“That was a cattle guard, honey. Made out of railroad rails. Cows won’t cross them; afraid they’d get their feet caught. Which they would. It’s all range land around here. Pasture. That’s why the place is fenced: to keep the cattle out.”
The adults Lee saw in the camp stood or squatted or sat in openings among the tents. Children ran and played. They should, she told herself, be in school somewhere.
Then the camp was behind them. Bar Stool’s mundane comments had relieved and emboldened Lee. “I noticed the guard had a gun,” she said.
“Yep. There’s been murder threats. On Dove. Ngunda.”
She supposed there had been. Another worry. There were crazies running around.
A knoll ahead had a watchtower on top, like those at prisons. The road curled around it, and a mile or so ahead she could see—not exactly a town, but with a lot more buildings than Henrys Hat, if with less character. As they neared it, she began to see details. The central and largest building was long and three-storied, of dark brick. An office building, she decided, its ridged tile roof bright red in the autumn sunlight. Near it on one side were several long, two-story frame buildings suggesting small motels or dormitories. Their siding appeared to be one of the new synthetics, cream colored. Their roofs were bright red, green, or blue. The rest, fifty or more, seemed to be small ranch-style homes. They looked much alike, but again with red, green, or blue roofs. Their sidings were various pastels or white. Everything was landscaped, the trees small. Two or three hundred yards beyond the “village” were several large machine sheds.
The last half mile was blacktopped, and the village streets had traffic stripes. Bar Stool pulled up before one of the houses. “This is it,” he said. “You’re home. The water should be hot by now, so you can shower if you want.” He paused. “Sorry for all the dust. Ordinarily I’d have flown you here in the Mescalero.”
Lor Lu got out and went around to the rear of the ungainly vehicle, while Ben held the door for Lee and the girls. Becca popped out quickly, Raquel close behind. Lee got out almost reluctantly, as if not wanting to see what the house was like inside. Ben and Lor Lu began taking luggage out of the yardbags, which were gray with dust. Bar Stool led Lee and the girls onto the front porch, unlocked and opened the door, and handed the key ring to Lee.
“There’s four keys,” he said, “all the same. Far as I know, no one here locks their doors, but I suppose some do at first. Force of habit.”
Then he turned back to the eight-pack to help carry up the luggage. Lee went inside more slowly than her curious daughters, and scanned the living room. Even with all the basic furniture, the place felt empty. Foreign. There was no dining room; the living room had an extendable drop-leaf table. The kitchen was well equipped, and had not only a breakfast nook, but a pantry and freezer. It should have, she told herself grimly, as far as it is to the nearest supermarket. Henrys Hat barely had a general store.
She’d never been good with maps, but she’d put a highway map of Colorado in her shoulder bag. Before looking through the rest of the house, she took it out and spread it on the dining table. Ben had drawn a thick red circle around Henrys Hat, whose population wasn’t listed. The next nearest town was Lauenbruck, population 567, fifteen miles the other side of Henrys Hat. Even Lauenbruck wouldn’t have a mall, she told herself, and wondered how people lived there. The school couldn’t be much either, and it was twenty-seven miles away.
Looking for the basement stairway, she found instead a small utility room with washer, dryer, and water heater. There was no basement, she realized.
She was aware now that Ben was behind her. “Not bad, eh?” he said. “It’s even been dusted.”
Not bad? she thought. She found a three-quarter bath—with only a single washbowl. Something was building inside her, something between dismay and anger. Ben was leading now. They peered into one of the three bedrooms, not very big, with two narrow beds. The girls’, she wondered, or are we supposed to sleep separately? A second bedroom was even smaller, and unfurnished. She wondered what possible good it could be without furniture. Then, from behind her, Ben said, “Ah! Our computer room!”