“Can we rest up a day when we get to Muir Woods?” asked Jeanne. “Have to admit that I’m just starting to feel my age. This driving sure gets to you. So many poor devils lying dead, and nobody to give them Christian burial.”
“We’ll see when we get there. Might be nobody and nothing. Might be everybody and everything.”
THERE WAS NOBODY, but there was a note. And a dry patch on the dark tarmac of the parking lot where Jim Hilton’s vehicle had been parked throughout the days of snow.
The letter had been sealed in a clear plastic freezer bag, pinned securely to the main notice board right by the main entrance to the national monument.
“This is for Mac and Pete and Jeff and Nanci.” It was dated that same day, the eighth.
“I’d forgotten he didn’t know that poor old Pete bought the farm when those punks drilled him with the crossbow. Least he still thinks there’s a chance that we’re moving after him.”
“Who’s Nanci?” asked Jeanne McGill. “Somebody they picked up on the road?”
“Somebody the fragrant and gentle Jeff Thomas picked up, I guess.” Mac shook his head, and went on reading aloud.
“We just met up with Kyle and Carrie. They have Steve’s boy, Sly, with them. He’s not too bright but a real good kid. Bad news for us all. Jed Herne’s gone… died while traveling with Jeff. And Steve bought the farm a few days ago. Fell onto an electrified wire. Died quick. That’s the best I can say. So, we’re five now. If Mac gets this, I just realized he doesn’t know that my wife and daughter Andrea died of what I reckon was cholera when I got home. Heather’s with me, helping to keep me sane and on the straight and narrow.”
“So much bloody dying,” said Mac. “I sometimes think it might’ve been better if the Aquila had simply vaporized out in deep space.”
Jeanne punched him hard on the upper arm. “For a bright guy you sure talk a lot of empty shit, McGill.”
“No more real news from Zelig,” Mac continued reading aloud.
“But it seems like this outfit, the Hunters of the Sun, is set against him and are also trying to find Aurora, which does seem to be the name of his base. Don’t know much about the Hunters, except they got guns and money and appear to be organized. Watch out for them. We’re talking some serious people here. Don’t give out your real names to anybody suspicious, and likewise no mention of the good ship… They have a ‘most wanted’ list.”
“They say where they’ve gone, Dad?” asked Jocelyn. “How old’s Heather? She might be my friend.”
“I’m our friend,” protested Sukie.
“You mean your friend,” said Pamela.
“Not my friend,” argued the little girl, her face showing her stubborn confusion.
“Let it pass,” said Mac, carrying on reading the last few lines of the handwritten note.
“Leaving now. Got two vehicles and enough gas to get us a few miles away up the coast. Still north is all I know, guys. Looked at the map and reckon we should be somewhere around Eureka the week before Christmas. I make it close to three hundred miles from here. Going to stay close to the Pacific when we can, on old Highway 1. That way we should miss any bad weather inland. Best I can suggest is we stay there for a couple of days, around December eighteenth. If anyone reads this, we’ll see you. If Mac or anyone arrives later, I can only say to head on north. Hope to meet up one day. So long. Jim Hilton.”
They looked at one another, and Mac hauled out the dog-eared Rand McNally road atlas. “Three hundred miles is about what I make it,” said Paul McGill, looking over his father’s shoulder.
“Could do that in a day, but things are not the same,” said Mac. “Time was we could have done that easily in a day. Breakfast at the coffee shop. Cinnamon rolls and coffee and eggs over easy or a big breakfast buffet. Stop off at a rest area for sandwiches and some fruit. Turkey sliced thin as tissue, then piled up thick, or a Reuben. Peaches with juice running down your chin. On through the afternoon, steady at fifty-five. Stop for gas and full-serve. Be in Eureka in time for a swim before dinner.”