r my kids. Get some food to them. Tom
Doyle's the name," the man said.

A fit of coughing seized him again and blood poured from his mouth. His
eyes were closed when he lay back again. "Tom Doyle's the name," his
bloody lips murmured. "Don't forget that, kid. Tom Doyle's Service,
corner of First and Green in Marysvale. We were all good guys once."

* * * * *

The snow was so heavy it seemed like a solid substance through which Ken
walked. In spite of it, row upon row of houses burned with a fury that
lit the whole scene with a glow that was like the comet's own. Above
this, the blanket of black smoke lay as if ready to smother the valley
as soon as the light was gone.

Ken didn't know for sure where he was going. A kind of aimlessness crept
over him and there no longer seemed any rational objective toward which
to move. He crept on from house to house in the direction his group had
gone, but he could not find any of them. Somewhere he touched the edge
of combat again. He had a nightmare of going into a thousand houses,
smashing their windows out, thrusting his rifle through for a desperate
shot at some fleeing enemy.

The night was held back by a hundred terrible fires. He shot at shadows
and ghosts that moved against the flames. He sought the companionship of
others who fought, like himself, in a lonely vastness where only the
sound of fire and gunshots prevailed.

Later, he moved through the streets stricken with cold that he could not
lose even when he passed and stood close to a mass of burning rubble.
He had stopped shooting quite a long time ago, and he guessed he was out
of bullets. The next time he met someone, he thought, he would ask them
to look in his pockets and see if any were left.

He kept walking. He passed streets where the black, charcoal arms of the
skeletons of houses raised to the sky. He passed the hot columns of
smoke and continued to shiver with cold as they steamed upward to the
clouds. He passed others but no one spoke. After a while he threw his
gun away because it was too heavy to carry and he was too tired to walk
any more.

The falling snow was covering the ruins with a blanket of kind
obscurity. Ken kneeled down and was surprised to observe that he wasn't
cold any more. He lay full length in the whiteness, cradling his head on
his arms, and peace and stillness such as he had never known before
closed over him.

* * * *