Williams spread the map out in the sun as Ank and Luna looked over his shoulder. “Here’s where we’re at.” He tapped the map as the shadow of a pterodactyl passed over it, then another. “Montana Highway 200, at Mirabeau Park. We were taking it to Spokane instead of the more obvious Interstate 90 for one simple reason, even though we’d have to double back ...” He indicated a winding blue line. “The Clark Fork, which runs its entire length—clean water being job one, always. Now, if we diverge here, and take 382, we can cut across the Camas Prairie—badlands, essentially—and hook up with 28. Here.” He tapped the map again. “Then it’s clear sailing all the way to Niarada—there’s even a reservoir, here, at Dry Lake, in case we don’t find any running water in Benton or Lonepine.” He took off his h
