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At day’s end, he idles upon the outskirts of Rock Springs; nightfall falls over dustbowl fields, the sun’s closing light offers glow to unpowered fast meals signals. Across the street, he spies a sign he’d pretended he hadn’t been searching for, a route and a host spraypainted in bright orange on the side of a burned-out diner. He pulls the truck into the trash-strewn returned lot, kills the ignition, lets the engine tick to a cease. What number of months has it been considering he is considered a blaze this sparkling? He’d admire the graffiti handstyle anywhere, the orange numerals two meters high surely Cal’s, the arrow slashed below them making for a clear enough message pointing John forty-five kilometers east, even though the arrow aspects west as a substitute: as Cal at all times says, occasionally the slightest least difficult misdirection is satisfactory.
Tapping his foot, John scans the nearby constructions, the far-off horizon. He listens: nothing and nobody, handiest the dusty wind, a distant creaking of rusting metallic. No one now, however Cal became here, now not so lengthy in the past. Cal wanting to see him, calling him back to her.
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He drives, faster now, following the blaze’s instructions; he leaves the toll road for surface roads, concrete giving way to filth as he crosses lifeless farmlands, fields of what changed into as soon as barley and wheat and corn, now simplest challenging clay punctured by toppled wind generators, most of their masts felled no longer by means of human hands however by unpredictably violent climate. He finds the subsequent blaze twenty kilometers northeast, exactly as directed, follows its order past greater-lately scorched splotches of infrastructure, many bulldozed kilometers of chainlink fence, a stretch of toll road jackhammered liable to erosion and frost. The spraypainted distances maintain happening, the blazes get smaller then disappear. Close now.
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He knows what to seek: he turns onto a gravel road beckoning north, then follows a dust road veering east towards a husk of a farmhouse beside an intact barn. He pulls in, parks beneath the questionable colour of a leafless oak; he runs his fingers via his hair, scrubs his sunburned face with filthy arms. This time, when he rolls down the window, he hears clanging coming from the different aspect of the paint-stripped barn, a sound he follows to locate Cal working within the structure’s slim colour, Cal bent beneath the hood of her gray Jeep, her vast shoulders bunching with muscle.
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