. Did you get through to the Adjutant General?

Sir, no, sir, nothing since the last transmission. That had been half an hour before. A column of light armor (Hum-Vees with mounted weaponry) was supposed to come down Speer Boulevard any minute and relieve the platoon. Clark wasn't holding his breath. The AG wasn't responding to his calls, which couldn't mean anything good. Alright, get back to the vehicle, he told her. He called for Horrocks and the sergeant appeared instantly. It's time to break contact. We're holding our ground here but that's not exactly the same as making progress. I want squad three on rear security.

The sergeant set about making it happen while Clark hauled himself up into the cab of the HEMTT. A laptop on the dashboard showed a GPS map of the neighborhood. It showed the country club and the Cherry Creek shopping center tinged in red. Clark had to zoom out to see any blue at all-a Stryker group sitting tight on a stretch of Federal Boulevard. How old is this product? he asked.

Sir, about thirty minutes, the comms specialist replied. She was blushing under her helmet. The best data she had must have come in with the last download from command.

Alright, he said, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. What is CNN saying? She played with the laptop for a while, collating t ext reports from the news channel's website with the map's imaging software. When she showed it to him again the Strykers were missing and whole districts of the city had turned red. The Epidemic was spreading, far faster than any infectious disease had aright to. And where did those Strykers go? He couldn't find them anywhere on the map at all. Had they retreated?

The HEMTT started up with a roar and got under way. The driver kept it to a crawl -the cargo unit in back was stuffed full with the survivors so the soldiers had to run alongside carrying all their equipment with them.

The infected seemed to sense that Clark was withdrawing. Congress Park was crawling with them and they stretched out bloody arms to try to grab the truck as it went past. They came out of every street the HEMTT passed, streamed out of half the buildings. The soldiers wanted to aggress on the enemy but Horrocks kept a tight rein on them-fighting would just slow them down. Clark wanted to get back to command and find out what the hell was going on before he committed to another combat effort.

On Colfax somebody had opened up a dumpster and spread trash across half the street. It looked like some of the bags had been torn open by animals. Clark buckled and unbuckled the holster of his sidearm for something to do with his hands.

The driver took them straight up the Esplanade, crushing the grass and bushes there in the interest of speed. Try the AG again, Clark told the comms specialist and she dutifully dialed the number but got no response. Maybe the Joint Tactical Radio System was down again-it had a bad reputation. As the driver brought them into the school's parking lot Clark leapt down from the cabin before the vehicle had even stopped.

There was no one around. Nobody guarded the rear entrance. Nobody staffed the motor pool. The big TROJAN SPIRIT II vans on the playing fields were standing vacated and alone. Clark told Horrocks to send two squads into the school and report back at once but he already knew what they would find, and he was pretty sure he knew where the Stryker group went, too.

More red dots on the screen. There was no way to save Denver, Clark realized. It just couldn't be done. There were too many infected, and not enough bullets. The Pentagon is dispatching troops to help us right now - units of the 82nd Airborne Division, ah, you may have heard of them and also the 10th Mountain Division, theyre trained in high altitude work. Whether they can get here in time we dont know... wait, what? No, well stay on the air until were ordered to leave. Well, I dont care, Marty. I dont care, you can go, thats fine. Just leave the camera running. [Denvers 7, Emergency Bulletin 4/4/05]

Nilla wanted to laugh, to whoop for joy at their escape. Except that in her hand the bundle of napkins was already soaking through, a spreading red stain growing in the center of the makeshift bandage.

Shar, she said. The girl kept staring straight ahead. The car jounced through a pothole and Nilla's hand flew free. Blood sloshed out of Charles' neck. Shar, she said again. Look, we need to get Charles some help now or he's going to die.

Shar sped up, the mountains falling away on either side, dead and barren desert consuming the view through the windshield. The Toyota screamed with heat prostration and stripped gears. Through the broken window a gritty wind battered Nilla's face and rattled the napkins in her hand. There was glass everywhere but she couldn't spare a hand to brush it away-her free hand was needed just for holding on.

If he dies-I know you don't want to hear this-but if he dies on us he's going to come back. He's going to come back hungry.

WELCOME TO DEATH VALLEY. The sign whipped past them, almost too fast to read. Through the rear window Nilla saw nothing but their own plume of dust. You have to accept this, Shar. There may be no way to save him. I know what I'm talking about. Would you just say something, please? Shar-if he dies, and comes back, he'll be as dangerous as the armless guy back there. He won't hesitate to, to attack you. Shar, can you even hear me?

