end of five miles he saw a motor truck, empty, trundling away from
Boulder Lake and the construction camp toward the outer world.

The two vehicles passed, combining to make a momentary roaring noise
at their nearest. The truck was not in a hurry. It simply lumbered
along with loose objects in its cargo space rattling and bumping
loudly. Its driver and his helper plainly knew nothing of untoward
events behind them. They'd probably stopped somewhere to have a
leisurely morning snack, with the truck waiting for them at the
roadside.

Lockley went on ten miles more. He begrudged the distances added by
curves in the road. He tended to fume when his underpowered car
noticeably slowed up on grades, and especially the long ones. He saw a
bear halfway up a hillside pause in its exploitation of a berry patch
to watch the car go by below it. He saw more deer. Once a smaller
animal, probably a coyote, dived into a patch of brushwood and stayed
hidden as long as the car remained in sight.

More miles of empty highway. And then a long, straight stretch of
road, and he suddenly saw vehicles coming around the curve at the end
of it. They were not in line, singlelane, as traffic usually is on a
curve. Both lanes were filled. The road was blocked by motor-driven
traffic heading away from the lake, and not at a steady pace, but in
headlong flight.

It roared on toward Lockley. Big trucks and little ones; passenger
cars in between them; a few motorcyclists catching up from the rear by
riding on the road's shoulders. They were closely packed, as if by
some freak the lead had been taken by great trucks incapable of the