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He bit down。 The glass cracked。 The liquid seemed warmer than his body temperature； and that was fitting； this being the the hottest strain Los Alamos had every captured。 To his surprise； the virus had a pleasing taste。 He was reminded of oranges； but with a hint of sea salt。No； no； Adam decided； it was more like the bead of a lover's sweat at that crucial moment； nearing oblivion； when she is just begging to be finished off。
Epilogue
Harvesting the Wind
MAY
The big； black cast iron chair occupied a sandstone slab near the outermost tip of the mesa。 There Miranda sat； with a pair of binoculars resting in her lap； or what was left of it。 It was midday and warm。 Her glass of ice water was beaded with dew。 A baseball cap shaded her eyes。 It could have been an island in the sky out here。
Summer was ing。 Miranda had willed it with all her heart。 The snows had melted； the noon sun towered； the city was healing。 Almost three hundred people had stayed behind。 They were all types。 Like an old Spanishentrada； they were learning to build upon their mix of trades； scientists and soldiers working together； the Cross and the Sword； faith and steel。 Each day saw them more ready for what was to e。
Each day her body ripened。 Her belly swelled。 Her breasts startled her in the mirror； taut and round。 They had bee identical to the breasts on Nathan Lee's Matisse nude； which she kept with her other mementos； the gold necklace her mother had left； a treasured seashell； a snapshot of her Monarch butterflies； her map of chromosome 16。
Tara adored the movements in Miranda's womb。 Every day； she visited。 The Captain's wife said the baby was going to be a girl； and while the thought of a little sister could not replace the horse for Tara； it did help。 What did not help was the horse itself； which would neither go away nor e in from the wilds。
When she looked out from the edge of the mesa； Miranda no longer envisoned a valley of death。 It was still early for wildflowers at this elevation。 But the first expeditions had descended five weeks ago； and had reported that the plains grasses were knee…high； and wild cattle were calving； and the rivers were chocolate with run…off。 Their dispatches…sent by shortwave from distant places…were like old…time radio； or broadcasts from Mars； filled with crackling static and cosmic whistles and； ultimately； silence。 It had been nearly two weeks since they'd heard a word from 〃out there。〃 Nevertheless； Los Alamos was still able to track the explorers' progress via satellite。 Three of the expeditions had reached their targets and turned around； and were now making their way homeward。 What tales they would tell。
For a doomed people； the citizens of Los Alamos were joyful and industrious。 Each of them was terminal now。 They had voluntarily been inoculated with the Sera…III。 Their three…year countdown had begun。 After that； short of a cure； the virus would take them。 But that's where their faith came in。 Survivors had been contacted and were…slowly…being brought in。 The harvest had begun。 The answer was near。 They believed that。
It was not an easy faith to hold。 All through the winter； glass people had strayed into Los Alamos。 That's what Tara called them。 Some had been pilgrims and wayward travelers drawn by the city's lights。 Others had been their former neighbors and coworkers who had returned on foot； castaways from the now infamous convoy。 They were not the survivors whom Los Alamos longed for； only more plague victims。 There was no need to use moon suits with them nor cage them in the bio…safety labs。 Immune for the time being； Miranda and others had set up a hospice to feed and care for the victims in their final days。 Certainly there was no lack of spare beds in the city。
It had been grim work nursing the victims； and yet purifying in a way。 As they watched bones appear through their patients' glassy flesh and saw hearts beating in living chests and tracked the sunset of memories； they came to accept that one day that might be them。 By April the refugees had all passed away。 The cemetery in the golf course bore markers； some with names； those who had remembered them； many without。 At any rate； their passage had signaled the end of the great die…off。 Shortly after that； five expeditions had set off into America。
While they waited for the explorers' homeing； the people of Los Alamos continued to foster their city。 There was so much to do； supplies to inventory； research to review； experiments to design； greenhouses to build； the reactor to tweak； satellites to monitor； radio signals to broadcast。 The word to spread。 Just keeping the lightbulbs changed was a task； but Miranda insisted。 They were a beacon。 That was her mandate。 Every night the city's bright lights repelled the darkness。
Not all the darkness lay out there。 On the chance Cavendish might have left clues behind； Miranda had visited his office in South Sector three months ago； when she was more mobile。 She'd wanted to review everything he had； and had not； done during and after his reign； to see inside his head。 〃Something about him doesn't add up；〃 she said to the Captain； who acpanied her。 〃He knew more than he wanted us to know； I'm sure of it。〃
The first thing they had noticed upon breaking into his office was the smell。 His wheelchair was there； pointed out at an executive view of the Sangre de Christos。 Still sitting upright； the rebel scientist had shriveled to a dry husk。 Glass pipettes had been driven through the optic cannula in each eye socket。 The pipettes were fragile。 His impaling must have taken great care。 His murderer could have been anyone。
Cavendish's killing had bee just one more of a million secrets that Los Alamos held。 Everyday； foraging parties made new discoveries： warehouses brimming with food and supplies； lab notes with buried insights； bio…safety labs with forgotten subjects； chalkboards scrawled with hieroglyphs。 Over a hundred thousand people had vanished in one night last December； and yet they still whispered to those they'd left behind。 Every laptop contained a hidden personality。 Apartments yielded love letters。 Diaries spoke。 Windows looked across into other windows。 Telescopes on tripods peeked between curtains。 Los Alamos had always been a city of dreams； good and bad。 That was in the nature of science。 What surprised everyone was that it had also been a city of such desire。 It made them long for their panions who had fled into the earth。
Weeks ago； on their way south； the New Orleans expedition had visited the silent WIPP sanctuary； hoping to make contact with their lost brethren。 But they had found only mummies for sentinels in the surface fortification； and the big elevator shafts leading into the depths echoed back their own shouts。 There was little they could do to unravel the colony's disappearance。 They didn't have ropes long enough to descend the vertical half…mile； so they dropped messages in canisters down the holes； then proceeded on their journey。 Their mission was to search for the living； not mune with the dead。
It was known that survivors remained。 The hunt for them had started in earnest in February； using satellites； as the last of the great cities g