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Maybe he should make a noise. Call out to them, to get the whole thing over with. Hey, I’m in here, idiots! Come and fucking get it!

Such a stupid, arbitrary place to die. He’d never thought he’d die in bed; it wasn’t that sort of world, and he wasn’t that sort of person. But some damn kitchen?

A kitchen.

Standing up was out of the question. But the top of the stove lay within his reach. Vertigo sloshed through his brain as he rocked onto his knees; straining forward, he grabbed hold of the skillet. He spat on the underside and wiped the metal with the hem of his shirt. His reflection was vague and undetailed, more a general outline of a human face than any particular person, but it was what he had.

The sounds were coming closer.

—

They raced up the stairs. Two flights brought them to the roof. The dust was as thick as ever, though in the western sky a paler region, weak but discernible, showed the sun’s location.

They had to get higher. They had to get above the cloud.

Amy looked up. The boom of the crane was rocking like the neck of a pecking bird. A long, hooked cable swayed from its tip. A stairway inside the crane’s mast ascended to the top.

They began to climb. Where was Fanning? Watching them, no doubt—enjoying himself, choosing his moment.

They clanged the rest of the way to the top. The swaying was getting worse. The whole thing felt unstable, as if at any moment the crane might peel away from the side of the building. They were still inside the cloud. The skyline of midtown Manhattan was a smoldering wreckage, the destruction continuing to extend outward from its epicenter. A rumble, a cloud, and another building toppled. Broad gaps existed where whole blocks had once stood.

“Hello up there!”

Fanning was halfway up the mast. Gripping a bar with one hand, he leaned out and waved to them with merry confidence. “Not to worry, I’ll be there soon!”

A narrow catwalk led to the end of the boom. Amy crawled along it, Peter following. The boom was slamming up and down. She kept her eyes aimed forward; she didn’t dare look down into the void. Even a glimpse would paralyze her.

They reached the end; there was no place else to go.

“Goddamn I like a view.”

Fanning had reached the top of the mast and was now standing fifty feet behind them. Back arched, chest puffed out, he let his gaze travel over the ruined city.

“You’ve really made a mess of things, haven’t you? Speaking as a New Yorker, I have to say, this brings back some very unpleasant memories.”

A sudden warmth touched Amy’s cheek. She looked to her left, across Fifth Avenue. The glass facade of the building on the far side shone with a faint orange color. Which made no sense; the building faced east, away from the sun. The light, she realized, was a reflection.

Fanning huffed a sigh. “Well. Looks to me like we’ve reached the end of the line. I’d ask you to stand aside, Peter, but you don’t seem to be a very good listener.”

The violence of the crane’s movement intensified. Far below, the hooked chain was swaying like a pendulum. The glow of the glass was growing brighter. Where was the light coming from?

“What do you say? Perhaps the two of you could hold hands and throw yourselves off. I’ll be glad to wait.”

There was a flash. A ray of intense sunlight, angling off the steel crown of the Chrysler Building, had broken through the murk.

It shot Fanning directly in the face.

Suddenly the crane tipped away from the side of the building. The bolts attaching the mast to the structure’s outer girders were breaking away. With a groan, the boom began to arc over Fifth Avenue, slowly at first, then with gathering velocity. The mast was tipping from its base. They were moving both down and away, the boom falling like a hammer toward the glass tower across the street. It would spear the building at a forty-five-degree angle, going like a shot.

Oh please, thought Amy. She was hugging the edges of the catwalk. Make it stop.

Glass exploded around them.

—

The virals did not so much enter as pop into the room. The first one, the alpha, bounded straight over the table, landing in front of him. Michael thrust the pan out toward its face.

It froze.

The other two seemed confused, unable to decide what to do. It was as Michael had hoped; he had disrupted their chain of command. He moved the pan a little to the side; the viral’s gaze tracked it unerringly. This discovery would have intrigued him if he weren’t so terrified. Hardly daring to breathe, Michael slowly drew the pan toward himself. The viral obediently followed; it seemed utterly entranced. Inch by inch, the gap between them closed. Michael shifted the pan to the left, making the viral turn its face.