Book 4, Heimdallr
Chapter 7FROM THE SLANT OF the sun, it was midday when Wallenberg woke. It was not pleasant, but he had gone through too many visions to care. The pain ate at his gut and parched his mouth. For a while he lay grasping after a hold. His bed was a mound of straws thrown on a floor of earth or manure or both. His clothes were gone. So too were his shoes, his watch, papers, and money; all that went with his stratum of society.
When his feet carried him, the curvature of the roof allowed him to stand straight in the center of the round floor. He had seen these bunkers in the hills, upturned concrete caldrons dotting the landscape, the fossilized swamps of a dictatorial hallucination. Every patch of communal earth would be defended; every beach and field watched from a bunker
