—Over there! said Ben, and pointed. —That guy too!
Past the woman a man had also begun to take off his clothes. Ann looked around her, feeling a frantic elation that was mostly fear. Behind Ben a middle-aged man was scraping his arms like the woman, scratching them with his fingernails and drawing beads of blood. His lined face was streaked with salt from dried tears.
—What is this? she asked, and pressed herself against Ben, her arm around his waist. She did not want to be separated, and for once she found herself wishing Larry were there, Sheila or Tamika or even Clint, anyone. —Why are they doing that?
—Now listen, listen to me, said Oppenheimer urgently, and stepped forward to clutch the microphone. —Leo was a sacrifice to these men here! and he turned to look behind him at the Righteous Army.
Ann gazed up at the screen but none of the Christians had looked at Oppenheimer after he spoke: they were still swaying with their eyes closed and their arms up, as though he had said nothing about them.
—But these men here are not the final threat, went on Oppenheimer. —These men are only pawns. You have to stand and fight, you—all of you! and he looked around at the crowds, —take up arms against your true enemy. Peace will no longer work for you. Peace is a dinosaur. It is the end but no longer the means.
The man beside Ben whined and nodded as he scratched at his forearms. Ann gazed at the sallowness of the skin with the shadow of green veins behind it.
—I beg you: take up arms against the true enemy. For the true enemy is not men, these men or any others …
—What the hell? asked Ben, shaking his head. —What is he—?
—The true enemy is the institutions that men have made. And all of you: you have to be willing to give your lives up in the fight.
Silence spread over the far-flung legions of the crowd and Ann looked around hastily, confused. She leaned close to Ben to whisper.
—What is he talking about?
—Didn’t I tell you? He’s lost it.
—You may have thought before that there was something you were willing to die for, and you may have assumed the question was academic. But it is not.
There was a pause and the sound of breathing over the speakers. On the screen the roiling mushroom cloud vanished abruptly and in its place there was blurred, jerky video of Oppenheimer’s serene countenance, and behind it Bradley’s face over his shoulder, smaller because it was further away, skin sweaty and pink, gaze fixed on Oppenheimer. He raised his arm and gestured at someone off to the side, and then nodded impatiently.
—This is the time, said Oppenheimer, still serene and smiling faintly, —this is the moment at which you are called upon to choose.
Ben was staring at his shoes.
—You can live for yourselves or you can lay down your life for the sake of what is beyond you. Either give up the future or lay your bodies down. Until you refuse it’s not too late. Lay yourselves down. Lay yourselves down!
The sound from the microphone cut off abruptly and the great screen went gray. Beside Ann the man with the bleeding arms looked down at his turned-up wrists, seemingly confused. In front of them someone tittered nervously, and then a man holding one end of a banner that read ENTER THE KINGDOM OF THE LORD began to wave it singing. Later she clearly remembered looking at the man ahead of her again, staring into his dark greasy hair above the blue T-shirt with the outline of the dove just she heard the explosion. Nothing had ever shocked her as much as the sound, the sudden concussion. She felt the shock at the base of her stomach, a jab of fear. Bright lights were streaking into the sky, trails of smoke behind them and above her and from the crowd near the missile issued a different screaming.
—What is it? she asked Ben.
He was propping himself on the shoulder of neighbors, jumping to see.
—It looks like …
—What? What?
—It looks like the cops. Hundreds of them. They’re plowing through the edge of the crowd with shields and gas masks on.
The crowd began to move and a panic rose through it. They wanted to get out but could not: there was no way out and the crowd was pressing and surging, moving forward.
—This is going to get messy, said Ben. —We need to get out now.
—I want to, said Ann, —that’s all I want.
—Did you see Fermi up there?
—They must be taking care of him, she said, —aren’t they?
They could move in only one direction, the direction of the crowd. Bradley’s voice was telling the crowd to Keep calm, keep calm, but they were not calm, they were moving and shrieking and Ann tripped on someone else’s foot and twisted her bad ankle slightly and tried to keep walking but the pain jabbed and brought tears to her eyes.
So Ben had to lift her again and put her on his back, even through his exhaustion. From there she could see the missile and beyond it a bare part of the street with a line of men in black pushing people away from the missile with their convex shields, pushing them toward her and Ben and the stage, compressing the crowd. Past the trees she could see the roof of the White House; or possibly she was imagining.
Ben knew the danger was real and a stampede was imminent. He felt the threat of it in the back of his throat and the muscles of his arms. His back ached but the only way to get out of this was to stay with the crowd. There was no use struggling against it, in fact any attempt to move against the close-packed throng could be lethal. He could feel
