BY THE TIME I HEADED out the next day, the sun was at 12 o’clock and I’d fashioned two markers—one for the keeper and one for Amelia—both of which I’d planted atop breakers so they wouldn’t be swept away. And then I’d made a sign—a sign for future travelers—which I’d hemmed and hawed over considerably before finally scrawling across it: GO TO BARLEY HOT SPRINGS IN MONTANA. STAY AWAY FROM THE LANTERN. Nor was it lost on me that the strange anomaly—who’s very purpose had been to perpetuate the Flashback and thus usher men from the earth—would now be used to connect us; and to offer survivors hope. And I supposed that in the Big Empty, that was as good as it got.
And then I was off—having locked the tower door and disposed of its key—driving through Charleston and Barview and Coos Bay, follo
