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"
Can
we
go
on
?
"
Amanda
asked
timidly
.
"
It
might
come
back
.
"
Yes
,
and
there
might
be
more
up
ahead
.
But
there
was
no
point
in
saying
so
.
We
had
to
go
somewhere
.
I
drove
on
,
weaving
in
and
out
between
those
terrible
tracks
until
they
veered
off
the
road
.
That
is
what
happened
.
Or
nearly
all-there
is
one
final
thing
I
'll
get
to
in
a
moment
.
But
you
must
n't
expect
some
-
neat
conclusion
.
There
is
no
And
they
escaped
from
the
mist
into
the
good
sunshine
of
a
new
day
;
or
When
we
awoke
the
National
Guard
had
finally
arrived
;
or
even
that
great
old
standby
:
It
was
all
a
dream
.
It
is
,
I
suppose
,
what
my
father
always
frowningly
called
fan
Alfred
Hitchcock
ending
,
"
by
which
he
meant
a
conclusion
in
ambiguity
that
allowed
the
reader
or
viewer
I
to
make
up
his
own
mind
about
how
things
ended
.
My
father
had
nothing
but
contempt
for
such
stories
,
saying
they
were
"
cheap
shots
.
"
We
got
to
this
Howard
Johnson
's
near
Exit
3
as
dusk
began
to
close
in
,
making
driving
a
suicidal
risk
.
Before
that
,
we
took
a
chance
on
a
bridge
that
spans
the
Saco
River
.
It
looked
badly
twisted
out
of
shape
,
but
in
the
mist
it
was
impossible
to
tell
if
it
was
whole
or
not
.
That
particular
game
we
won
.
But
there
's
tomorrow
to
think
of
,
is
n't
there
?
As
I
write
this
,
it
is
a
quarter
to
one
in
the
morning
,
July
the
twenty-third
.
The
storm
that
seemed
to
signal
the
beginning
of
it
all
was
only
four
days
ago
.
Billy
is
sleeping
in
the
lobby
on
a
mattress
that
I
dragged
out
for
him
.
Amanda
and
Mrs.
Reppler
are
close
by
.
I
am
writing
by
the
light
of
a
big
Delco
flashlight
,
and
outside
the
pink
bugs
are
ticking
and
thumping
off
the
glass
.
Every
now
and
then
there
is
a
louder
thud
as
one
of
the
birds
takes
one
off
.
The
Scout
has
enough
gas
to
take
us
maybe
another
ninety
miles
.
The
alternative
is
to
try
to
gas
up
here
;
there
is
an
Exxon
out
on
the
service
island
,
and
although
the
power
is
off
,
I
believe
I
could
siphon
some
up
from
the
tank
.
But
But
it
means
being
outside
.
