I AM RUNNING, RUNNING along the back of the strip mall, gripping the medicine bag in one hand and the Model 60 rifle in the other, trying to get home. I run the entire two blocks to the Discovery Beach Resort—my heart thumping in my chest, my eyes stinging with something like tears—until I gain the door and go in—pausing only briefly to catch my shuddering breath; beginning the 10-story climb as though I were scaling Babel itself.
When I get to the unit it is dark, the generator sitting silently out on the deck (the door to which is open), the curtains rustling in the breeze. But there is no time to waste, none to delay, and I quickly gain the bedroom—at which I realize the bed is empty and she is no longer there, the sheets left in a jumbled mess, the draperies blowing as if to accentuat
