“I think it’s time to go,” he said, and she nodded absently, as though in deep thought. Her eyes were riveted to the odd lights.
They walked back to the truck. Roger walked around to the front and checked the bumper. The chrome was mildly scratched, and bent inward a little at the center. But the bend may have been there before, he couldn’t be certain. At any rate, there were no traces of blood.
They got in. Roger started the engine and let it run, making sure it hadn’t been damaged. After a moment, Savanna said:
“It had arms.”
The motor idled. Roger stared at her. Then he pulled away from the shoulder to rejoin the wagon train east.
After several miles the freeway began to slope upward, and Roger pointed his finger southeast. “There,” he said. “Saved by the big ‘O.’”
She looked out
