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We were someplace else—not on the street by the water, and not in the alcove. Slick grass was smashed against my face, and the air was clearer. Winching one elbow underneath myself and trying to prop myself up with it; I only succeeded in turning over.

He was sitting beside me, on the grass, on a hill. We were beside the interstate, before the serpentine S-curves that herald the way to the Olgiati bridge. I had mud in my shoes. I could feel it before I could feel the grass, but then the grass started to itch and that was all I felt.

I sat up, but not easily and not very well. There were drag marks leading up to my position, which explained the overflowing footwear.

He’d hauled me clear past the hotel and up, up as far from the water as we could get without an airlift. It was good of him. I lay back down and let the spitting rain go to work on my skin.

“What did you say? What was that?”

“Chains,” I said.

“If I had some, I’d cheerfully oblige you. ”

“Not me. Them. The fire didn’t destroy all the evidence, so the Klan took the bodies and threw them into the river. Weighed them down with chains so they’d sink. I’m so tired,” I finished.

“I know. ”

“Thirsty. ”

“Can’t help you there. But if you’ll pull yourself together long enough to follow through on your crazy ass plan . . . ” He pointed down the hill, over to our left just a few hundred yards. “Voilá. Now who’s your daddy?”

“If you can help me get upright and point me at that-there stadium, then _you are. ”

“That’s what I’m talking about. ”

It wouldn’t be as easy as that, I knew. BellSouth Park was almost an island. A loud, crazy flapping overhead signaled the passing of a helicopter, which flew directly over us and then swooped down to land in the middle of the outfield.

“Do you still want to do this?”

I leaned forward, not feeling sturdy enough to stand but sturdy enough to flop my head down over my knees. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it matters. They’re coming anyway, on land or under it. They’re working up their strength. She’s making them. ”

“The little girl? You think this is her doing?”

I nodded shakily. “Yup. She lived the longest, and hates the most. ”

“I don’t get it. ”

“You don’t have to. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t know what she wants; she only wants to feed, or to destroy. It’s the anger of a child. There’s no directing it and no appeasing it. She’s not going to stop until something makes her. ”

I held my head up and it was okay—that is, it didn’t seem to be in danger of flopping back onto the ground at any moment, so I took a risk and tried to arrange my feet underneath myself to stand. With some help from Nick, it worked. But I was pretty sure I was going to throw up, so I pushed him aside and lost what little I had in my stomach all over the grass.

“What’s wrong? Jesus, what now? Are you all right?”

He was kneeling and trying to help, even though I didn’t really want any help and I sure as hell don’t like people watching me throw up. I was barely strong enough to stand, much less strong enough to hurl, but I did it anyway, repeatedly, until my chest cramped and I had to stop or implode. Most of the time there was nothing but some liquid and the near-recognizable chunks of granola bar.

“No, I’m not okay, exactly. ” I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, which was so dirty it didn’t visibly fix my mouth or soil the shirt. “But I will be. I will be all right. I just need to refuel. I need some protein,” I added, as the image of a huge, dripping cheeseburger flashed inside my brain like a neon light.

“Was it this bad last time, too? When you were in the bathroom and didn’t want to come out?”

“What?”

“At the Read House. A few days ago, when you were—when there was Caroline, for the first time. And you wouldn’t come out of the bathroom. Was it this bad then, too?”

I wiped my teeth with my tongue and was disgusted by the taste of bile. I spit a big loogie onto the grass beside the damp pile of vomit. “No. Bad, but not like this. Different. Or not really different, but not as bad. Shit, Nick. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Nobody does. ”

He got all solemn on me, working his way around to face me, and to take my arms again. I noticed how much he was touching me today and I wasn’t sure what to make of it, except that I didn’t mind it and I was too worn down to object even if I did.

I took a step and slipped on the grass, landing ass-down but not hard enough to do anything but jolt me into tears.