Twenty-Four: When the Sap Rises

It was a cold night. The elevation, that was part of it. The Great Eighty Road had sloped upwards all day, gently but steadily, and Laura supposed that they were camped higher up than they had been for some time. Even so, no one seemed prepared for the sudden chill. . . .

Twenty-Three: Badger Creek

The whole convoy was quiet, but no one was quieter than Caleb the Ortega guardsman. As they approached the crossroads to Badger Creek, the young man’s silence stood out, even amid all the other silences. . . .

Twenty-Two: The Flooded Village

As the Great Eighty Road continued to lead them westward, past the sprawling ruins of Damoyne, there were fewer lectric cars, fewer iron signposts, less nameless lectric clutter lying in piles and creeping across their path. . . .

Twenty-One: The Ghost City of Damoyne

Laura’s teeth rattled as the bisox wagon clattered over a rough patch of creetrock. The rest of the convoy, following in her wake, became a jittering blur. Beside her, Mary held Baby Grace against her chest. . . .

Twenty: On Convoy

The Great Eighty Road stretched on and on, gray and unwavering, day after day. Laura sometimes found herself despairing at its oppressive straightness, longing for the days when her way had meandered and detoured in all manner of surprising directions. . . .

Nineteen: The Ferry

The convoy left at dawn, just as Captain Syed said it would. By the time Laura and her family joined the others around the cold pit of charcoal that had held the previous night’s fire, the big wagon was already hitched to the two bisox. . . .

Eighteen: Hawkeye Crossing

The inside of the assistant supervisor’s office was as much a jumble as the outside. The floor was bare creetrock. It was discolored but clean. . . .