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.A moth snapped hard against the windshield, leaving a gray dusty substance on the glass, a little kiss of Death.18Earth's magnetic pole might shift in a twink, as some scientists theorized it had done in the past, resulting in an entirely new angle of rotation, causing catastrophic changes in the surface of the planet.Current tropical zones could in an instant be plunged into an arctic freeze, leaving startled soft-body Miami retirees clawing for survival in 100-degree-below-zero cold, in blizzards so bitter that the snow came not in the form of flakes, but as spicules, needlelike crystals as hard as glass.Colossal tectonic pressures would cause continents to buckle, fracture, fold.Rising up in massive tides, oceans would slop over coastlines, crash across the Rockies and the Andes and the Alps alike.New inland oceans would form, new mountain ranges.Volcanoes would vomit forth great burning seas of Earth's essence.With civilization gone and billions dead, small scattered bands of survivors would face the daunting task of forming tribes of hunters and gatherers.In the final hour of his program, Parish Lantern and call-ins from his nationwide radio audience discussed the likelihood of a pole-shift striking within the next fifty years.Because Dylan and Jilly were for the moment still too busy digesting their recent experiences to talk anymore about them, they listened to Lantern as they drove north on this lonely desert highway, where it was possible to believe simultaneously that civilization had already vanished in a planetary cataclysm and that the earth was timeless, unchanging.'You listen to this guy all the time?' he asked Jilly.'Not every night, but a lot.''It's a miracle you're not suicidal.''His show isn't usually about doom.Mostly it's time travel, alternate realities, whether we have souls, life after death.'In the backseat, Shep continued reading Dickens, granting the novelist a form of life after death.On the radio, the planet crushed and burned and drowned and blew away human civilization and most of the animal kingdom, as though all life were pestilence.When they reached the town of Safford, about forty minutes after they exited the interstate, Shepherd said, 'Fries not flies, fries not flies, fries not flies.'Maybe it was time to stop and devise a plan of action, or maybe they had not yet analyzed their situation to a degree that allowed for planning, but in either case, Dylan and Shep were in want of the dinner they had missed.And Jilly expressed the need for a drink.'First we need new license plates,' Dylan said.'When they trace that Cadillac to you, they'll go unit to unit in the motel, looking for you.When they find you've lit out and that Shep and I didn't stay the night we'd paid for, they might link us.''No might about it.They will,' she said.'The motel records have the make, model, license-plate number.At least we can change the plate number and not be so easily made.'On a quiet residential street, Dylan parked, took screwdrivers and pliers from the Expedition tool kit, and went looking for Arizona plates.He found an easily detached pair on a pickup in the driveway of a weather-silvered cedar ranch house with a dead front lawn.Throughout the theft, his heart pounded.The guilt he felt was out of proportion to such a minor crime, but his face burned with shame at the prospect of being caught in the act.After he had purloined the plates, he drove around town until he found a school.The parking lot was deserted at this hour.In those shadows, he replaced his California plates with the Arizona pair.'With luck,' he said as he got behind the wheel once more, 'the owner of that pickup won't notice the plates missing until tomorrow.''I hate trusting in luck,' Jilly said.'I've never had much.''Fries not flies,' Shepherd reminded them.A few minutes later, when Dylan parked in front of a restaurant adjacent to a motel, he said, 'Let me see the pin.Your toad button.'She unpinned the smiling amphibian from her blouse but withheld it.'What do you want it for?''Don't worry.It's not going to set me off like the other one did.That's over.That business is finished.''Yeah, but what if?' she worried.He handed the car keys to her.Reluctantly, she exchanged the pin for the keys.Thumb on the toad face, forefinger against the back of the pin, Dylan felt a quiver of psychic spoor, the impression of more than one individual, perhaps Grandma Marjorie overlaid by Jillian Jackson, but neither invoked in him the compulsion to hurry-move-find-do that had harried him to the house on Eucalyptus Avenue.Dropping the button in the little trash basket in the console, he said, 'Nothing.Or next to nothing.It wasn't the pin itself that set me off.It was.Marjorie's impending death that somehow I sensed on the first pin.Does that make sense?''Only here in Nutburg, USA, where we seem to live now.''Let's get you that drink,' he said.'Two.'Crossing the parking lot to the front door of the restaurant, Shep walked between them.He carried Great Expectations with the little battery-powered light attached, reading intently as he walked.Dylan had considered taking the book away from him, but Shepherd had been through a lot this evening.His routines had been disrupted, which usually filled him with anxiety.Worse, he had endured more excitement in a couple hours than he had experienced in the previous ten years, and Shepherd O'Conner usually had no ability to cope with excitement.Being directly addressed by too many strangers at an art show could tax his tolerance for conversational stimulation even though he never replied to any of them.Too much lightning in a thunderstorm or too much thunder, or too much roaring rain, for that matter, could fill his capacity for commotion to overflowing, whereupon he would succumb to a panic attack.Indeed, that Shep had not panicked at the motel, that he had not curled up like a defensive pill bug and had not shaken with spasms of apprehension when he'd seen the burning Coupe DeVille, that he hadn't squealed and pulled his hair at some point during Dylan's reckless drive to Marjorie's house – these were great wonders if not miracles of self-control compared to his customary behavior when confronted by the more mundane agitations of daily life.Right now, Great Expectations was his life raft in an evening swamped by turmoil.Clinging to the book, he was able to convince himself that he was safe, and he could push from his awareness all the violations of comforting routine, also blind and deafen himself to the otherwise drowning tides of stimulation.Awkward movements and poor physical coordination were symptoms of Shep's condition, but walking while reading didn't lead to either a stiffer gait or a more pronounced shuffle [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]