“What in hell is going on with this family?” Danielle asked, her voice sharp. “Goddammit, Francine, where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” Francine answered bluntly. “Arthur’s in charge.”

“Are you all crazy?” Danielle asked.

“Now, Danny,” Grant said.

“I’ve been up all night trying to figure this out. Why are you leaving now? Why?” She was on the edge of hysteria. “Something’s going on. Something with the government. Is that why you’re here? You’re going to leave us all, let us die!”

Arthur’s heart sank. She might be close enough to the truth. All his excitement seemed to drain.

“We’re going into the city today,” he said. “I have business there, and Marty and Francine have to come with me.”

“Can we come along?” Danielle asked. “All of us. We’re family. I would feel a lot better if we all came along.”

Francine looked at him, eyes filled with tears. Marty’s lower lip was quivering, and Becky stood beside her mother, one arm around her, confused into silence.

“No,” Grant said. Danielle jerked her head around.

“What?”

“No. We will not panic. Arthur has work to do. If it’s work for the government, fine. But we will not panic in this house if I have anything to say about it.”

“They’re going someplace,” Danielle said softly.

Grant agreed to that with a brief nod. “Maybe so. But we have no business horning in.”

“That’s goddamned reasonable of you,” Danielle said. “We’re your goddamned family. What are you doing for us?”

Grant searched Arthur’s face, and Arthur sensed his confusion and fear and determination not to let things get out of control. “I’m keeping us in our house,” he said, “and I’m keeping us civil, and dignified.”

“Dignity,” Danielle said. She upended her cup of coffee on the floor and rushed out of the kitchen. Becky stood by the spill and sobbed silently, painfully.

“Daddy,” she said between tight spasms.

“We’re just arguing,” Grant told her. He kneeled beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “We’ll be okay.”

Arthur, feeling like an automaton, gathered their things from the bathroom and spare bedroom. Francine sought her sister in the master bedroom and tried to soothe her.

Grant confronted Arthur in the driveway. Morning fog was thick over the hills, and the sun was a promise of yellow warmth behind the mist. A few mourning doves sang their sweet, nostalgic stupid song behind the hedges.

“Are you still working for the government?” he asked.

“No,” Arthur said.

“They’re not taking you all into Cheyenne Mountain or something like that? Putting you aboard a space shuttle?”

“No,” Arthur said, feeling a twinge. What do you hope is going to happen…? Something not too far from what Grant is hypothesizing?

“Are you coming back here this evening? Just going into town, and then…coming back?”

Arthur shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said.

“You’re going to drive, wander until…it happens?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said.

Grant grimaced and shook his head. “I’ve wondered how long we could keep it all together. We are all going to die, aren’t we, and we can’t do anything?”

Arthur felt as if he were breathing shards of glass.

“We face these things our own way,” Grant said. “If you’re in a car, driving, maybe everybody can keep together. Keep going on. If we all stay at home, maybe…too. Also.”

Please, you are powerful, you are Godlike, Arthur prayed to the Bosses at the top of the network, take us all, rescue us all. Please.

But the information already passed on to him made that prayer a hollow thing. And he had no assurance his family was going to be saved; no assurance at all, only a strong, living hope. He reached out for Grant’s hand and clasped it between his own.

“I have always admired you,” Arthur said. “You’re not like me. But I want you to know that I’ve always admired you, and Danielle. You are good people. Wherever we are, whatever happens, you are in our thoughts. And I hope we will be in yours.”

“You will be,” Grant said, jaw clenched. Danielle and Francine came through the front door, Marty in tow. Becky did not come out, but watched through the front bay window, a small radiantly blond ghost.

Arthur sat behind the wheel again after making sure Marty was strapped securely into the station wagon’s back seat. Grant held Danielle tightly with one arm and waved with the other.

Nothing so different about this, Arthur thought. Simple family leave-taking. He backed the station wagon out of the driveway and maneuvered on the narrow street, glancing at his watch. One hour to get where they had to be.

Francine’s face was soaked with tears, but she made no sound, staring ahead, her arm hanging limply out the window.

Marty waved, and they drove away.

Winds from the ocean had driven the smoke of eastern fires inland, and once the mist had burned off, the air was fine and blue and clear. Arthur drove them across the heavy, gray-girdered San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, almost empty of traffic, taking the 480 off-ramp to the Embarcadero and turning south for China Basin Street and the Central Basin.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Francine asked.

He nodded; in a way, he did know. He was following directions, but he had a picture of a fifty-foot fishing boat. Twenty passengers sat in the sun on the rear deck, waiting for them.

He parked the car in the lot at Agua Vista Park. “We’re walking from here,” he said. “It isn’t far.”

“What about the luggage?” Francine asked.

“My toys?” Marty chimed in.

“Leave them here,” Arthur said. He opened the tailgate and pulled out the box containing Francine’s disks and papers. That was the only thing he would insist they bring. He let Marty hold it.

The excitement was returning; he could feel sad later about those left behind. Right now, it seemed certain what he had most hoped for was happening. The network was not blocking his way, or telling him to go back; he was being urged on. Only a few minutes remained.

“We’re taking a boat?” Francine asked. He nodded. She lifted her purse, and Arthur shook his head: leave it. She slipped a plastic pack of family photos from her wallet and tossed the rest aside almost angrily, face contorted.

“Aren’t we going to lock the car?” Marty asked. Arthur hurried them away, leaving the tailgate open.

You do not need possessions. Bring nothing but the clothes on your back. Empty your pockets of change, keys, everything. Bring only yourselves.

He tossed his keys and change, wallet and comb, onto the asphalt.

They walked through an open gate in a chain link fence onto a long, broad pier, lined on each side with the gently bobbing masts of fishing boats. “Hurry,” he urged.

Francine pushed Marty ahead of her.

“All this for a boat ride,” she said.

At the end of the pier, the boat he had visualized awaited them. There were indeed about twenty people standing and sitting in the back. A young woman in faded jeans and a windbreaker guided them onto the ramp and they boarded quickly, taking their places in the back. Marty perched on a smelly pile of worn netting. Francine sat on a winch.

“All right,” the young woman shouted. “That’s the last.”

Only now did Arthur dare to let his breath out. He glanced around at the people on the boat. Most were younger than he; four children were in the group besides Marty. There were no passengers past late middle age. As he looked into their faces, he saw that many had been involved in the network, and yet they were not being rewarded for their labors. Others on the network had been left behind; many not on the network, like Marty and Francine, were going along.

Still, nobody seemed to have any idea where they were headed. The boat pulled into the choppy bay waters and headed north. The sun cast welcome warmth, and the winds over the bay took most of it away.