The tunnel flattened out and widened into a small room. A ten-foot fan lurked behind a metal grille; the opposite wall was bare except for a circular vent open to the outside. Alice looked through. The sun had set, and Manhattan’s electric halo reflected from the river’s ice cap. She rose on tiptoe and tried to see her apartment building, but its concrete hulk lay somewhere in Brooklyn’s darkness. There were oily flames at the borough’s edges, but the rest of it lay under a black cloud, the occasional aircraft warning light marking the contours of its dead architecture. To her left, Fourth Ward’s Manhattan enclave had power, orange streetlights illuminating sidewalks devoid of people. She squinted, and for a moment thought she saw bodies hanging from the lampposts, but couldn’t be sure.