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A wide-eyed Blackmon slid a hand into a pocket. It came out holding a gold chain, swinging slightly from the weight of a dangling gold cross.

“Jesus Christ,” she said. “Satan walks among us. Let it play.”

Vogel did.

The picture whipped back to the hunted. Murray saw that the woman had something clutched to her chest.

A baby.

The pilot spoke again. “Command, the woman appears to be carrying a child. Moving to engage.”

“Negative, Bat Twelve,” said the second voice. “Do not engage!”

Bat Twelve, apparently, wasn’t interested in listening to orders.

“Right and left guns, engage the targets chasing the woman and child. You’re cleared hot!”

The image vibrated slightly as the Pave Hawk’s guns opened up. Long streaks of white shot out, slammed into pursuers, cars and pavement alike. Some of the pursuers stopped moving, some scattered sideways, but most continued the chase. Among the crowd, Murray saw tiny flashes of light.

“Hostiles are returning fire,” the pilot said calmly. “Where they h.e.l.l did they get all those guns?”

The helicopter kept firing, but there were too many pursuers. Others came pouring out of doorways, cutting off any escape for the two — no, the three — hunted people. There was nowhere left to run.

The mob closed in from all sides. The man, woman and child vanished beneath a quickly growing pile of killers.

Vogel switched it off. The ever-increasing numbers of infected, Converted and dead took their normal place on the screen.

Blackmon stared. She scratched her right eyebrow. The Situation Room filled with another, familiar long silence.

“All those guns,” she said. “Where did the Converted get all those guns?”

Murray laughed. He choked it down instantly, but he was so tired he couldn’t help the reaction.

“Sorry,” he said. “Madam President, we are the most well-armed nation in the world. There are a quarter-billion guns in the United States — the Converted didn’t have to look far.”

Millions of guns. Millions of Converted. Millions of armed insurgents. Could it get any worse?

As if on cue, Admiral Porter leaned forward again, a phone still pressed to his ear.

“Madam President, I regret to inform you that we have word from Fort Stewart and Hunter Army Airfield in Georgia. They each suffered coordinated attacks by a large number of Converted, and” — he paused, swallowed — “and significant numbers of soldiers stationed at those facilities a.s.sisted in the a.s.sault.”

Blackmon’s gold cross dangled.

“Reinforcements,” she said. “Let’s get them help. What do we have in the area?”