Cell

that one. Boss-type cars. We might get lucky.'

They did, but not with a nice-looking car. A small van with tyco water purification experts was parked behind a number of the nice-looking cars, effectively blocking them in. The Tyco man had considerately left his keys in the ignition, probably for that very reason, and Clay drove them away from the fire, the carnage, and the screams, rolling with slow care down the feeder road to the junction marked by the billboard showing the sort of happy family that no longer existed (if it ever had). There Clay stopped and put the gearshift lever in park.

'One of you guys has to take over now,' he said.

'Why, Clay?' Jordan asked, but Clay knew from the boy's voice that Jordan already knew.

'Because this is where I get out,' he said.

'No!'

'Yes. I'm going to look for my boy.'

Tom said, 'He's almost certainly dead back there. I'm not meaning to be a hardass, only realistic.'

'I know that, Tom. I also know there's a chance he's not, and so do you. Jordan said they were walking every which way, like they were totally lost.'

Denise said, 'Clay . . . honey . . . even if he's alive, he could be wandering around in the woods with half his head blown off. I hate to say that, but you know it's true.'

Clay nodded. 'I also know he could have gotten out earlier, while we were locked up, and started down the road to Gurleyville. A couple of others made it that far; I saw them. And I saw others on the way. So did you.'

'No arguing with the artistic mind, is there?' Tom asked sadly.

'No,' Clay said, 'but I wonder if you and Jordan would step outside with me for a minute.'

Tom sighed. 'Why not?' he said.

17

Several phoners, looking lost and bewildered, walked past them as they stood by the side of the little water purification van. Clay, Tom, and Jordan paid no attention to them, and the phoners returned the favor. To the northwest the horizon was a brightening red-orange as Kashwakamak Hall shared its fire with the forest behind it.

'No big goodbyes this time,' Clay said, affecting not to see the tears in Jordan's eyes. 'I'm expecting to see you again. Here, Tom. Take this.' He held out the cell phone he'd used to set off the blast. Tom took it. 'Go north from here. Keep checking that thing for bars. If you come to road-reefs, abandon what you're driving, walk until the road's clear, then take another car or truck and drive again. You'll probably get cell transmission bars around the Rangeley area—that was boating in the summer, hunting in the fall, skiing in the winter—but beyond there you should be in the clear, and the days should be safe.'

'I bet they're safe now,' Jordan said, wiping his eyes.

Clay nodded. 'You might be right. Anyway, use your judgment. When you get a hundred or so miles north of Rangeley, find a cabin or a lodge or something, fill it with supplies, and lay up for the winter. You know what the winter's going to do to these things, don't you?'

'If the flock mind falls apart and they don't migrate, almost all of them will die,' Tom said. 'Those north of the Mason-Dixon Line, at least.'

'I think so, yeah. I put those cans of spray-paint in the center console. Every twenty miles or so, spray T- J-D on the road, nice and big. Got it?'

'T-J-D,' Jordan said. 'For Tom, Jordan, Dan, and Denise.'

'Right. Make sure you spray it extra big, with an arrow, if you change roads. If you take a dirt road, spray it on trees, always on the right-hand side of the road. That's where I'll be looking. Have you got that?'

'Always on the right,' Tom said. 'Come with us, Clay. Please.'

'No. Don't make this harder for me than it already is. Every time you have to abandon a vehicle, leave it in the middle of the road and spray it T-J-D. Okay?'

'Okay,' Jordan said. 'You better find us.'

'I will. This is going to be a dangerous world for a while, but not quite as dangerous as it's been. Jordan, I need to ask you something.'

'All right.'

'If I find Johnny and the worst that's happened to him is a trip through their conversion-point, what should I do?'

Jordan gaped. 'How would I know? Jesus, Clay! I mean . . .Jesus!'

'You knew they were rebooting,' Clay said.

'I made aguess!'

Clay knew it had been a lot more than that. A lot better than that. He also knew Jordan was exhausted and terrified. He dropped to one knee in front of the boy and took his hand. 'Don't be afraid. It can't be any worse for him than it already is. God knows it can't.'

'Clay, I . . .' Jordan looked at Tom. 'People aren't like computers, Tom! Tell him!'

'But computers are like people, aren't they?' Tom said. 'Because we build what we know. You knew about the reboot and you knew about the worm. So tell him what you think. He probably won't find the kid, anyway. If he does . . .' Tom shrugged. 'Like he said. How much worse can it be?'

Jordan thought about this, biting his lip. He looked terribly tired, and there was blood on his shirt.

'Are you guys coming?' Dan called.

'Give us another minute,' Tom said. And then, in a softer tone: 'Jordan?'

Jordan was quiet a moment longer. Then he looked at Clay and said, 'You'd need another cell phone. And you'd need to take him to a place where there's coverage . . .'

SAVE TO SYSTEM

1

Clay stood in the middle of route 160, in what would have been the billboard's shadow on a sunny day, and watched the taillights until they were out of sight. He couldn't shake the idea that he would never see Tom and Jordan again (fading roses, his mind whispered), but he refused to let it grow into a premonition. They had come together twice, after all, and didn't people say the third time was the charm?

A passing phoner bumped him. It was a man with blood congealing on one side of his face—the first injured refugee from the Northern Counties Expo that he'd seen. He would see more if he didn't stay ahead of them, so he set off along Route 160, heading south again. He had no real reason to think his kid had gone south, but hoped that some vestige of Johnny's mind—his old mind—told him home lay in that direction. And it was a direction Clay knew, at least.

About half a mile south of the feeder road he encountered another phoner, this one a woman, who was pacing rapidly back and forth across the highway like a captain on the foredeck of her ship. She looked around at Clay with such sharp regard that he raised his hands, ready to grapple with her if she attacked him.

She didn't. 'Who fa-Da?' she asked, and in his mind, quite clearly, he heard: Who fell? Daddy, who fell?

'I don't know,' he said, easing past her. 'I didn't see.'

'Where na?' she asked, pacing more furiously than ever, and in his mind he heard: Where am I now? This he made no attempt to answer, but in his mind he thought of Pixie Dark asking, Who are you? Who am 1?

Clay walked faster, but not quite fast enough. The pacing woman called after him, chilling him: 'Who Pih' Da?'

And in his mind, he heard this question echo with chilling clarity. Who is Pixie Dark?