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Nathan Lee was, but didn t offer his name. He said he was Nathan Lee s
designated psychiatrist, though Nathan Lee already had one during the daytime.
Double-teaming him, Nathan Lee decided. They monitored more than your physical
health in here. The man s voice came like talk radio, usually deep in the
night.
He told Nathan Lee about the weather, his favorite books, and other things. He
asked about Denver. He was fascinated by the destruction.
Do you have a family? asked Nathan Lee.
Why do you ask?
You should take them far away. To the mountains or the desert, said Nathan
Lee. Now.
Really? the psychiatrist said. What about E-Day? Evacuation Day. It was
everybody s idea of salvation, holing up in the salt dome.
Have they finally announced a date?
It got pushed back, said the psychiatrist. Extenuating circumstances.
What happened?
The excavators hit a water pocket. It wasn t supposed to be there. Water and
salt, not a good combination. They almost lost the whole place. He sounded
almost upbeat. As it is, the two lowest
levels melted out. They re pumping out the water, slaving to save the rest.
People must be panicked.
No one knows.
You do, said Nathan Lee.
Secrets are my business.
Now what?
We wait, I suppose. There s always the Sera-III. The silver bullet.
Another secret. I don t know what that is, said Nathan Lee.
Miranda hasn t told you?
Nathan Lee frowned. Who was this man? What about Miranda?
She s been at work on it for months. Clone blood, essentially. Sera loaded
with antibodies.
Miranda s found the cure?
No. The antibodies only work for three years. That s the three in Sera-III.
It s not really a silver bullet.
More like slow suicide. You have to infect yourself in order to be saved. And
then you re not saved anyway. Three years down the road, the Grim Reaper is
still waiting.
So the sanctuary chambers are flooded, and there is no cure. You sound fine
with that, said Nathan
Lee.
I wonder about just desserts, is all, the voice said.
You think we deserve to die?
We take so much for granted, the psychiatrist answered. The question is do
we deserve to live?
Another time, they talked about the pilgrims. The little gathering of locals
that Nathan Lee had seen along the Rio Grande had been dispersed. The military
had dropped leaflets warning them to go back to their homes, and afterwards
killed the valley floor with Agent Orange. But they re coming back, said the
physician. It s different this time. They re starting to show up from
faraway. People are afraid of them.
Why, are they dangerous?
We don t know.
Who are they?
The last Americans. A lot of them have guns.
Everyone has guns. Nathan Lee had seen it on his way across the country. It
was little more than gang warfare out there. They ll use them on each other.
They re fragmented.
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Not anymore.
Why s that?
Have you ever looked up the word apocalypse ? the physician riffed. So
many people think it s just another way of saying total destruction.
Nathan Lee let him ramble.
In fact there s a whole philosophy behind it, the idea of a chosen people
having special knowledge and being spared the cosmic end. The righteous will
live happily ever after here on earth.
Yes, said Nathan Lee. The kingdom movement. Where was the man going with
this?
It s very appealing. Very American. Egalitarian. Inclusive. Revolutionary.
Just the sort of thing to bring the ragtag barbarians together.
What are you talking about?
This Jesus thing of yours.
Nathan Lee sat up. His scalp prickled. Suddenly he realized these midnight
visits had not been random.
The physician had been insinuating himself into Nathan Lee s head. He was here
for a reason. Of mine?
Please, said the physician. You unleashed it. Without him, they d still
just be scattered across the wilds. Now they ve found a center.
Do you mean the clone? That was still going on?
Yes.
But he s not Jesus Christ.
He is now.
That s crazy. He s a counterfeit.
Tell him that.
I did. I tried. What had been going on in his absence?
I thought you might try to disown him.
He s not mine, said Nathan Lee.
But you helped create him. The clones were speechless animals, at least most
of them, said the physician. You gave them a voice. You built them a stage.
I never imagined anyone would go so far for them.
They re harmless. The messiah is somebody s idea of a practical joke.
The city was so safe, just one more spot on the map, said the physician.
Everything was fine. But now the mob is coming. And yet he didn t sound
resentful.
The soldiers will protect us. Nathan Lee felt trapped. He was at the man s
mercy, locked in here. What did he want with him?
What if it s too late? The question was rhetorical, not bitter.
Who are you? Nathan Lee demanded.
I just wanted to say thank you, Nathan Lee.
For what?
For doing your part.
My part of what?
As you put it, the joke, said the voice.
The voice departed. Nathan Lee called to the ceiling speaker for the man to
come back, but there was only silence. He hammered at his door, and the staff
ignored him.
Next morning, when a nurse spoke to him over the intercom, Nathan Lee demanded
to know who the physician was that had been talking to him each night. She
checked their records, and there was no such physician, no nighttime
psychiatrists, no midnight calls. By her tone of voice, Nathan Lee could tell
she thought he was imagining things. A lot of their patients did that.
O
N THE EVE
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of his release, Miranda was allowed to place a call. You were supposed to be
incommunicado in here. The stated reason was that decon was a period of
debriefing. Contact with family and friends might contaminate your
information. In fact, Nathan Lee suspected, the authorities feared letting
people see their loved ones so raw and wild. Tucked away in decon, the
psychiatrists had time to tame you.
Nathan Lee s computer screen flickered to life and Miranda s face appeared on
the wall. The camera softened her cheeks. She looked different, even healthy.
He couldn t put his finger on it.
Your two weeks are almost up, she announced brightly.
He sat up, dull and heavy. His eyes hurt from the reflected light on the
stainless steel walls. He was sick from dreaming too much. Miranda, he said.
Is that tan for real? You look like a gigolo.
She was calling from her kitchen computer. It was late afternoon. He could
tell by the long shadows. She was eating toast, trying to appear casual, as if
this were just another call on her list.
I miss you, he said.
I heard about your daughter, she said. I m sorry.
He felt stupid with inertia. What s going on out there? I heard about the
pilgrims.
Yes. Poor people.
Nathan Lee didn t pursue it. You shouldn t have sent the Captain after me,
he said.
Don t blame me, she said. I never would have done that to him. He sent
himself. He had his reasons.
His own, you know, loss.
Nathan Lee fell silent.
It was a grand try, Miranda said. Doomed. But grand.
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