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Daniel joined a long line of waiting vehicles. Work at the Wall was never done, he had heard. The military employed more and more civilians each year to keep back the swamp, shore up the barricades.
    The final truck passed, and at last the line of civilian cars crawled forward, merging onto the four-lane highway. Daniel’s truck came up to speed and the dashboard chimed as it slipped into autodrive. Daniel pulled his foot off the gas and relaxed. He had a long drive ahead of him in one direction. South.
    • • • 
    PEARLINGTON, MISSISSIPPI . The interstate sign loomed overhead, clearly visible in Daniel’s headlights now that the rain had stopped. According to the map, this was the last stop for gas and food before the Wall. The best place, a sign on the side of the road said, to turn around. Once upon a time, the country had gone on for almost another hundred miles, but now the Southernmost tip of the United States of America was here in Pearlington. Orleans was forty miles away by the old interstate. It was hidden by the Wall, which acted as both dike and quarantine for this tiny town. Pearlington had been all but erased from the map from storm damage until the Wall was built, forming a break against storm surge and high winds. Then the people rebuilt and stayed, for reasons Daniel could not fathom.
    To Daniel’s right lay the Louisiana Delta Region Military Base, the entire state claimed by eminent domain for use by the military. It had been a staging area for rescue and relief operations until twenty years ago. Now, its main purpose was to protect the Wall. Daniel eyed the long, high fence that marked the state line. In the distance, the lights of watchtowers flashed intermittently across the night sky. Then the road turned away. Daniel followed the new freeway left as it dwindled into a two-lane road that stopped in the heart of Pearlington.
    The scent of mildew rose up as he drove on. There were houses, a few with porch lights on. Dogs raced along fences as he passed. The street was well lit, and there were clear signs pointing to a cluster of motels along one side of the road.
    Then the road stopped. Just stopped. And the smell of mildew grew stronger. Big concrete blockades had been dragged across the street, shored up with sandbags and detritus. Past that, the town continued on, but it was a ghostly reflection of Pearlington. Houses, like the ones he had passed, stood or staggered here, leaning, sagging on their foundations, faded to browns and greens as algae grew up the sides and black mildew devoured the rooftops. A fence had been built here, as well, and it marked the line of demarcation. A half mile south, Daniel knew, was the Wall.
    He stared into the darkness at the dead side of town and wondered how people could live so close to their own ghosts. Then he backed up, drove to the nicest-looking of the three motels, and checked in.
    “Tourist? Or you got family at the base?” the woman behind the desk asked when he signed the register with a fake name. “We offer a discount to military families visiting loved ones.”
    Daniel smiled sheepishly. “No. I’m here for the hunting,” he said. “I hear there’s boar in these wood like we don’t get back home in Virginia.”
    The woman snorted. “Got that right. My Herb caught a big old sow out by the fence there some ways east of here. Ate like kings for a week, the whole town did. Course, he’s dead now.” She nodded toward a photograph on the wall behind her, of a solidly built man in hunting gear.
    “Sorry to hear it,” Daniel said with a nod. “He’d have been a great guide.”
    The woman squinted at him. “The best.” She sighed. “The Fever took him. Some of the kids, too. Damned smugglers bring out more than gold and silver when they go digging around over there.” She scowled. “But that was a long time ago.” She reached beneath the counter and pulled out a key. “Lucky number seven. Sleep well, mister, but don’t sleep too