Year One by Nora Roberts Page A

cameraman.
    â€œHi, Arlys! You were working away and I didn’t want to break your rhythm. I got some apples and oranges, put them in the break room.”
    â€œWhere do you find this stuff?”
    â€œOh, you just have to know where to look.”
    â€œI’m glad you do. Can you set my copy up?”
    â€œSure thing.” She lowered her voice. “Steve’s feeling low. He saw some asshole shoot a dog last night. By the time he got down to the street, the guy was gone, and the dog dead. Why do people have to be so mean?”
    â€œI don’t know. But there are people like Steve who’d go down on the street to try to help a dog, so that’s the other side of it.”
    â€œThat’s true, isn’t it? Maybe I can find him a dog. There are so many strays now.”
    Before Arlys could comment, Little Fred dashed off to load the prompter.
    Arlys walked behind the anchor desk, fit on her earpiece.
    â€œAm I coming through?”
    â€œWe’ve got you, Arlys.”
    â€œGood morning, Carol. I’ve got ten minutes of hard, another ten of soft. Little Fred’s loading it up.”
    They talked production, added in copy Carol and Jim had written, worked out the opening story, the close—the unicorn got the close—and calculated they could offer a full thirty-minute report.
    â€œWhen we get through this, Arlys,” Jim said in her ear, “and the world’s sane again—relatively—you’re keeping that anchor desk on The Evening Spotlight .”
    The big guns, she thought. And thought, too, of what she’d learned from Chuck. It would never happen.
    â€œI’ll hold you to it.”
    â€œSolemn oath.”
    Fred set the written copy on the desk, and a mug of water. “Thanks.” Arlys checked her face, smoothed her long bob of deep brown hair, ran through some tongue twisters when she got the thirty-seconds mark.
    At ten, she rolled her shoulders, at five turned to the camera, waited for Steve to give her the go.
    â€œGood morning. This is Arlys Reid in New York with your Morning Report . Today, the World Health Organization estimates the death toll from H5N1-X at more than one billion, five hundred million. Yesterday, President Carnegie held meetings with officials from the WHO and the CDC, including the heads of both organizations and scientists who are working around the clock to create a vaccine to combat the virus.”
    I’m lying, she thought as she continued. Lying because I’m afraid to tell the truth.
    Lying because I’m afraid.

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
    While Arlys gave her report, Lana listened to the ugly news layered on ugly news as she looked out the window.
    She loved the loft’s floor-to-ceiling windows, loved being able to look out at what had become her neighborhood. How many mornings had she or Max run across to the little bakery for fresh bagels? Now, instead of a display window filled with tempting pastries and cakes, boards covered the glass and obscene graffiti covered the boards.
    She tracked her gaze down to the corner deli where she’d so often joked with the cheerful woman behind the counter. Doris, Lana remembered. Her name was Doris, and she’d always worn a white cap over tight, tight gray curls and bright, bright red lipstick.
    Only the day before, Lana had looked out this same window to see the once-busy, family-run deli reduced to charred brick, still-smoking wood, and smashed glass.
    Surely for no reason other than vicious glee.
    So many shops and restaurants she and Max had patronized, had enjoyed, were closed now or had been destroyed by looters or vandals.
    Other lofts and apartments were empty or locked up tight. Did the locked ones hold the living or the dead?
    No one walked the sidewalks this morning. Not even those who sometimes ventured out to scavenge for food or supplies before they locked themselves in again. Not a single car drove past.
    They came at night, with the