The girl stepped on the brake and the car shuddered as it decelerated, throwing Nilla against the seat back in front of her. When it came to a complete stop dust surrounded them like a brownish fog. It came in through theshattered window and filled Nilla's already dry mouth, making her gag.

I'm so sorry. Shar's voice was tiny in the car, almost lost in the sound of the engine pinging and the chiming cascade of glass spilling off the backseat. What was that? I don't understand, Nilla said.

I'll take care of him. Look, I am so, so sorry. Shar was weeping. She reached up and smeared the back of one hand across her nose. Please, Nilla. You were really nice to me. I want you to know I feel bad about this.

Nilla stared a t the back of the girl's head as it shook with emotion. She made no attempt to start the car back up again. Nilla understood, of course. She pushed the napkins into Charles' wound as best she could and fastened the seat belt across both of his arms, just in case. Then she pushed open the door and stepped out onto the fractured surface of the desert. The car pulled away from her as soon as she had closed the door, Charles and Shar heading east without her. In a minute they were lost to the heat shimmers coming off the burning sand.

PART THREE.

TonguesOfFire92: I read you can send care packages of clothes, and foodstuffs if theyre in cans, or dry foods like soda crackers, Pepperidge Farm Goldfish, beef jerky, you know. Ill try to find the link, those poor starving Californians really need our help. [Christian Love: Singles Chat Room Transcript, 4/8/05]

Ears flicking back and forth, nose up and into the night breezes, the kit fox trotted to the back of a creosote bush and pawed at the ground. Something didn't smell right but she was hungry after a long day curled up in her den and she needed to hunt. She looked up, around, her black eyes drinking in the tattered dribs and drabs of starlight available. Far, far away from city lights this night, this moonless desert, was one of the darkest places on the surface of the earth.

The vixen dipped her head and sniffed at the ground, at a narrow pit in the sandy soil. Grains of mica and dust spilled down into the hole as she nosed it. In an instant, far too fast for human eyes to discern, her forepaws were inside the hole, her claws sunk into the tiny body of a shrew. She hauled the animal up to her mouth and set out for the safety of her own den where she could feast at her leisure.

Without bothering to make herself visible again Nilla reached down and scooped up the fox with her numb, chapped hands and shoved her face deep into the animal's throat. She had bitten through the jugular vein and consumed the fox's slight flicker of golden life before the animal could even begin to fight.

She made a point of destroying the fox's skull before she threw away its remains. She felt guilty enough about the bear she had consigned to a life of wandering undeath. When she was done she sat down hard on the sand and let her brain relax, let herself become visible again. Every time in the past she had used her trick Mael Mag Och had appeared to tease her with riddles but not this time. She waited an hour but he never showed. That saddened her-she would have been glad for his company. Loneliness gnawed at Nilla, though she was hardly alone.

For one thing she had the desert all around her. Death Valley had failed to live up to its name. It might be a dangerous place for unprepared campers but it was hardly dead: in fact it crawled with life, with animals in startling abundance. They didn't exactly announce themselves and with normal human eyes she rarely caught sight of them. With her eyes closed, though, the desert sparkled with their energy, like a vast field of stars but far more active and mobile. She would sit and watch for hours sometimes, especially at night as the life-lights of the desert played out their endless game, chasing each other, devouring each other. Predators were big bright blotches of light that flowed toward and absorbed the smaller, dimmer sparks of prey animals. The shrubs and cacti around her flickered dimly but under the ground their massive root systems, ten times as large as the parts they showed above the ground, made a tapestry of interwoven bright radial lines and curves, a fabric with a radiant warp and a luminous weft. It was the most beautiful thing Nilla had ever seen.

For another thing she couldn't say she was alone because she was being followed. Followed and watched by the armless dead thing that had killed Charles. She had become aware of his continued presence during her first torturous afternoon in the valley, when she had walked so far and so hard she wore holes in the fabric of her too-tight jeans and her lips had split open with dehydration. The sun had started playing tricks on her early and had never let up-she saw heat shimmers in every direction that looked like pools of water rippling on the horizon, felt the shadow of every wisp of cloud on her back like a blast of icy breath. He stood at the top of a rise, his face distorted by glare, his ravaged body full of darkness in her life sense. She would have liked to write him off as yet another hallucination but she couldn't. She knew he was there. She was pretty sure he had instructions to follow her, though how anyone could make a dead man do their bidding was an open question.

He dogged her footsteps no matter how far or how fast she moved. On foot she was slightly more mobile, more agile and with better balance, but he had longer legs. He never approached more than five hundred feet from her but he never receded over the horizon either. As she headed east, walking night and day, stopping only to feed her body or to give her mind a momentary rest, he was never too far behind.

