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It went on from there. Her attention was complete. She understood Dorothy’s desire to go home. That was the heart of the story, and it made sense to Amy. She hadn’t been home in a long time; she barely remembered it, just a shadowy sense of certain rooms. As the movie drew to a close, and Dorothy clicked her heels together and awoke in the bosom of her family, Amy decided to try this. She had no ruby slippers, but her mother had a pair of boots, very tall, with pointed heels. Amy slid them on. They rose up her skinny, little-girl legs nearly to her crotch; the heels were very high, making it difficult to walk. She took tender steps around the room to get the hang of it, and when she felt comfortable she closed her eyes and tapped the heels together, three times. There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home…

So convinced was she of the magical power of this gesture that when she opened her eyes she was shocked to discover that nothing had happened. She was still in the motel, with its dirty carpet and dull immovable furniture. She yanked off the boots, hurled them across the room, threw herself down on the bed, and began to cry. She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she saw was her mother’s frightened face, looming over her. She was shaking Amy roughly by the shoulder; her top was stained and torn. Come on now, honey, her mother said. Wake up now, baby. We got to go, right now.

Carter was skimming the pool. The first leaves were falling, crisp and brown.

“I thought we were taking the day off,” Amy said.

“We are. Just got to get these here. Bothers me seeing them.”

She was sitting on the patio. Inside, the girls had reached the part of the movie where Dorothy and her companions entered the Emerald City.

“They should turn it down a bit,” Carter remarked. He was dragging the skimmer along the edges, trying to work some small bit of debris into the net. “Girls are going to wreck their ears.”

Yes, she would miss it here. The softness of the place, its cool feeling of green. The small tasks that filled their days of waiting. Carter lay the skimmer on the pool deck and took a chair across from her. They listened to the movie for a while. When the Wicked Witch melted, the girls erupted in happy shrieks.

“How many times they watch that?” Carter asked.

“Oh, quite a few.”

“When I was a boy, seemed like it was on TV about half the time. Scared the wits out of me.” Carter paused. “I always did like that movie, though.”

—

They loaded the Humvee with cans of fuel. Sitting in the cargo compartment were plastic bins of supplies Greer had brought with him—rope and tackle, a spinner net, a pair of wrenches, blankets, a simple cotton frock.

“I’d be happier if we could bring Sara along,” Peter said. “She’d know better than any of us what to do.”

Greer heaved a jug over the tailgate. “Not a good idea at this point. We need to keep the number of people to a minimum.”

“We have to get word out to the townships,” Peter told Apgar. “People need to take shelter. Basements, interior rooms, whatever they’ve got. In the morning, we can send out vehicles to bring as many back as we can.”

“I’ll see to it.”

Peter glanced at Chase. “Ford? You’ve got the chair.”

“Understood.”

Peter addressed Apgar again: “My son and his family—”

The general didn’t let him finish. “I’ll radio the detachment in Luckenbach. We’ll get some men out there.”

“Caleb’s got a hardbox on the property.”

“I’ll pass that along.”

Greer was waiting at the wheel, Michael riding shotgun. Peter climbed in back.

“Let’s go,” he said.

It was 1830. The sun would set in two hours.

* * *

54

Sara and Hollis were making good time. They had entered the zone everybody called the Gap—a stretch of empty road between Ingram and Hunt Township. They were hugging the Guadalupe now, which gurgled pleasantly in the shallows. Fat live oaks stretched their canopies over the roadway; then they came to an open stretch, the low sun in their faces, then more trees and shade.

“I think this guy needs a break,” Sara said.

They dismounted and led the horses to the edge of the river. Standing on the bank, Hollis’s mare dipped her long face to the water without hesitation, but the gelding seemed uncertain. Sara removed her boots, rolled up her pants, and led him into the shallows to drink. The water was wonderfully cold, the river bottom made of smooth limestone, firm underfoot.