Chase was anxious to get the jeep under cover. Everything was already soaked and reeking, but he was afraid that prolonged exposure to the acid rain would leave the tires threadbare and the bodywork looking like Gruyere cheese. Around the back was a concrete ramp leading up to a door. Without hesitation he ran the jeep inside, then switched off the engine and slumped back in his seat, exhausted.
Ruth peeled off her goggles and mask and sucked in air. The smell was still strong, though not quite as pungent as outside. "Would you believe they used to call Californian rain liquid sunshine?" she panted.
"It's yellow, what more do you want?"
"Yeah, so is horse--"
"I know, I know." Chase smiled wearily.
They unloaded all the gear and supplies and spread them out to dry. By now it was dark and they worked by the light of a battery lamp, which extended its welcoming circle across the pitted floorboards and along the bare, crumbling plaster walls. A calendar with scenic views advertised Firestone tires: the Grand Canyon basking in a pink sunset, the month March, the year 2011.
While Ruth sorted out something to eat, Chase unpacked the gas stove and got it going. Then he took a flashlight and poked through the derelict building, finding an office-cum-shop stripped bare except for a battered cash register, its empty drawer thrust out like a rude tongue. A worn wooden staircase led up through a trapdoor to three large rooms, two used for storage, the other, apparently, as a bedroom, containing a mildewed mattress and a dresser with a cracked, discolored mirror. In the storerooms metal racks and shelves, thick with dust, reached almost to the ceiling, and the floor was knee-deep in brown wrapping paper and squashed cardboard boxes. Either the owner had cleared out fast, Chase surmised, grabbing what he could, or the garage had been raided and pillaged.
He switched off the flashlight and stood at the shattered window and looked out at the yellow rain spattering the black surface of the highway, lit spasmodically by flickers of lightning moving toward the west.
Something rose up inside, choking him, and he had to stifle a sob. Tomorrow he would see Cheryl and Dan. The memory of those wasted years was far more painful than the bruise in his side. He was fifty years old. Had it really taken half a century for him to learn what mattered, what was important? He had quite deliberately chosen to sacrifice their happiness in pursuit of an ideal. And that word
The rain had slackened, though the storm rumbled on distantly. Outside it was almost too dark to see anything. He and Ruth should be safe for the night here. From the road the building would appear deserted, with the jeep out of sight and the only light in a back room.
Chase stood absolutely still, holding his breath, the hairs on the nape of his neck springing erect. There was somebody, or something, up here with him.
Mouth suddenly dry and heart thumping, he turned slowly and switched on the flashlight. Its beam traveled along the floor, over the crumpled boxes and brown paper, and up to the empty metal shelves. Could he hear breathing or was it the beat of blood in his ears?
The distorted circle of light moved along the shelves, bending and folding itself around the metal uprights. A triangular fragment of beam struck the far wall and he thought he saw movement there, but when he shone the light there was nothing. It had been an exhausting trip and they hadn't had much sleep the night before--were his nerves shot and his mind playing tricks?
Chase squatted down on one knee and aimed the beam under the lowest shelf. Scraps of paper, dust, some round dark shapes that looked like mouse-droppings, but nothing else. Yet he still felt, sensed, another presence . . . something with the stealth and cunning of a jungle beast, observing him from the darkness, waiting for the right moment to leap out with fangs bared and claws unsheathed--
"Gavin!"
A convulsive spasm shook his body like an electric shock and the flashlight fell, making a dull thud and rolling away, its beam diffuse and dim through crumpled brown paper. Good God, what kind of state were his nerves in? His stomach felt like a cold hollow pit and his face and neck were bathed in icy perspiration. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and reached shakily for the flashlight--
"Gavin, where are you?"
