Necropolis

Between them was a strip of concrete about ten feet wide, which they would all have to walk along if they wanted to go on board.
    The way was blocked by a series of metal fences that forced passengers to snake round to a control point where half a dozen men in uniforms were checking passports and embarkation slips. The sun was beginning to set now, and although it still sparkled on the water and glinted off the ship's railings, the actual walkway was in shadow. So this was it. Five minutes and maybe fifty paces separated Scarlett from freedom. Once she was on board
    The Jade Emperor, it would be over. Matt was waiting for her. Help had finally arrived. She would set sail, and she would never see Hong Kong again.
    The woman acting as Scarlett's mother, Mrs. Soong, said something and reached out for her hand.
    Scarlett took it, and together they began to walk toward the barrier. Nobody stopped them. Nobody even seemed to glance their way. They passed a restaurant with floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows and tables and gas umbrellas outside. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner, so there was hardly anyone there, but as they continued forward, Scarlett noticed a man with gray hair and glasses, sipping a glass of beer. He was partly obscured by the window, but there was something familiar about him, the way he sat, even the way he held his glass. She stopped dead.
    It was Paul Adams.
    Maybe if she hadn't stopped so abruptly, he wouldn't have noticed her. But now he looked up and stared at her. Even then he might not have recognized her. But they had made eye contact. That was what did it. Even with the spectacles and the contact lenses, the strange clothes and the short hair, the two of them had made the link.
    And Scarlett was glad to see him. For the past week she had been worrying about him, wondering if he was dead or alive. She had hated the thought of skulking out of Hong Kong without letting him know, and if there had been any way to warn him what was happening, she would have done so. This was her opportunity. She couldn't just leave him behind.
    A second later, he burst out of the restaurant and onto the quay. He still couldn't decide if it was really her. The disguise was that good. But then she smiled at him, and he came over to her, his face a mixture of bafflement and relief.
    "Scarly… is that you?"
    Scarlett felt Mrs. Soong stiffen beside her. Mr. Soong stopped, his face filled with alarm. None of the guards at the passport control had noticed them. Tourists were streaming past on both sides, taking out their documents as they approached the fence. Scarlett knew she would have to be quick. She was risking everything even by talking to him, but she didn't care. She felt a huge sense of relief. Her father was alive.
    "Scarly?" Paul Adams spoke her name again, peering at her, trying to see through the disguise.
    "Dad," Scarlett whispered. "We can't talk. You have to leave Hong Kong. We're in terrible —"

    She didn't finish the sentence.
    To her horror, Paul Adams grabbed hold of her, dragging her hand up as if to show her off. His face was flushed with excitement — and something else. He looked demented. There was a sort of terror in his eyes. He was like a man who had just committed murder.
    "It's her!" he shouted. "I've got her! She's here!"
    "No, Dad!"
    But it was already too late. The uniformed policemen had heard. They were already heading toward them. The tourists had stopped moving, and in an instant, Scarlett saw that half of them weren't tourists at all. They began to close in, their faces blank, their eyes shining with triumph. More people appeared, pouring out of the shopping center. Matted hair. Dead, white skin. Their mouths hanging open. Dozens of them. And the flies. They burst into the air like a dark geyser and spread out, swarming overhead.
    "Dad…what have you done?"
    He clung on to her, one hand on her wrist, the other around her neck, strangling her. Mr. and Mrs. Soong stood there, paralyzed, then tried to run. The woman was the first to be brought down. One of the tourists grabbed her. A few seconds earlier he had looked like a grandfather, an Englishman enjoying his retirement. But the mask had slipped. He was grinning and his eyes were ablaze. He was holding her with terrible strength, his hooked fingers gouging into her face, forcing her down to her knees. Then they were all onto her. Mrs. Soong disappeared in a crowd that was moving now like a single