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He pulled Sofia tighter. “Come on, we have to move.”

She seemed to gather the last of her strength. She gently pushed away, stood on her own two feet. “Move where?”

Where? Good question. Whatever was coming would check this room, check the nearby rooms as well. If he and Sofia were going to survive, they had to find something better … maybe find a car and get the h.e.l.l out of Chicago, maybe reach the Mary Ellen.

“Hold on a second,” he said, then ran back into the conference room and grabbed the two coats. He shrugged his on, offered Jeff’s to Sofia.

“Outside,” he said. “We have to go outside.”

Sofia rubbed her face. She nodded. “Well … s.h.i.+t. Had to happen sooner or later, I guess.”

She put on Jeff’s coat. Cooper slid under her shoulder and helped her forward. He held the gun tight as the roars grew louder.

SERMON ON THE MOUNT

Steve Stanton stood tall, his hands resting lightly on the balcony’s marble railing. Wide stairwells descended on the left and the right, but his followers were packed in so tight Steve couldn’t see a single step. Below, a sea of reverent faces gazed up at him. Skylights above shone a pale yellow, letting in the scant late-morning sunlight that managed to penetrate the winter storm blowing outside.

He was in the Art Inst.i.tute of Chicago, a place dedicated to the beauty of the human race. With the help of the people packed in to hear him, to follow him, he would destroy that beauty, and that race as well. This place was a fitting cathedral for the newly born flock to hear his message.

The Converted murmured in antic.i.p.ation, in excitement. They waited for him to speak.

Until just a few days ago, Steve hadn’t believed in a higher power. Now he knew one existed, and knew that this divine being had chosen him to lead — when G.o.d stands with you, no man can stand against you.

The people on the stairs, the faces down below, they were all G.o.d’s children, but they were not all the same. Some had the mark of the triangle on foreheads or cheeks. Others of that type had no visible marks, because clothes hid their blessings.

Even if the signs were hidden, Steve could just look at a person and know their caste.

Those marked with the triangles were hatchling hosts, walking incubators who were soon to give up their lives for the glory of G.o.d’s very first creation.

Then there were the mothers- and fathers-to-be, people already swelling with G.o.d’s love. Soon they would be moved away from the city center to areas where humans huddled in offices and stores and apartment buildings. When these parents blossomed, the winter wind would carry spores to places that the Chosen could not reach.