Crater Lake. JAMES AXLER

“Radio message came from the north,” Krysty said. “Mebbe we could head that way?”

“Good as any other,” Ryan replied. “First thing to find is somewheres to shelter for the night.”

Krysty joined Jak on the edge of the drop where he was peering down into the valley below. She shaded her eyes with her hand, holding back her coiling crimson hair.

“Looks like an old blacktop down there. Winds around the end of that small lake. Some kind of building. Can’t make out more.” Krysty squinted, then shook her head.

“Can we get down?” Finn asked.

Jak pointed. “Sure. There’s a goat path or bear track round to the right. Comes out above the scree, near that stand of pinons.”

THE PATH WAS UNEVEN, and several times one or another of the group stumbled and tripped. Doc Tanner found it the hardest going, relying on the steady arm of Lori to help him. On a level part he slowed to walk alongside Ryan.

“Time was folks paid good jack to do this sort of thing. Hiking they called it. Taking the air. Personally, I would happily dig deep into my own humble purse to pay not to have to hike these mountains.”

As they progressed, the chem-clouds gathered in a furious array over the mountains, sending great stabbing sheets of lightning to burst against the dripping rocks. The Armorer had been correct in his forecasting. The storm was raging some forty or fifty miles away to the north, showing no signs of moving closer. Night was crouching to the east, ready to spring and spread its body across the land.

The path zigzagged across the slope, bending and twisting sharply. The stones underfoot were dangerously slippery. A red fox picked its way daintily across the trail in front of them, showing no fear. Generally this was a sign that there weren’t that many human beings around. Far above, a solitary raven soared, riding a thermal over the valley, its beak catching the glint of the dying sun.

As they drew nearer to the road that curled lazily below them, the harsh rocks gave way to patches of scrub and meadow. The sides of the path became lined with a profusion of wild plantsthe gold and cream of the butter-and-eggs flowers with the crimson spikes of the Indian paintbrush. They passed tall stems of firewood, with magenta flowers nodding and dancing on either side, some at least fifteen feet tall. Across the valley was a great swath of purple Oregon fleabane.

The distant chattering of a stream that flowed, white over boulders, along the edge of the narrow highway, became audible. Jak, who was leading the way as they neared the road, suddenly jumped to one side, gasping in shock as a sinuous garter snake weaved across the trail right under his feet.

“Likely wouldn’t have harmed you,” Finnegan said, laughing.

“Wasn’t going t’find out,” the boy retorted.

“IT’S AN OLD GAS STATION,” J.B., who’d taken up the lead, called out. The rectangular building they’d seen from high above stood squatly on its own. Most of the windows were broken, and one corner of its flat roof had fallen in. The pumps stood undamaged, like robot sentinels on guard against intruders.

“No nuke damage,” Ryan said, addressing the remark to Doc Tanner.

“This far north and west it wasn’t bombed so badly as other parts. Not many air bases or radar stations. Nothing like that up here in the mountains. Most of the missiles they used would have been low-yield. No point in dropping dirty heads here. Not ‘nough people. Probably hit water and highways. Sever the communications, and the folks would have mostly moved out. Or died.”

J.B. pulled out his miniaturized rad counter, checking in all directions. “Hot spot over to the east. And some action north. Nothing too dangerous. Doesn’t rate even an orange.”

“If’n that roof’s safe, it could be a good place to spend the night. Only one door, at the front,” Finn said.

Lori turned to Krysty. “This is like where I came forI mean, came from . Caves and houses from old times that were used by bears to sleep and live.”

“Best be careful then,” Krysty said.

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