The boy stood with his bike between his legs, frowning at the choice.

Then he sighed and walked his bicycle to the nearest camper.

The camper was a dusty Travelaire. The rear door was open and an elderly woman sat in the doorway with a book across her knees. She wore a baggy cotton print dress and a blue quilt jacket over it. Her hair was gray and sparse. She was reading by the light of the low sun, squinting at the ricepaper pages of a King James Bible.

She looked up at the tick of the Nakamura’s oiled bearings. The boy stopped a yard away. He stood beside his bicycle gazing at her.

She gazed back.

“Hello,” she said at last.

Cautiously, the boy said, “Hi.”

She set the book aside. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“I was riding this way. From the east.”

“Are you alone?”

He nodded.

“No mother? No father?”

“They’re dead.”

“Oh. Well, that’s too bad.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Nowhere in particular.”

“Are you hungry?”

It had been hours since lunch. He nodded.

“I have some food,” the woman said. “Fresh eggs and cured beef. And a little stove to cook it over. Would you care to join me?”

“All right,” the boy said.

He followed her into the camper. There was a propane stove inside. She lit it and put a skillet over the flame. The camper began to warm up. The day had been sunny and fairly nice, but nights were cold this time of year. The boy looked forward to sleeping inside.

He looked around the camper while she cooked. There wasn’t much to see. A few books, including the dog-eared Bible. A stack of scrapbooks that must have soaked up water at some time in the past—the covers were round, the pages wrinkled. Some clothes, unwashed. He sat at a small table, the folding kind.

Eggs sizzled in the skillet. The woman hummed a tune. The boy recognized it. It was an old song. “Unforgettable.” Nat King Cole made that one famous.

Long time ago.

He waited while she said grace, then tucked into a plate of scrambled eggs. “Here’s the salt,” the woman said. “Here’s pepper. I’m boiling water for coffee. Do you drink coffee?”

He nodded, mouth full.

“I suppose I’ll have to introduce you around.” She picked at her own eggs. “We’re a travelling group. We’re going east. There are other people east. We’re from Oregon. The coast. There was a terrible storm, and then—oh, but it’s a long story. You can hear it all later. Tell me, are you tired?”

“A little.”

“You must have come a long way on that bicycle.” He nodded.

“Yes,” she said, “I’ll introduce you tonight. There’s a meeting. Sort of a town meeting. If you call us a town. We can leave early if you like, but I think people will want to know you’re here… My Lord, I don’t even know your name! Pardon my manners. I’m Miriam. Miriam Flett. And you are—?”

“William,” he said.

“William—?”

“Just William.”

“Misplaced your last name?”

He shrugged.

“Well. I’m pleased to meet you anyway, William. And I’m sure everyone else will be, too.” She took a delicate bite of eggs, eating slowly, old-lady style. “It won’t be troublesome,” she said. “There are only ten of us. Well, eleven, including that Colonel Tyler.”

Chapter 26

Election

Beth Porter shook the boy’s hand and gazed a moment at his wide blue eyes.

They were strange eyes for a kid that age, Beth thought. Too… something. Calm? Calm but observant.

But he seemed like a nice-enough kid. People seemed to enjoy seeing a new face. Everybody shook William’s hand and made welcome noises at him. Even Colonel Tyler bent and ruffled the boy’s hair—though William’s smile at that moment looked suddenly less genuine. And that was odd, too, Beth thought.

Then Matt Wheeler called the meeting to order.

They had gathered in the living room of a little wood-frame house next to a gas station. The house was dusty and stale from being closed up so long, but cozy enough on a chilly spring night. Matt had brought in ten folding chairs from his camper. Tom Kindle had plugged in an electric heater, which was minimal help, but what really mattered, Beth thought, was that they had come over the Cascades into the Land of the Functioning Wall Sockets. She guessed it was some Helper voodoo that kept the electricity working in all these derelict towns… as in Buchanan before the storm trashed everything. She didn’t care. Lights that didn’t need batteries: heaven. Hot water: bliss.

This very afternoon they had broken into the house and taken turns under a working shower. Beth recalled that first amazing flourish of steamy water on the skin of her back. It was like the caress of some fiery angel. She’d been savoring the memory for hours.

She settled into a folding chair next to Abby Cushman, a row behind Joey. Up front, with the room’s two sixty-watt floor lamps making him look pale and skinny, Matt Wheeler zipped through some old business, chiefly the news that Joey had scavenged a portable ham rig in Twin Falls, plus a quick unanimous “aye” on the proposition to continue east first thing tomorrow.

Then it was time for the serious vote of the evening… the one Beth had been dreading.

Matt looked tired when he announced it. “Last week we resolved to open the position of Chairman to an election. We can start with nominations—anyone?”

Joey jumped up, almost knocked his chair into Beth’s knees. “I nominate Colonel John Tyler!”

“Seconded,” Jacopetti said.

Well—that was quick, Beth thought.

Abby Cushman, looking a little startled, put her hand up. “Matt, you’ve been doing a fine job. Can’t we just carry on? I nominate you.” Now it was Miriam who seconded. Another surprise. “Two candidates,” Matt said. “Anyone else?” Jacopetti said, “Isn’t two enough? Why don’t we all run?” No more.

“Okay,” Matt said. “Do we need debate on this? I think everyone knows where the Colonel and I stand.” Conceded.

“We’ll vote by show of hands. Colonel Tyler and I will abstain—and maybe our new resident should, too, at least until he’s more familiar with current events.”

Miriam smiled. “I’m sure that’s all right with William.”

“Good. Show of hands for Colonel Tyler?”

Beth looked around hastily. Joey’s hand shot up, of course. Jacopetti’s, in a gesture that was somehow smug. Two, Beth thought. Two out of nine.

Bob Ganish offered a plump hand. Three.

There was a long, tense moment. Nothing.

“Hands for yours truly?”

Abby’s, at once, and Tom Kindle’s; then Miriam’s hand went up. Three versus three, Beth thought. Abby said, “In the event of a tie?”

“Ordinarily,” Matt said, “the Chair would cast the deciding vote… but that’s hardly fair, since both Colonel Tyler and I agreed to abstain. There’s probably something in the Rules of Order. Maybe it would be simpler just to try it again—we had a lot of abstentions. Maybe some of those folks will change their minds.”

Meaning me. Beth found herself blushing. Me and Chuck Makepeace and Tim Belanger.

Makepeace she couldn’t predict. As for Belanger… Matt had saved the guy’s life, dragging him down a hospital corridor during the storm. But Belanger had been pretty close to Tyler ever since the Colonel arrived. And this was only a chairmanship vote, after all, not a test of loyalty… or at least that was all it seemed to be.

Makepeace, Belanger…

And me, Beth thought. Please God, don’t let it come down to me. “Hands for Colonel Tyler?”

The same three: Joey, Jacopetti, Bob Ganish… and now, uh-oh, Beth thought, a fourth—Chuck Makepeace had slid into the Tyler camp. “Could still be a tie,” Abby commented. “No cheerleading,” Matt said. “For yours truly?” Miriam, Abby, Tom Kindle. Beth folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. When she looked up, Belanger had raised his hand for Matt. Four to four.