The Passage - By Justin Cronin Page 0,388

right.”

“They’re dying, Lacey. They’re dying and can’t stop. Why can’t they stop, Lacey?”

“I think that they are waiting for you, to show them the way.”

They stayed that way a long moment. In the place where Lacey’s mind met Amy’s, she felt her sorrow and her loneliness, but even more: she felt her courage.

She turned to Peter then. He did not love Amy, as Wolgast had. She could see that there was another, someone he had left behind. But he was the one who had answered the beacon. Whoever heard it and brought Amy back—he would be the one to stand with her.

She bent to the second locker on the floor. Stacked inside were manila folders of yellowed paper—still, after so many years, exuding a faint odor of smoke. It was the doctor who had retrieved them, along with Amy’s backpack, as the fires had moved down through the underground levels of the Chalet. Someone should know, he had said.

She withdrew the first file and placed it on the table before him. The label read:

EX ORD 13292 TS1 EYES ONLY

VIA WOLGAST, BRADFORD J.

INTAKE PROFILE CT3

SUBJ 1 BABCOCK, GILES J.

“It is time for you to learn how this world was made,” said Sister Lacey. And then she opened it.

SIXTY-SIX

They rode through the fading day, a party of five, Alicia on point. The trail of the Many was a broad swath of destruction—the snow trampled, branches broken, the ground littered with debris. It seemed to grow denser and wider with every kilometer, as if more of the creatures were joining the pod, called out of the wilderness to take their place among their kind. Here and there they saw a stain of blood on the snow where a hapless animal, a deer or rabbit or squirrel, had met its swift demise. The tracks were less than twelve hours old; somewhere up ahead, in the shade of the trees and under the rocky ledges and perhaps, even, beneath the snow itself, they waited, dozing the day away, a great pod of virals, thousands strong.

By late afternoon, they were forced to make a decision: to follow the creatures’ trail, the shortest route up the mountain, but one that would take them right into the heart of the pod; or to turn north, find the river again, and make their approach from the west. Michael watched from atop his horse as Alicia and Greer conferred. Hollis and Sara were beside him, their rifles resting across their laps, their parkas zipped to their chins. The air was bitterly cold; in the immense stillness, every sound seemed magnified, the wind like a rush of static over the frozen land.

“We go north,” Alicia announced. “All eyes.”

There had been no discussion about who would come; the only surprise was Greer. As the four of them had been mounting up to leave, he had come forward on his horse and joined their number without a word of explanation, passing his command to Eustace. Michael wondered if this meant Greer would be in charge, but as soon as they were clear of the ridge, the major turned to Alicia from atop his horse and said, simply, “This is your show, Lieutenant. Are we clear, everyone?” They all said they were, and that was that.

They rode on. As night was falling, Michael heard, from up ahead, the bright notes of the river. They emerged from the woods onto its southern bank and turned east, using it to guide them through the thickening dark. They had closed up to a single line now, Alicia up front, Greer taking the rear. From time to time one of the horses would stumble or Alicia would pull up, signaling for them to hold and listening intently, scanning the dark shape of the trees. Then they’d press on again. No one had spoken for hours. There was no moon at all.

Then, as a sliver of light lifted from the hills, the valley opened around them. To the east they could discern the shape of the mountain, pressed against a starry sky, and up ahead, some kind of structure, a brooding black shape that, as they approached, revealed itself as a bridge, standing astride the ice-choked river on concrete piers. Alicia dismounted and knelt to the ground.

“Two sets of footprints,” she said, gesturing with her rifle. “Over the bridge, from the far side.”

They began to climb.

It was not much later that they found the horse. With a tight nod, Greer confirmed that it was his, the gelding Peter and