Chapter 15: Leaving

The red pickup started on the second try, and the sound of it went out across the frozen yard like a gunshot.

I winced, and put it in gear, and rolled toward the cattle gate with the lights off.

There was a skim of old snow on the ground, and the sky had cleared to a hard black full of stars.

Past the gate, the county road ran north, and I could be a mile along it before anyone woke.

Wyatt was standing in the gate.

He wore his barn coat open over a bare chest, with boots on and no socks.

He had no weapon in his hands.

He stood in the starlight with his arms hanging at his sides.

I braked.

The pickup rocked and stopped three feet from his knees.

For a long moment we just looked at each other through the windshield.

I rolled down the window.

"Jonas woke me," he said.

"I told him not to."

"He's ten. He said you walked different," he said.

"Wyatt, move."

"No," he said.

"I'm asking you."

"I know. I'm saying no."

His voice was quiet and steady and had no anger in it, which was worse.

"You made me a promise in the barn, and I told you what it was."

"I know what I said," I said.

"Then say it."

"I'll tell you before I leave," I said.

"You're leaving."

"I'm leaving," I said.

"So tell me."

I gripped the wheel until my knuckles hurt.

"I have to go north," I said. "There's a tower on Highway 38, and I can run the net from there."

"Bets has the south, Tor has the farm. I'll be a voice on the radio."

"Why?" he said.

"Because I can't be here."

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