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In
the
depth
of
his
liquid
brain
,
his
emotion
had
held
another
kind
of
terror
,
drowned
along
with
the
connections
between
his
broken
chips
of
words
.
These
chips
had
been
the
only
compass
directing
his
course
through
four
days
and
nights
—
while
he
drove
down
deserted
highways
,
across
a
country
collapsing
into
chaos
,
while
he
developed
a
monomaniac
’
s
cunning
for
obtaining
illegal
purchases
of
gas
,
while
he
snatched
random
hours
of
restless
sleep
,
in
obscure
motels
,
under
assumed
names
.
.
.
I
’
m
Robert
Stadler
—
he
had
thought
,
his
mind
repeating
it
as
a
formula
of
omnipotence
.
.
.
To
seize
control
—
he
had
thought
,
speeding
against
the
futile
traffic
lights
of
half
-
abandoned
towns
—
speeding
on
the
vibrating
steel
of
the
Taggart
Bridge
across
the
Mississippi
—
speeding
past
the
occasional
ruins
of
farms
in
the
empty
stretches
of
Iowa
.
.
.
I
’
ll
show
them
—
he
had
thought
—
let
them
pursue
,
they
won
’
t
stop
me
this
time
.
.
.
He
had
thought
it
,
even
though
no
one
had
pursued
him
—
as
no
one
was
pursuing
him
now
,
but
the
taillights
of
his
own
car
and
the
motive
drowned
in
his
mind
.
He
looked
at
his
silent
radio
and
chuckled
;
the
chuckle
had
the
emotional
quality
of
a
fist
being
shaken
at
space
.
It
’
s
I
who
am
practical
—
he
thought
—
I
have
no
choice
.
.
.
I
have
no
other
way
.
.
.
I
’
ll
show
all
those
insolent
gangsters
,
who
forget
that
I
am
Robert
Stadler
.
.
.
They
will
all
collapse
,
but
I
won
’
t
!
.
.
.
I
’
ll
survive
!
.
.
.
I
’
ll
win
!
.
.
.
I
’
ll
show
them
!
The
words
were
like
chunks
of
solid
ground
in
his
mind
,
in
the
midst
of
a
fiercely
silent
swamp
;
the
connections
lay
submerged
at
the
bottom
.
If
connected
,
his
words
would
have
formed
the
sentence
:
I
’
ll
show
him
that
there
is
no
other
way
to
live
on
earth
!
.
.
.
The
scattered
lights
in
the
distance
ahead
were
the
barracks
erected
on
the
site
of
Project
X
,
now
known
as
Harmony
City
.
He
observed
,
as
he
came
closer
,
that
something
out
of
the
ordinary
was
going
on
at
Project
X
,
The
barbed
-
wire
fence
was
broken
,
and
no
sentinels
met
him
at
the
gate
.
But
some
sort
of
abnormal
activity
was
churning
in
the
patches
of
darkness
and
in
the
glare
of
some
wavering
spotlights
:
there
were
armored
trucks
and
running
figures
and
shouted
orders
and
the
gleam
of
bayonets
.
No
one
stopped
his
car
.
At
the
corner
of
a
shanty
,
he
saw
the
motionless
body
of
a
soldier
sprawled
on
the
ground
.
Drunk
—
he
thought
,
preferring
to
think
it
,
wondering
why
he
felt
unsure
of
it
.
The
mushroom
structure
crouched
on
a
knoll
before
him
;
there
were
lights
in
the
narrow
slits
of
its
windows
—
and
the
shapeless
funnels
protruded
from
under
its
dome
,
aimed
at
the
darkness
of
the
country
.
A
soldier
barred
his
way
,
when
he
alighted
from
his
car
at
the
entrance
.
