(Untitled)
[From here.]
It's still cool this early in the morning, here in Wyoming in late spring. The eastern sky is only beginning to lighten with the brightness of false dawn, but it's enough to see the dark shape of the Impala a few yards away, parked beside the road.
It's still cool this early in the morning, here in Wyoming in late spring. The eastern sky is only beginning to lighten with the brightness of false dawn, but it's enough to see the dark shape of the Impala a few yards away, parked beside the road.
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"Where are we?" Unconsciously, he's lowered his voice.
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He closes the shed door, shutting off all light and sound from Milliways, and starts toward the car.
"We're a little bit outside Colt's railroad line - remember I told you about that? This road'll lead us in."
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(Where in Wyoming, he meant; but it's clear they're nowhere near any cities, and outside Colt's railroad line is the best marker he's going to get.)
"I remember that, yeah." Still muted, as though by the pressure of the night around them. "The gate's in the center, you said."
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