The Passage - By Justin Cronin Page 0,412

arguments there; she had accepted this.

“You don’t have to do that, Hollis.”

The big man shook his head. “I’m not doing it for you. If you want me to agree, that’s how it has to be. Take it or leave it.”

Peter turned to Greer, who nodded. Then he directed his eyes to his brother. Theo was sitting on a log on the far side of the circle, his splinted leg stretched out before him.

“Flyers, Peter. What do I know? I told you, this is your show.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s everyone’s.”

Theo paused. “Just so I understand you. You want to deliberately infect yourself with the virus, and you want me to say, Sure, go right ahead. And Hollis here wants to do the same thing, assuming you don’t die or kill all of us in the process.”

Peter felt the starkness of these terms; for the first time he wondered if he had the nerve. Theo’s question was, Peter realized, a test.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking you.”

Theo nodded. “Then okay.”

“That’s it? Just okay?”

“I love you, brother. If I thought I could talk you out of this, I would. But I know I can’t. I told you I was going to worry about you. I might as well start now.”

Peter turned at last to Alicia. She had removed her glasses, revealing the thrumming orange glow of her eyes, magnified to a sparkling intensity by the light of the fire. It was her consent he needed most of all; without it, he had nothing.

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I’m sorry to say it, but yes.”

There was no reason to wait. Too much time to consider the ramifications, Peter knew, and his courage could dissolve. He led them to the empty house he had prepared—the last one, at the far end of the trace. It was little more than a shell; nearly all of the interior walls had been removed, leaving the joists exposed. The windows were already boarded up, another reason Peter had selected it—that and the fact that it was farthest away. Hollis took up the ropes Peter had moved from the barn; Michael and Greer carried a mattress from one of the adjacent houses. Somebody had brought the lantern. While Hollis tied the ropes to the joists, Peter stripped to the waist and lay down on his back. He was suddenly very nervous, his awareness of everything around him almost painfully vivid, his heart beating very quickly in his chest. He raised his eyes to Greer. A silent bargain, struck between them: if it comes to that, don’t hesitate.

Hollis finished tying the ropes to his arms and legs, leaving Peter spread-eagled on the floor. The mattress smelled like mice. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“Sara, do it now.”

She was cradling the box with the virus; in her other hand was one of the syringes, still sealed in plastic. Peter could see that her hands were trembling.

“You can do this.”

She passed the box to Michael. “Please,” she begged.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He held the box away from his body, trying to give it back. “You’re the nurse.”

Peter felt a blast of exasperation. Any longer, and his resolve would fail him. “Will somebody, please, just get this done.”

“I’ll do it,” Alicia said.

She took the box from Michael, and opened it.

“Peter … ”

“What is it now? Flyers, Lish.”

She turned it in her hands to show them. “This box is empty.”

Amy, he thought. Amy, what have you done?

They found her kneeling by the fire pit as she was dropping the last vial into the flames. Baby Caleb lay against her shoulder, wrapped in a blanket. A sizzling pop flew up as the liquid inside the last vial expanded to a boil, shattering the glass.

Peter crouched on the ground beside her. He was too stunned even to feel angry. He didn’t know what he felt at all. “Why, Amy?”

She did not look at him but kept her eyes focused on the fire, as if to verify that the virus was really gone. With the fingers of her free hand she was gently stroking the baby’s cap of dark hair.

“Sara was right,” she said finally. “It was the only way to make sure.”

She lifted her eyes from the flames. And when Peter saw what lay inside them, he understood what she had done—that she had chosen to take this burden from him, from them all, and that this was a mercy.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Amy said. “But it would have made you like