list of the dead, a list of the wounded. I need to talk to the resistance fighters we picked up today. We need to coordinate.”
She squeezed the back of her neck, tried to roll the worst of the ache out of her shoulders. Her eyes stung so each blink felt like a swipe of sandpaper. So much to do now, right now, she thought, with this breath between the fight between life and death.
“POWs need to be transported.”
Travis pulled off a wool cap, dragged a hand through his filthy hair. “I don’t know if we’ve got any yet.”
“When and if. We need a team to handle the bodies. Ours, theirs. Any minors, any too old, sick, or unwilling to fight should be taken to safety.”
“They’re already on that. You chose those teams before we left New Hope, so they’re already on it.”
“Good. Travis, I need to get word to New Hope, I need to be sure, then send word back that Dad and Colin are alive, Duncan and Tonia, Eddie and Will, and—”
“I know. I’ll send some elves out. What was this place?” His eyes, red-rimmed like hers, scanned the space.
“I’m not sure, I need to check the old maps and find out. Because it was important enough to earn strong protection. I’m going to go through it, find the best place for a kind of command center.”
“You’re sure it’s clear. I don’t feel anything, but—”
“It’s clear.”
He took her at her word. “Then I’ll find you once I’ve got the reports.”
She searched out a stairway, empty and echoing with her bootsteps as she walked up. She found offices, most with desks, some with other furniture. Desks separated with partitions in big open spaces.
Dead plants, framed photos coated with dust, computers Chuck might revive, strange little notes, their edges curled, the paper crisp as bacon.
Bagels for 8:00
Table read 1/3
Mike (maybe) 212-555-1021
Another echoing area had rows of seats, rows and rows, and a kind of stage, big lights overhead, a large … camera?
A … performance space? she wondered. A theater? A studio?
She’d need someone who’d lived through the Doom to study it.
On another level, she found more desks—no partitions—the remnants of computers—destroyed—more lights, another camera, screens like Chuck had in his basement. Monitors.
She wandered through, then into a large office space—big desk, she noted. It would serve well. The dirt and soot lay so thick on the big window she couldn’t see through it. So she laid her hands on the glass until it cleared.
She could see fires still burning, a large blaze to the east, smaller spurts to the west and south. Below, troops carried the dead through another snowfall that swirled in high winds.
Others transported supplies to another building. Elves blurred by. Archers held positions on roofs, or through the broken windows on high floors.
“Yes, this’ll work,” she murmured.
She shrugged off the saddlebag on her shoulder to a sofa. Sent up plumes of dust. They’d clean, she thought. Clear away the dust, the grime, the spiderwebs. But for now she waved her hand to clean the desk, the desk chair. She pulled out her maps, sat.
She spread out the newest one to mark the progress of the first strike. Then, weary, laid her head on the desk.
She’d close her eyes for a minute, just a minute.
She fell asleep instantly, and dreamed of war.
Duncan found her there, set the New Hope version of MREs down on the desk, dragged a blanket out of her saddlebag to throw over her shoulders. Then, without bothering to clean it off, he stretched out on the dirty couch to grab some sleep for himself.
He woke to the smell of coffee and hot food, blinked his eyes open to see Fallon awake at the desk. She spooned in soup while she watched him.
“How could you sleep on that filthy couch?”
“It’s no dirtier than I am.”
As he sat up, she held her hand over the second MRE to heat it.
“How can you sleep sitting?” he wondered, and got up to grab the food. “Your dad and Colin are fine,” he began.
“I know. Travis told me.” She tapped her head. “Tonia, Mick, Mallick, all of them, holding their own, holding the line. It’ll be dark soon. The troops in the first wave should be rested and ready.”
“We took them by surprise, the enemy, with the first strike.” He thought the soup the most excellent ever made in the history of soup. “They’ll be ready now, too. We got to Times Square. It doesn’t look like the DVDs or