It was a spider, larger than himself, rushing to check the disturbance.
He elevated the rocket launchers, took careful aim, and pierced it with one white-hot missile.
It still hung there in the trembling web and seemed to be kicking.
He turned on the flame again, for a full ten seconds, and when it subsided, there was an open way before him.
He rushed through, wide-awake and alert once again, his pains forgotten. He drove as fast as he could, trying to forget the sight.
Another mountain smoked ahead and to his right, but it did not bloom, and few ashes descended as he passed it.
He made coffee and drank a cup. After a while it was morning and he raced toward it.
He was stuck in the mud, somewhere in eastern Pennsylvania, and cursing. Greg was looking very pale. The sun was nearing midheaven. He leaned back and closed his eyes. It was too much.
He slept.
He awoke and felt worse. There was a banging on the side of the car. His hands moved toward fire control and wing control automatically, and his eyes sought the screens.
He saw an old man, and there were two younger men with him. They were armed, but they stood right before the left wing, and he knew he could cut them in half in an instant.
He activated the outside speaker and the audio pickup.
"What do you want?" he asked, and his voice crackled forth.
"You okay?" the old man called.
"Not really. You caught me sleeping."
"You stuck?"
"That's about the size of it."
"I got a mule team can maybe get you out. Can't get 'em here before tomorrow morning, though."
"Great!" said Tanner. "I'd appreciate it."
"Where you from?"
"L.A."
"What's that?"
"Los Angeles. West Coast."
There was some murmuring, then, "You're a long way from home, Mister."
"Don't I know it…Look, if you're serious about those mules, I'd appreciate hell out of it. It's an emergency."
"What kind of?"
"You know about Boston?"
"I know it's there."
"Well, people are dying up that way, of the plague. I've got drugs here can save them, if I can get through."
There were some more murmurs, then, "We'll help you. Boston's pretty important, and we'll get you loose. Want to come back with us?"
"Where? And who are you?"
"The name's Samuel Potter, and these are my Sons, Roderick and Caliban. My farm's about six miles off. You're welcome to spend the night."
"It's not that I don't trust you," said Tanner. "It's just that I don't trust anybody, if you know what I mean. I've been shot at too much recently to want to take the chance."
"Well, how about if we put up our guns? You're probably able to shoot us from there, ain't you?"
"That's right."
"So we're taking a chance just standing here. We're willing to help you. We'd stand to lose if the Boston traders stopped coming to Albany. If there's someone else inside with you, he can cover you."
"Wait a minute," said Tanner, and he opened the door and jumped down.
The old man stuck out his hand, and Tanner took it and shook it, also his sons'.
"Is there any kind of doctor around here?" he asked.
"In the settlement, about thirty miles north."
"My partner's hurt. I think he needs a doctor." He gestured back toward the cab.
Sam moved forward and peered within.
"Why's he all trussed up like that?"
"He went off his rocker, and I had to clobber him. I tied him up, to be safe. But now he doesn't look so good."
"Then let's whip up a stretcher and get him onto it. You lock up tight then, and my boys'll bring him back to the house. We'll send someone for the doc. You don't look so good yourself. Bet you'd like a bath and a shave and a clean bed."
"I don't feel so good," Tanner said. "Let's make that stretcher quick, before we need two."
He sat up on the fender and smoked while the Potter boys cut trees and stripped them. Waves of fatigue washed over him, and he found it hard to keep his eyes open. His feet felt very far away, and his shoulders ached. The cigarette fell from his fingers, and he leaned backward on the hood.
Someone was slapping his leg.
He forced his eyes open and looked down.