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Time
passed
.
He
walked
on
.
And
then
it
was
there
,
a
glow
,
defining
itself
with
his
every
step
.
A
rectangle
.
A
door
.
'
Fire
in
there
,
’
he
said
,
his
words
torn
away
by
the
wind
.
It
was
a
bunker
,
stone
or
concrete
,
buried
in
drifts
of
the
dark
sand
.
The
doorway
was
low
,
narrow
,
doorless
,
and
deep
,
set
into
a
wall
at
least
a
meter
thick
.
'
Hey
,
’
Case
said
,
softly
,
'
hey
.
.
.
’
His
fingers
brushed
the
cold
wall
.
There
was
a
fire
,
in
there
,
shifting
shadows
on
the
sides
of
the
entrance
.
He
ducked
low
and
was
through
,
inside
,
in
three
steps
.
A
girl
was
crouched
beside
rusted
steel
,
a
sort
of
fireplace
,
where
driftwood
burned
,
the
wind
sucking
smoke
up
a
dented
chimney
.
The
fire
was
the
only
light
,
and
as
his
gaze
met
the
wide
,
startled
eyes
,
he
recognized
her
headband
,
a
rolled
scarf
,
printed
with
a
pattern
like
magnified
circuitry
.
He
refused
her
arms
,
that
night
,
refused
the
food
she
offered
him
,
the
place
beside
her
in
the
nest
of
blankets
and
shredded
foam
.
He
crouched
beside
the
door
,
finally
,
and
watched
her
sleep
,
listening
to
the
wind
scour
the
structure
’
s
walls
.
Every
hour
or
so
,
he
rose
and
crossed
to
the
makeshift
stove
,
adding
fresh
driftwood
from
the
pile
beside
it
.
None
of
this
was
real
,
but
cold
was
cold
.
She
wasn
’
t
real
,
curled
there
on
her
side
in
the
firelight
.
He
watched
her
mouth
,
the
lips
parted
slightly
.
She
was
the
girl
he
remembered
from
their
trip
across
the
Bay
,
and
that
was
cruel
.
'
Mean
,
motherfucker
,
’
he
whispered
to
the
wind
.
'
Don
’
t
take
a
chance
,
do
you
?
Wouldn
’
t
give
me
any
junkie
,
huh
?
I
know
what
this
is
.
.
.
’
He
tried
to
keep
the
desperation
from
his
voice
.
'
I
know
,
see
?
I
know
who
you
are
.
You
’
re
the
other
one
.
3Jane
told
Molly
.
Burning
bush
.
That
wasn
’
t
Wintermute
,
it
was
you
.
He
tried
to
warn
me
off
with
the
Braun
.
Now
you
got
me
flatlined
,
you
got
me
here
.
Nowhere
.
With
a
ghost
.
Like
I
remember
her
before
.
.
.
’
