Wonder why they never asked me to fix the elevators? Ron asked himself as he stepped out of the shed and onto the roof.

He crossed one roof after another until he was at the end of the block. Then he went downstairs inside the building, knowing that it was empty and unguarded. He made it to the street and started walking.

Dawn was already starting to brighten the new day when Ron stopped on the sidewalk next to the last row of buildings before the huge girders of the Dome. Across the wide avenue ahead of him, the massive steel girders reared and arched so far overhead that they were lost in haze. And on the other side of the Dome—freedom? No, Ron realized. Not freedom. Just another kind of world, with its own kind of slavery.

Still, Ron started walking along that avenue, following the curving flank of the Dome, looking for the nearest gate. As he walked block after block, it began to get brighter with daylight. The streets were still empty, though.

Off to his left, just a few blocks away was Central Park. Ron kept a careful eye out for stray dogs. He had heard from the Muslims that the dog packs sent out scouts, and a single dog’s bark could bring out a snarling horde in no time.

By mid-morning, he saw a bus growling along one of the crosstown streets several blocks up ahead of him. He walked faster. Soon he saw well-dressed people strolling on the streets, staring up at the buildings and the overspanning Dome. Tourists! A gate must be nearby.

As he walked among the strolling visitors, they stared at his filthy clothes and ragged looks and skirted clear of him. Ron laughed and clutched the credit card in his pocket. He went to the first hotel he could find. Using his credit card on the automated registration desk, he obtained a room and ordered new clothes. He bathed for an hour, feeling the beautiful hot water and clean-smelling soap take away his dirt and pain. And his fear.

For the first time in nearly a year, Ron wasn’t afraid.

But as he dressed, he began to worry about Sylvia. And Dewey. Maybe she was right, and there was no place Outside for her. But what about the old man? I can’t leave him here to go blind, all by himself. Yet, if he tried to take Dewey through a gate with him, Ron knew that the guards would send the ID-less old man to the Tombs.

He dressed slowly, lost in his thoughts, pulling on a disposable green zipsuit almost exactly like the one he had worn when he’d first come to the City. He was pushing his feet into the new boots when his hotel room door swung open and Timmy Jim walked in.

The fear flashed through Ron again. He stood there on the soft carpeting, fresh and clean, dressed in a crisp new suit. But he felt the way he had felt all year long, as if anything could happen to him any minute. He was alone. Unprotected.

Two black warriors stood out in the hall, grim-faced. Timmy Jim shut the door quietly.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” he asked.

“Outside. I’m getting out.”

“You think so.”

“Now look,” Ron said, “you can’t start trouble in here. The police . . .”

Timmy Jim smiled, but there was no humor in it. “The hardtops been paid off. I can take this hotel apart, brick by brick, if I want to. I can take this whole friggin’ City apart, any time I want to!”

Ron sank down on the bed. “Okay, so you’re top man. But there’s one thing you can’t do.”

“Name it.”

“You can’t make me go back with you. I’m finished. I’m going Outside . . . or you’ll have to kill me. One or the other.”

Timmy Jim blinked at him. “You’re bluffin’.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You think you’re gonna go Outside and warn ’em that we’re comin’ out . . . that we’re gonna take over?”

Ron shrugged.

Laughing, Timmy Jim said, “Man, they won’t believe word number one! They’ll think you’re spaced out!”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“I saved your ass, man,” Timmy Jim snapped. “You owe me your life. You ain’t gonna get outta that.”

Ron answered, “I trained nearly a hundred kids for you. They know as much as I do. Let them train others. You got your money’s worth out of me.”

The smile crept back across Timmy Jim’s bony face. “Tired of bein’ a slave, huh?”

Ron nodded.

“Can’t say I blame you.” Timmy Jim walked over to the window and pushed the curtain aside to look down at the street for a few moments. Then, turning to Ron, he said, “Lemme tell you somethin’. When they shut down New York City . . . when they officially called it closed and evacuated everybody . . . they didn’t let us out.”

Ron looked up at him. “Us?”

“The blacks,” Timmy Jim said. “The Puerto Ricans. The poor people in the ghettos in Harlem and the upper West Side and all. They didn’t let any of ’em out.”

“The City was evacutated, emptied,” Ron said. “The only people who stayed were like Dewey, people who hid out until they declared the City officially closed.”

“Bullshit. Oh, they took out the whites, all right. Rich and poor. Irish and Italian and WASP and all. They got out okay. But they kept us inside. When we tried to get out, they beat us back with clubs, electric prods, water cannon, lasers—they didn’t let us out, man! They closed this City and wrote it off as a dead loss and claimed all of us were dead.”

“No, that can’t be . . .”

“It sure as hell was,” Timmy Jim said, his fists clenched at his sides. “That was why they closed the City down, man. The real reason! Wrote off all the welfare cases. Officially they no longer exist. One touch of the computer’s tape and poof! all them records erased.”

Ron couldn’t believe it. “They left you here?”

“They left us here, baby. Left us to starve, to freeze, to be rat bait. They left us to fight with each other and kill ourselves off.”

“Holy God.”

“God’s got nothin’ to do with it,” Timmy Jim answered. “Anyway, don’t you know He’s black?” He smiled ruefully.

“Is this really true? They closed the City to get rid of you?” Ron asked.

Timmy Jim nodded. “That’s why the Muslims took charge. We had to get some organization. Had to figure out how to live, man. There was some people Outside who was willing to give us a little help. Smugglin’ in food, stuff like that. But it was nowhere near enough. No way. Not even the black market was enough. But we managed. We survived.”

“And now . . .”

“And now, instead of fightin’ each other, all the Muslim brothers are united. We fight the white gangs. That keeps us together. In a few more years, all the gangs will be together.”

“United by your plan to invade the Outside.”

“That’s right.”

“And you’re afraid I’m going to warn them, out there,” Ron said.

“Go warn ’em,” Timmy Jim said, standing in front of Ron. “Go tell ’em everything I just told you. They won’t believe you. They won’t lissen to you. Not ’til it’s too late.”

“I can go?” Ron asked.