James Axler – Starfall

“Not even then,” Ryan answered. “We got a general idea of where the Heimdall Foundation is. We could find it. So looking at it the way you are now, we don’t need you to get there. What you can do is save us time. You need to keep that in mind.”

“If you don’t need me, then why not let me go?”

“I don’t need you,” Ryan pointed out, “but we’re going to use you. You know Donovan by sight. Mebbe he’ll listen to you long enough to get him to listen to us. People we bumped into that were with the Heimdall Foundation weren’t real popular where we were. I reckon that’s about the way it is anywhere up here.” He gave the man a crooked, mirthless smile. “Baron Shaker’s men gave me that impression, too.”

“There are a lot of people who don’t hold with where it comes to the Foundation,” Elmore said. “But they’re doing important work up there. Work that will mebbe answer some questions that happened during the nukecaust.”

“What happened then doesn’t mean a thing to me,” Ryan told him. He stared hard at the man. “In case some­thing did happen to you, where could we find Donovan?” A sour look filled Elmore’s face. “This time of year, he’ll be up north and east of the compound. On the east side of the Rockies near a ville used to be called Anaconda. They call it Condaville these days, and it’s a frontier boom-town of sorts. Got some people there who’ve used the river to make a big mill, and there’s river trade along the Clark Fork River. People bringing in wheat they grow to be ground into flour. Not a big place, but one where you can get some things.”

“What’s Donovan doing there?”

“The Foundation’s landlocked and it’s in the moun­tains,” Elmore said. “Best place for an observatory. And you can see folks coming for miles. Place is buttoned up tight, underground. You wouldn’t know it was there—un­less you knew it was there. Water supply gets to be a prob­lem. Donovan’s the guy that solved that problem. And that’s where you’ll find him. Along the Clark Fork River.”

“Where? River’s big.”

“Don’t know. Just somewhere along in there. We run into somebody we know, mebbe we’ll find out more.” Elmore’s eyes darted nervously. “People you run into, they’ll be more likely to talk to me than a stranger.”

“I know.”

“Just thought you might want to keep that in mind.”

Ryan was more concerned about the distance involved, knowing that the companions were in for some hard trav­eling. It wasn’t something they weren’t accustomed to, but he had to wonder how much Krysty could take.

He left Elmore sitting against the railing and went for­ward into the prow. Sandy and Bud used long poles to feel for the river bottom as their father cut their speed to a crawl. Lanterns hung off stout supports from the prow, but the light did little to beat back the darkness.

“Cove!” Bud yelled, pointing.

Ryan looked ahead, following the direction of the boy’s arm. There, nearly sixty yards ahead, he saw a jog along the riverbank that was almost hidden by low-hanging tree branches and brash.

Morse adjusted the sail, and Junie slowed a little more and pulled to starboard. “Drop anchor!” he called.

Sandy tossed the tripronged anchor over the side and started paying out the line. Bud joined him, and the boys wrapped the line around one of the prow cleats, paying it out grudgingly to slow the sailcraft still further. Their ef­forts were fluid and obviously practiced. In minutes, the boat butted into place in the shallows near the bank beneath low-hanging trees.

“Got a deeper draw here than you’d expect,” Morse called, tying the wheel fast.

Ryan nodded, staring at the twenty feet of water sepa­rating them from the riverbank. Under the overhanging boughs, though, he could see the scars of past campsites, the vines and creepers not quite overgrowing the areas where campfires and pallets had been pitched. They had some work to do before they settled in for the night, but his chron told him it was only half-past eight. Dark still came early in the northern climes this early in the year.