She stopped looking back, eventually. His presence became a fixed thing, a necessary piece of the environment. If he had stopped or turned away she would have felt it, she knew. She ignored him the best she could and kept trudging.

More of the same. Bushes no higher than her knee, some as low as her ankle. Soil cracked and broken by evaporation gave way to sharp-edged sand dunes gave way to rock scoured billiard ball smooth by trillions of individual grains of sand, each of them rolling, tumbling, microscopic jagged edges catching on the tiny defiles in the stone, tearing and breaking, wearing the rock face smooth a nanometer at a time over eons.

After three days she came to the place where the desert ended and the mountains began again. She bore no illusions about what lay ahead-she still had the map she had taken from Charles' car and she knew there was another desert on the far side of this new mountain range. Not just another valley but a high plateau of desert that went on forever. Still she was glad to be climbing upward, even when her legs complained, even when her thighs burned with the unrelenting effort. Getting up into high country meant the nights were cooler, the daytime sun less punishing.

In the absence of anything else the mind grows to fill the landscape it observes and in turn it takes on the aspects thereof. After days of walking nearly non-stop she had learned to stop thinking about every individual thing she saw, the swaying branches of every Mormon tea bush, every tiny yellow flower of a brittlebrush. Instead she had come to understand everything as process. In constant motion she began to see the world in terms of movement and change, and any change for the cooler, the wetter, or the rockier was for the better.

She used her hands and feet to pull her way up the Amargosa mountains and into Nevada. There was nothing to mark the border-she had to guess, based on what sense she could make of the map in a place with no unique landmarks. She was well off the paved roads that cut Death Valley into quadrants and the gas station map had very little physical detail to guide her.

Did it matter? If you walked across the country, from one ocean to the other, did it matter at any point what state you happened to be in? She had been holding Nevada in her mind as a goal, an escape-a place where she would be safe from the military and the police and everyone else who wanted to destroy her. Had anything really changed, though? Surely the people of Nevada hated the walking dead as much as the Californians. The desert was providing for her, it was a safe place for her. Maybe she should just stop. Maybe she should ignore Mael Mag Och's offer, forget about finding her name, just live underneath the cottonwoods, spend the rest of time getting more and more crusty and dry, eating kit foxes and tortoises and coyotes in the smell of sagebrush and baking rock. Maybe she should stay there forever.

She stopped to ponder that and just to sit down for a second. Her feet were killing her. Perched on a rock her body stopped complaining so loudly and her mind began to settle, to gather itself back up. Returning to concrete thought she slowly became aware that the armless corpse was gone. She felt his disappearance as a sudden shock of absence, the way she might have felt on having a tooth knocked out of her head.

Why had he gone? Where had he gone? She spun around, searching the high ridge then closed her eyes and tried the same search again but... nothing. He was gone. She turned and faced eastward-maybe he had gotten ahead of her somehow? No. No, but there was something. She stood at the top of a wandering canyon, the imprint of some ancient mazy river. At the head of the canyon stood a simple wood-frame house. Smoke dribbled out of the chimney to be torn apart by a gusting wind.

People. Living people. Who had somehow scared off the armless freak.

CDC almost certain they can be pretty sure about one thing... maybe. So the Centers for Disease Control says here that its not a virus. Which builds on what we already knew from this spectacularly useful press release from the National Institute of Health, which claims it isnt a bacterium. So what the hell is it? In the meantime, heres your conspiracy theory of the week from Romeneskos: Man in Oklahoma claims rapture happened, only no one was fit to be saved.

[blog entry, DiseasePlanet.org, 4/8/05] Clark ordered the HEMTT to a stop and leaned out his window to listen. In the distance, past a line of trees he heard a noise like paper being crumpled, over and over, interspersed with sharp bangs. He knew that sound. It was an automatic grenade launcher blowing the hell out of a city block. That's the Stryker group, he told the driver and comms. After three days of hard fighting they both just looked numb.

It was a strange kind of conflict where the noise of automatic weapons fire meant safety, while unarmed civilians were your prime target. Firefight ahead, chief, he shouted back at Horrocks. The sergeant snapped to attention. Get your people squared away.

Horrocks snapped into action. Alright, everybody find your battle buddy, we've got trigger time coming up. You, you, you, take point-you six spread out and keep your eyes open. Look out for negligent discharge!

In the truck's cabin the comms specialist spoke in a monotone into one of her cell phones. Stryker group three, this is assault element six. Assault element six calling, Stryker group three. Do you copy, please?