After three hours, Ryan called a halt so they could rest and drink. They sat down and passed around a jug of water, drinking sparingly.
“Was this place so desolate before the nukecaust?” Krysty asked, handing the container to Doc.
“Pretty near,” Mildred answered. “Believe it or not, this area was popular with Hollywood moviemakers.”
“Why?” Jak inquired.
“It could double for anyplace—the Old West, alien planets, even countries in the Mideast.”
Doc gulped down his ration of water and made an exaggerated show of examining their surroundings and finding them wanting. “I see very little that would stimulate the imagination or hold much in the way of entertainment value.”
Ryan, who had been silent since calling the halt, suddenly chuckled.
“What’s so funny, Dad?” Dean asked.
The one-eyed man gestured to the vast sweep of sand all around them. “A couple of days ago, we were surrounded by more water than I ever wanted to see. I remember saying to myself that if I ever got back to dry land, the only body of water I’d ever go near again would be a bathtub. Now this.”
J.B. drawled, “Well, if we wanted to turn south, we’d come to the Cific by and by. According to my old chart, it’s about eighty or so miles away. Mebbe closer now.”
Ryan shook his head. “This is just like Trader used to say… ‘Be careful what you wish for, ’cause you’ll be bastard sorry when you finally get it.'”
“A version of that bromide was popular in my time,” Mildred remarked. “We used to call cliches like that ‘bumper-sticker philosophy.'”
Jak frowned at her. “What that?”
“Before skydark, almost everybody in America owned cars. Companies used to manufacture little adhesive signs with the silly slogans of the day printed on them, and people would stick them on the bumpers of their cars. Things like Keep On Truckin, or Beam Me Up, Scotty, There’s No Sign Of Intelligent Life On This Planet—”
Seeing the perplexed expressions on the faces of her friends, Mildred added, “I guess you had to be there.”
“I remember seeing one,” Dean piped up. “Back in a Newyork salvage yard. It said Honk If You’re Horny.”
J.B. frowned. “Don’t recollect Trader saying anything like that.”
Doc brayed out a laugh. “I submit that was a good thing. He was already unpopular enough.”
Ryan got to his feet. “Time to move. No matter where we’re headed, we need to find some kind of shelter before the sun rises.”
The march resumed. Eventually, the temperature dropped just enough to make the air comfortably cool. As the hours wore on, the endless ocean of sand began to sprout sparse signs of life. Sagebrush, cactus and ocotilla shrubs grew from the desert floor in thin silhouettes of shadow.
At one point, they spotted a peculiar humped hillock a dozen yards to their right. Ryan and Jak noted how the wheel tracks veered sharply away from it, then resumed their northwesterly direction. They followed the slight detour without question.
J.B. continued to eye the long bump in the flat expanse. Lowly, he asked, “You remember that giant sand spider back in White Sands?”
“Too damn well,” Ryan answered.
All of them increased the length and speed of their stride for the next eighth of a mile. They managed to maintain the sprightly pace for another hour. After rising from a midnight rest break, the seven companions moved slower. Dean noticed Doc was lagging behind, and he dropped back to offer him an arm.
Doc waved him away, but acknowledged the boy’s concern with an appreciative smile. “No need, young gentleman. I’m merely conserving my strength in case it is needed for running.”
“Not much to run from—or to—around here, Doc.”
“That’s one of the truly invigorating elements about following your father—the situation could change at any moment.”
Dean laughed, his deep blue eyes flashing in merriment. “I really missed all of you when I was in school. I didn’t miss all the running, though.”
The smile fled Doc’s lips. “Our portion, I fear. The lot of the survivor, to run from one broken dream to another.”
Ryan called back over his shoulder. “Pick up the pace back there.”