“Harvey, he’s—”
“Shut up, Marie! Harvey made his voice deliberately brutal. It stopped her.
“Harv, there’s people all over,” Mark said. “Roads were gettin’ jammed. So I cut off onto a fire trail I know about. Bikers use it. It’ll lead us through the condor reservation. Sure, it goes west awhile, but we stay off the goddam freeways! You stop to think how many people are trying to get out of L.A. right now? Not many know about this road. And it stays on high ground. It wasn’t much of a road to begin with, less to go wrong with it.” He turned to Marie. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. We have to get over the mountains, all the way over. Then we get to the San Joaquin and we’re on level ground, and we can cut over to Sequoia—”
“Let’s get a map,” Harvey suggested.
“It doesn’t show on a map,” Mark protested. “If it did, everybody—”
“I believe your road,” Harvey said. “I want to see what happens after that. I’ve got maps in the TravelAII.” He started to turn, but Joanna went to the motorcycle. She reached into a saddlebag.
“Frank Stoner made us take three copies. One for each bike,” she said. She held up a big aeronautical chart. It showed terrain features in colors. “There are Auto Club maps, too.”
It was too dark to read the map properly. Mark went to the TravelAII and came back with a flashlight. Marie was standing stiffly aloof, silent, her eyes still accusing.
“See?” Mark said. “Right across here. The highway goes past lakes. With dams. That sit on top of the San Andreas. You really think the big highway’s still usable?”
Harvey shook his head. It wouldn’t matter. If the highway could be used, a million people would be trying to use it. If not… “So we come out through Frazier Park.”
“Right! Then down in the valley and it’s a straight shot north,” Mark said. “I was thinking of getting to the Mojave ’cause that’s where Frank said we should be, but it’s no good. Can’t get to Sequoia that way.” He pointed. “All the eastside routes lead past Lake Isabella. Follow the Kern River. Harv, with all this rain, how many bridges will there be over the Kern?”
“None. Marie, he’s right. If we went the direct route we’d never get there.”
Mark looked pleased. Joanna leaned the shotgun against the bike and collapsed onto the seat, sidesaddle.
“If you had explained before…” Marie began.
“Jesus, I tried!” Mark shouted.
“Not you.”
She meant me, Harvey thought. And she’s right. I can’t curl up and die, I’ve got a boy up in those hills and I’ve got to go get him, and thank God for Marie. “How’s our gas?” Harvey asked.
“Pretty good. We’ve made about fifty miles—”
“No more than that,” Harvey muttered. Of course it was true, he could see it on the map. It seemed like much further. They couldn’t have been going very fast. “Mark, how sure are you of this fire trail? Won’t it wash out?”
“Probably,” Mark said. He pointed silently to the dams poised above Interstate 5. “Rather risk that?”
“No. If we’re going, we’d better do it. I’ll drive,” Harvey said.
“And I’ll scout ahead. Joanna can ride shotgun with you.” Mark didn’t mention Marie. He wasn’t speaking to her.
It felt good to be doing something. Anything. He had a throbbing headache, the beginning of a migraine, and his shoulders and neck were so tense he could feel knots in them, but it was better than curling up in the seat.
“Let’s go,” Harvey said.
The road ran along ridgelines, curled around hills, boring north and west. It stayed on high ground. Rock and mudslides spilled across it, but being high, the debris wasn’t deep; and being almost untraveled, the road wasn’t cut away at the edges.
The mountains had shifted. The road might have ended anywhere. Like Mark Czescu’s judgment, it was nothing you could count on absolutely; but neither had failed them this time. Eventually they came to paved road, and Harvey could increase his speed.
He liked driving. He drove with single-minded determination, with no room for other thoughts. Watch for rocks. Ease around curves. Keep going, rack up the miles, on and on and never look back and never think about what’s behind you.
Down and down now, into the San Joaquin. Water standing everywhere. That was frightening. Harvey stopped and looked at the map. Their way ran directly to a dry lake bed. It wouldn’t be dry now. So cross the Kern River on the freeway, then get off and cut northeast…
Would their gas hold? They had plenty so far. Harvey thought of the extra gas he’d stored, and of thieves and killers in a blue van. Wherever they hid, someday he would track them down. But they hadn’t taken this road. He’d have noticed. So far they’d had the road almost to themselves.
Dawn found them north and east of Bakersfield. They’d made effective progress. Thirty miles an hour, and now they were on high ground, skirting the eastern edge of the San Joaquin, with nothing to stop them.
Harvey realized where they were heading. Their route would take them right past the Jellison ranch.
The Tule River was too deep, way too deep. Nobody had dared to use the road that ran alongside. By the time Harvey realized this, it was too late. He could see the dam ahead.
Water streamed around one side and all along the top. He could just tell where the spillway was: a surging current in the river that poured over the face of the dam. He sounded the horn and waved Mark ahead. He clenched his fist and moved it vigorously up and down, the Army signal for double time. He pointed at the dam.
Mark got the message; he gunned the bike. Harvey slammed down the accelerator and roared after him. They were almost to the dam, then—
A river of mud submerged the road. A dozen people and half that many cars were mired in the mud. They’d tried to get past the slide and got stuck.
Harvey levered the TravelAII into four-wheel drive and went on without stopping. One man stepped forth to bar their way with spread arms. Harvey came close enough to see wide eyes and bared teeth, a rictus of terror and determination… and he saw Harvey’s face. The TravelAll’s headlight ticked his heel as he leaped away.
The mud was sliding and the TravelAII slid with it. Harvey turned hard, gunned the engine and fought a frantic race between his traction on the mud and the mud’s adherence to the road. Rocks in the road tipped the TravelAII sickeningly. Then there was road under them again. Harvey heard Marie’s gasp of relief.
There was a bridge ahead. It crossed an arm of the lake… and it was under water. Harvey couldn’t tell how deep. He slowed.
Suddenly there were other sounds embedded in the sounds of river and rain and thunder. Screams. Joanna looked back. “Jesus!” she shouted.
Harvey stopped the TravelAII.
The dam was going. One whole side of it crumbled, all in a moment, and the lake went forth in a wall of water. The screams were drowned in its thunder.
“Our timing was s-superb,” Joanna said.
“All those people,” Harvey muttered. All the travelers in cars not as good as the TravelAII. All the farmers who thought they’d wait it out. People on foot, people already marooned on roofs and high points in the new shallow lakes, would look up to see the wall of water marching toward them.
It would be worse when the other dams went. The whole valley would be flooded. No dam would hold against this relentless rain. Harvey took a deep breath.
“Okay, it’s over. We made it. Quaking Aspen is only thirty miles from here. Gordie’ll bring them out there.” He summoned up a mental picture of the road north of Springville. It crossed many streams, and the map showed small power stations and dams on some of them. Dams above the road.
Had they failed? Would they fail? It would be foolish, even insane, to charge up the road just in time to be washed down again.