Krysty smiled at him. “No.”
“You’re looking smug. Why’s that?”
“Because I get the name. It’s the same backward as forward. Uncle Tyas McCann told me about things that are like that. Called palindromes. A sentence he told me was ‘Madam I’m Adam.’ Another one’s ‘Able was I ere I saw Elba.’ About Napoleon. You get it, Ryan?”
“Oh, yeah. Not so clever as I thought it was once you can understand it.”
There was a store that had sold designer pants, called Ski Bums. A religious bookstore called A-pray Ski. A liquor store was named On the Piste. Children’s clothing was available at Nursery Slopes.
“They just have any places called the Grocer’s or the Butcher’s?” Krysty asked. “Seems you had to think up a witty title before you were allowed to open here.”
“Stupes,” Ryan sniffed. “Just another reason why the world ended.”
“Don’t be a misery.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“How do you feel about your mother mebbe being alive?”
“Can’t say. Gaia, but I wish I knew where she was.”
“Could be we’ll bump into her one day.”
Krysty smiled again. “Could be.”
“It’s odd not to have to keep looking over my shoulder to make sure that Dean’s not gotten himself into trouble. Hope the kid’ll be all right.”
“If any kid can survive, it’s Dean Cawdor,” she said. “Takes after his father.”
“Think so?”
“I know so.”
JAK AND DOC CAME BACK from their scavenging expedition with pockets filled with small sweet peaches. And Mildred and J.B. had found their way along the back of the main street of Breckenridge until they came across a clean, fast-flowing stream of meltwater from higher up the valley.
They’d washed out the canteens from the stinking armawag, opened up the ob slits to let in some fresh air and purged the stench of the killers.
Ryan sat with his back against the warm flank of the vehicle, sipping the icy water, chewing at one of the tangy peaches, yawning. “Known worse places and worse days,” he said.
Doc flicked a peach pit into the bed of the dry fountain. “What I find truly bizarre about this wonderful day is that it commenced at its dawning with the legitimized butchery of hordes of the vile and ungodly.”
Mildred nodded. “Agree with you for once, Doc. Our hands are smeared with blood, and yet it all seems like it was several days ago.”
“Another world,” Krysty said, running her fingers through her mane of flaming hair, now uncoiled and free across her shoulders. “Far away.”
Ryan was aware of movement and spun, seeing an elderly woman standing watching them from the balcony of a house, a little way up the hill. She was wearing a stiff black dress with a string of jet beads around her neck. And she held a black parasol to protect her from the sun.
“Good day to you, ma’am,” he called, waving a hand in greeting, but the woman ignored him.
Everyone turned and saw the strange sight. Doc cleared his throat. “By the Three Kennedys! She is like a portrait from an ancient lithograph.” He stood and bowed, receiving a slight inclination of the head toward him. “Some apparition from the pages of Montague James.”
The woman watched them as they finished their alfresco picnic, once more returning a final bow from Doc as they readied themselves to leave.
“Think all right?” Jak asked. “Need help?”
Ryan shook his head firmly at the teenager’s question. “Looks fine to me, Jak.”
He raised his voice. “Anything we can do for you, ma’am?”
The woman almost smiled and slowly moved her head from side to side, the afternoon sunshine flickering off the polished jet of her necklace.
“There. She’s fine. Everyone finished eating and drinking? Then we can get going again.”
Krysty was last into the armawag and she turned to wave farewell to the woman, but the balcony was deserted.
THEY REACHED the predark interstate close to the ville of Frisco, starting to move along west at a fair rate. A rusted sign told them that Glenwood Springs was around eighty miles away.
They stopped again for a comfort break near Eagle, having found that the interstate was buckled and destroyed by quakes, forcing them to use an older parallel road.