There was an obvious question Lise had been wanting to ask since they arrived at the Fourth compound, and since no one else had anything to say—and because the noise of the windshield wipers scraping dust across glass was driving her slightly crazy—she drew a breath and asked, "Is Isaacs mother still alive?"

"Yes," Mrs. Rebka said.

Lise turned to face her. "Are you his mother?"

"I am," Mrs. Rebka said.

* * * * *

What do you see, Isaac?

Much later, as he was waking up from the sleep they had injected into him, Isaac pondered the question.

Mrs. Rebka was the one who had asked it. He tried to formulate an answer before the pain came back and stole his words. But the question was hard to answer because he was having a hard time seeing anything at all. He was aware of the vehicle and the people in it, the ash falling beyond the windows, but they all seemed vague and unreal. Was it daytime yet? But now the car had stopped, and before he answered Mrs. Rebka's question he asked one of his own: "Where are we?"

Up front, the man named Turk Findley said, "Little town called Bustee. We might be staying here a while."

Outside there were small buildings visible through the fog of dust. He could see them plainly enough. But that wasn't what Mrs. Rebka had meant by her question.

"Isaac? Can you walk?"

Yes, he could, for now, though the sedative was wearing off and the blade of the world was beginning to draw blood again. He climbed out of the car with one hand on Mrs. Rebka's arm. Dust sifted across his face. The dust smelled like something burned. Mrs. Rebka steered him toward the nearest small building, which was one wing of a motel. Isaac heard Turk say he had rented the last available room, for more money than it was worth. Lots of people were sheltering in Bustee tonight, Turk said.

Then he was inside, on a bed, on his back, and the air was less dusty, though it still stank, and Mrs.

Rebka brought a fresh cloth and began to dab the grime from his face. "Isaac," she said again gently,

"what are you looking at? What do you see?"

Because he kept turning his head in one direction—west, of course—and staring.

What did he see?

"A light."

"Here in the room?"

No. "A long way away. Farther than the horizon."

"But you can see it from here? You can see it through the walls?"

He nodded.

"What does it look like?"

Many words crowded Isaac's mind, many answers. A fire in a faraway place. An explosion. Sunrise.

Sunset. The place where the stars fall and burn in their eagerness to live. And the thing deep underground that knows and welcomes them.

But what he said was simply, truthfully, "I don't know."

* * * * *