He woke hours later in cool sunlight filtered through orange nylon. His body felt raw and his thoughts were quick and fragile.

Time to start thinking like a scientist, Howard scolded himself. Find the center of this problem.

Or just keep walking: that was the other option. Walk past the ruined research buildings, walk deeper into this forest, south toward Detroit or whatever mutation of Detroit existed here; walk until he found a population to lose himself in, or until he died, whichever came first.

The fundamental question, almost too sweeping to ask, was simply Why? So many things had happened to Two Rivers, so many enormous, numbing events. All linked, he supposed; all connected in some causal chain, if only he could begin to unravel it. Obviously the town had moved through an unimaginable latitude of time, but why? Had arrived in a world full of archaic technology and perverse religious wars, but why? Why here, of all places? And the night shapes in the forest: what were they?

What single line could possibly connect all these things?

He rolled his tent, fielded his pack, and followed the trail eastward.

Sunlight chased cloud into the hazy east. Howard crossed a brook at its shallowest point, where the water streamed in cool transparency over granite rubble. He wished his thoughts were as lucid. He was out of food; he felt hungry and light-headed.

It seemed appropriate that he was moving toward the heart of the crisis, through the undeveloped lands of the old Ojibway reserve toward the ruined Two Rivers Physical Research Laboratory. Through mystery toward revelation. At least, perhaps. Eventually.

Last night these woods had been haunted. Today, in flickering sunlight, the memory seemed ludicrous. And yet there was a presence here, never seen but often felt, a private visitation. He felt his uncle with him as he walked: Stern as a presiding spirit. He guessed that wasn’t scientific. But that was how it seemed.

The woods thinned. Howard moved more cautiously here. He came to the logging road that connected the lab with the highway. The road had been widened by military traffic. He waited until a truck rumbled past, its primitive engine loud in the silence. Then he crossed the rutted, wet road and walked parallel to it behind a screen of low pines.

He reached the hill from which, long ago, he had watched Chief Haldane’s ladder company move beyond a border of blue light. Another trail crossed the road here. It seemed to lead to higher ground along this ridge, and Howard followed it through berry thickets and white pine, sweating under his Navy coat. It was afternoon now and the sunlight was warm.

He came to the peak of the ridge. The Two Rivers Physical Research Laboratory lay in the flatland beyond. Howard felt conspicuous in this elevated place. He shrugged off his pack and left it under a tree. The ridge sloped steeply here and Howard lay on his belly at the edge of it, looking down an incline of rock and wild grasses.

The ruined buildings were still enclosed in their dome of iridescent light. They looked much the way Howard remembered them looking in the spring. The central bunker had stopped smoking, but nothing else had changed—the grounds were embalmed in this glaze of illumination. The single elm outside the staff housing had kept all its leaves.

There was a breeze, at least here on this escarpment, but the tree was not moving.

Human activity was restricted to the outside of this perimeter. Obviously, the military had taken an interest in the Two Rivers Physical Research Laboratory. It would have been easy enough to deduce that the lab was at the center of what had happened at Two Rivers, and this persistent skein of light would have captured anyone’s attention. The soldiers had put up a wire fence around the circumference of the property. Tents and a pair of tin sheds had been erected. The contrast was striking, Howard thought. Inside the dome, everything was pristine. Outside, the grass had been trampled into mud, ditches had been turned into latrines, garbage had been heaped in enormous mounds.

His attention was focused so closely on the lab that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until they were too close. He rolled onto his back and sat up, ready to bolt for the trees.

Clifford Stockton regarded him through magnifying-lens eyeglasses. The boy blinked twice. Then he held out a wrinkled paper bag.

“My lunch,” he said. “You can have some if you want.”

Howard said, “How did you know I wasn’t a soldier?” They sat in the shade some yards away from the edge of the escarpment.

“You don’t look like a soldier,” the boy said.

“How can you tell?”

“The way you’re dressed.”

“I might be out of uniform. I might be in disguise.” The boy inspected him more closely. He shook his head: “It’s not just your clothes.”

“Okay. Still—you should be careful.” Clifford nodded.

The boy had left his bicycle inclined against a tree. He offered Howard half a sandwich wrapped in brown paper and a drink from a thermos of cold water. Howard had brought his own water on this expedition, two Coke bottles tucked into the deep pockets of his jacket, but most of that was gone. He drank from the thermos and said, “Thanks.”

“My name is Clifford.”

“Thank you, Clifford. I’m Howard.”

The boy offered his hand and Howard shook it.

Then, briefly, they worked at the food. It wasn’t much of a sandwich, Howard thought, but it was better than most of what he’d been eating lately. Some kind of coarse-ground bread, some meat, probably military rations, not bad if you were hungry. He discovered he was very hungry indeed.

He finished the sandwich and licked the pale grease from his fingers. “Have you been here before, Clifford?”

“A few times.”

“Long ride out from town, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Howard felt at ease with the boy. Maybe it was his obvious myopia or his solemn style, but he felt an echo of his own childhood here. One look at Clifford and you knew he was the kind of kid who kept a collection of coins or bugs or comics; that he watched too much TV, read too many books.

His eyes were pinched and cautious, but Howard supposed that was natural; everyone was cautious nowadays.

He said, “How safe is it up here?”

“It’s a long hike up from the valley. I’ve never seen a soldier here. Mostly they stay near the trucks.”

“How often do you come here?”

“Maybe once a week or so. Like you said—it’s a long ride.”

“So why come at all?”

“Find out what’s happening.” The boy gave Howard a thoughtful stare. “Why are you here?”

“Same reason.”

“You walked from town?” Howard nodded. “Long walk.”

“Yup.”

“First time?”

“Yes,” Howard said. “At least, since the tanks came.”

“It’s quiet today.”

“Isn’t it always?”

“No,” the boy said. “Sometimes there are more soldiers or more Proctors.”

Howard was instantly curious, but he didn’t want to intimidate the boy. He ordered his thoughts. “Clifford, can you tell me what they do here? This might be important.”

Clifford frowned. He balled up his sandwich wrapper and tossed it into the dark of the woods. “It’s hard to tell. You can’t see much without binoculars. Sometimes they take pictures. A couple of times I saw them sending soldiers in.”

“What—into the lab?”

“Into one of the buildings.”

“Show me which one.”

They crept to the edge of the escarpment. The boy pointed to a tall structure at the near perimeter of the parking lot: the administration building.