“But Dino—”

“Forget it! Just be happy you’re gettin’ out. And alive.”

“Now wait,” Ron snapped, his temper rising. “Dino took more than a thousand dollars from me.”

Al’s face settled into a hard scowl. “Listen, punk. First off, nobody’s gotta help you get out. I don’t give a shit if you live or die, and nobody else does either, except that whacky Sylvia.”

“What—”

“Second, whatever Dino took off ya is his. You want it back, you go find him and fight him for it. Only, this time he might not leave you breathin’. Catch?”

Ron felt his teeth clenching.

“An’ third, Dino took yer cards and keys all right. But he didn’t get any cash. Sylvia took that while you was sleepin’.”

“What?”

“In th’ hotel room,” Al said.

“That’s a damned lie!” Ron was suddenly shaking with fury.

“I got th’ money off her,” Al said, very calmly. “It belongs to us—”

“It’s mine!”

“Not no more. It belongs to my gang. I’ll help you get out—but only b’cause we got your money. Catch? Like you’re buyin’ your way outta th’ Dome. You don’t get nothin’ fer free.”

Ron limped down an empty Manhattan street in the hot haze of late afternoon. He passed row after row of crumbling old buildings and empty store fronts. Windows blankly staring at him. No drapes or curtains or blinds. No glass left. No people. For all he could see, he was the only human being in Manhattan. The last man on Earth.

But inside those buildings there was life, Ron knew now. Rats scuttled in the darkness of the basements, and two-legged animals huddled in the rooms upstairs.

She took my money. Ron knew it was true. He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew it was true. She seemed so scared and alone, so soft and pretty . . . And it was all a trick. A lousy trick.

Ron’s feet hurt. Walking barefoot down streets covered with broken glass, old food cans, cigarette butts, torn paper, cracked cement that was steaming hot—he had cut one foot on something, and they were both coming up with blisters. His back and ribs still ached from the beating Dino and his friends had given him. His eyes were okay now, though the bruises still felt tender to the touch. His hand was still swollen painfully.

He couldn’t get the thought of Sylvia out of his head. She tricked me. She and Dino must have been working together. But he kept remembering how it felt to hold her, the sweaty odor of her body, the words she whispered to him.

There were other people on the streets now. Visitors, all of them. Mostly middle-aged men. There were a few couples. Nobody Ron’s age. They all were dressed well, but their clothes now looked rumpled, dirty. They were all heading in the same direction, toward the gate. They all looked tired.

A car drove by, a taxi honking at the pedestrians who were strolling in the street, pushing them out of its way. The taxi was filled with more visitors. A plume of sooty smoke trailed after it.

Ron felt completely bushed. He had been walking painfully for more than an hour. Finally, far up the street, he could see a thick crowd of people swarming. And beyond them, the heavy steel criss-cross beams of Manhattan Dome came down to street level.

The gate.

There were open shops and restaurants on the street now. People still buzzed in and out, doing their last bit of shopping or eating or drinking before the City closed down for the year. Everybody seemed to be rushing about even faster than usual. They looked wild-eyed, frenzied, like there were a million things they had to do before the gate closed.

But they didn’t look happy at all. They didn’t seem to be enjoying their fun.

Is it really fun? Ron wondered.

A pair of white-haired women came out of a shop gripping huge plastic bags that bulged with packages. They almost bumped into Ron because they were too busy talking to each other to notice him. He stepped back as they jostled past him. They stared at Ron as they passed.

“My goodness, look at him,” said one to the other.

“Disgusting.”

“Is that dirt or bruises?”

“What’s the difference?” They headed toward the gate.

Ron stood there in the midst of the surging crowd. The people flowed around him the way water flows around an obstacle. They stared at his ragged clothes and bruised face. They talked about him. But no one spoke to him.

Above the heads of the crowd, Ron could see a policeman in his clean white helmet. For some reason he couldn’t understand, Ron edged away from the gate, away from the policeman.

And then he saw Sylvia.

She was pushing through the thickening crowd, frowning and looking around. Searching for somebody.

For me? He was glad and angry and scared, all at the same time.

He made his way toward her. She spotted him and her eyes lit up. They both pushed through the crowd until they were standing face to face.

“I didn’t know if I’d make it in time,” she said, breathless. She had to raise her voice to nearly a shout to be heard over the noise of the crowd.

“I don’t have any more money,” Ron heard himself say to her.

For a moment she didn’t answer. The crowd pushed at them. It was hard to stay in place.

“Al toldja I took yer money. Right?”

“Right.”

She shrugged and said nothing.

“Well, did you? Or was he lying?”

Sylvia shook her head. “No, he ain’t a liar. I took it. While you was sleepin’ in the hotel room.”

Ron didn’t know what to do, what to say. He stood there while the people streamed by, jostling them. The crowd was getting bigger and noisier. His head was hurting. Cars and buses full of people were honking and growling along the street. It was hot and dirty and noisy and confused.

“Why’d you come here?” he blurted.

“T’ warn ya.”

“Warn me?”

“About th’ gate. They won’t letcha through without an ID The hardtops’ll throw ya in th’ Tombs.”