When he stood up again, he found the water level was higher, the floor covered with broken glass and bits of gravel. He was relieved to see that his backpack hadn't been damaged. Walking back over to the bridge, he saw that his first reaction to the accident had been right. The water on the other side of the river was shallow enough to ford, even with the addition of his feet. It didn't look like rain. That meant all he had to do was wait for dark, then come across the bridge, find a way into the cabin, and see what he could do with the car and other things there. He would need to get close to the car to do anything worthwhile. There was no sense in waiting too long. Rain in the desert was a common thing. He'd need to be away by dark, and once it started, he wouldn't want to be caught outside in it. The rain stopped, but when he stepped off the bridge onto the far bank, he stepped in ankle-deep water. The sand turned to gravel and the gravel to mud as he walked away from the bank and down a gentle hill, and he realized that the rain had filled the river from bank to bank to a depth of about ten feet. Where the car was caught, the bank rose sharply and the water lapped around the tires. Once he was well into it, he lost sight of the river behind him. "Just my luck," he said to himself as he slogged up the hill. A quarter of a mile beyond the bridge, he came to a culvert crossing the road, its iron arch collapsed into the bank. Using his flashlight, he saw that rain had filled it with water. The water was shallow enough to walk across, but he wasn't about to get his shoes muddy. He walked north along the shoulder of the road, following it as far as a turn to the east that led to a small town about five miles away. The turn was to the north of the town, and he decided to follow it. It led to a service road along the highway, but from there, he could cut back through the town to the turnoff and highway he wanted. Once he passed through the town and could no longer see the river or bridge, he pulled the map out of his pack and had just started examining it when the sound of a vehicle alerted him to his surroundings. A car pulled up at the turnoff on the highway and stopped. Even if he hadn't been warned by the sound of the engine, he would have seen the lights from a vehicle more than half a mile away because of the moon overhead. The headlights were weak, but even so, he froze in the shadows of the trees beside the road. He didn't move. His rifle was cocked and ready. The .22 he'd taken from the backpack was in his hand. He saw the brake lights come on, then the lights switch off. A door opened, and light spilled out. The car moved a few feet, then stopped again. The passenger door opened, and someone got out. He watched the figure for a few seconds, then he pulled back from the edge of the road and watched the figure as it walked around the car to the driver's side. The driver's door opened, and the passenger got back into the car. The engine turned over, and the car drove away, leaving the interior light on as it did. The man turned his attention to the side of the road and started moving toward him. He had put on his hat and sunglasses before coming out of the trees, and he still had them on as he headed toward him. "You," he said as the man approached. "Is that you or your double?" "Excuse me?" "The guy who went through this." He nodded at the river and bridge. "It's the real me," the man said. The man came closer. "How'd you get that map?" "From a guy at the garage." "How do I know you didn't do that?" "Maybe I did." The man thought for a moment, then said, "Who sent you out here?" "I'm not going to tell you that." "You know, I think you're going to tell me," he said. "I think I've had enough of this shit. What's your name?" The man reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it to the man, who read it as he started walking toward the river again. "I've already given you everything I'm going to give you," the man said. "I won't have a problem if you shoot me or break my leg or anything, but the way I see it, you're already one for one. If you want to waste me, go ahead and do it, but don't pretend you're going to come out of this ahead." "So why don't we talk?" the man said. "I've got nothing to say to you. Just do what you want to do and let's call it a day." The man picked up a rock. "Come on, I'm not going to hurt you." The man walked over and hit him in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious. He pulled him into the trees and propped him against a tree. He sat down on the ground with him, placed his hat over his eyes, and covered his nose and mouth with a piece of cloth that he'd picked up off the ground. He took a cigarette from his pack and lit it, then held the burning end to the cloth to let the cloth catch. He watched the man's face for a few minutes. He could tell he was breathing from the rise and fall of his chest. He sat down on the ground to one side of the man and took out the bottle of whiskey from his backpack. The whiskey he had taken from the office in the car was enough, so he decided to take what was left in his backpack. He poured it into the cloth and the man's mouth, then lit the cloth. The fire began to spread to the ground as he stood back to watch it. Within minutes, he thought it was probably time to go. The fire would be bright enough to be seen for miles in the desert at night. He'd burned the bodies he'd disposed of earlier in a similar way, after driving them into a swamp. He placed his rifle in his pack, zipped it up, and walked out into the road again. After lighting another cigarette, he started walking back toward the main road, the car, and whatever lay beyond. CHAPTER 32 AT SUNRISE, they crossed the bridge and headed back toward the garage where she and Bill had left the Ford. The rain had made the road slick, and the front-end suspension on her Subaru was still complaining about the lack of road feel. She figured they had an hour before the garage opened, and they drove through a maze of dirt roads leading from the main highway toward the garage that they'd selected. A few of the dirt roads ran parallel to the main highway, but none of them led directly to it. There were several dirt roads she'd never seen before, but she assumed they led to a secondary road that ran parallel to the main highway. The garage itself was in sight when Bill pointed to the south and said, "There's a turnoff ahead." She could see it a few hundred yards off to the right. It was a dark, hard-packed dirt road that ran off the main highway for a mile or so before ending at another dirt road. She said, "That was the road the guy in the Subaru took. Where does this lead?" "There," he said, pointing to a road that ran parallel to the main highway for half a mile before swinging back toward the main road. "A few miles up that way we'll see a sign for our turnoff." The garage didn't look as if it would be any better than the last one. It was dark in the morning when they pulled into the driveway, and it took her a moment to see that there was a small sign on the front wall that said "Billy's Garage." There was no sign of life. There were two pickup trucks parked inside, but they didn't look like they'd been there for years. Both of them had been there long enough for the grime to become part of their paint jobs, but not long enough for the owners to rust out the interiors. The garage's small office was open and empty, its contents scattered across the workbench. There were cardboard boxes filled with old parts, and tools on the walls. A workbench ran along the length of one wall. In the other corner there was a propane refrigerator. Everything was coated with a thick layer of dust, and it took her a moment to realize that the dust wasn't dirt—it was paint and machine oil from the workbench. The interior of the garage was the same. The floors and workbench were covered with a thick layer of dust, and on the shelf under the workbench were tins of oil, cans of paint, and old paper coffee cups full of screws. They walked back through the offices to the garage, found a hose, and began hosing the dust off the workbench and walls. Once they were satisfied that everything was clear enough, she started cleaning the shelves and