The woman shouted in her ear, “Jesus, what now? Move this damn thing!”

Kelly stuffed her Bluetooth in her ear as she headed out.

“Hey, Kel, we’re, like, are you gonna be able to do poker tonight?”

She did not believe it, but this was Chad Esterhaz, the artist who worked at Schramm’s sandwich shop, and he was calling from Berkeley to confirm that she would be at their weekly poker game.

“Chad, are you insane? Get out of there!”

“Excuse me?”

“Do it! Go!”

Looking around, Kelly didn’t see any road except the highway and she sure as hell wasn’t going back there.

“You coming?” Chad said. “Because we need to do the buy.”

The snacks. The beer. “Chad, don’t you get it? San Fran is being fucked, half the people are in the bay! So get out of there!”

“You sound funny. Are you all right?”

“Did you know there’s a UFO over San Francisco?”

“Yes. They say it’s ours. On the TV. I was watching, but it went off. It’s Judge Judy on Five now, I think.” He paused. “It’s all just normal. TV is normal.”

This was insane. “Chad, you call everybody you know and you tell them to get the hell out of there. Get out to the country, get out of the whole Bay Area.”

“Kelly? Is this Kelly?”

“Yes! Listen to me—do this!”

“Uh—I—Kelly?”

“Move it!” the woman shouted. “Faster!”

“Lady, we need a road that’s not the highway!” Then, into the phone: “Chad, the UFO or whatever it is—it’s tearing San Fran down, I mean it. So you listen to me, and you do what I told you!”

“Kelly?”

She cut off the call. He better figure it out, was all she could think.

She pulled up.

“Don’t stop!”

“I need to map this!”

Kelly looked along the highway. If she cut across the Olympic Golf Course, they’d be in Daly City, and from there they could travel along 35 and onto U.S. 1, then down into Big Basin.

Crossing the golf course was interesting because the Vespa wanted to skid in the grass. Then there was a clunk and she thought they’d been hit by a bullet.

“Jesus!” the lady yelled.

“What was it?”

“Golfers!”

This far from down town, people didn’t know, of course. Why would they? And as they drove through the expanding life of Daly City’s morning, there wasn’t the slightest sign of any trouble. Children in blue uniforms crossed a street, a girl laughing, two boys running ahead toward a yellow school bus. A runner passed, absorbed in his music, his face sweating, full of happy energy.

“Hey,” Kelly yelled, standing up as she rode, “hey, listen to the damn radio, you people! Hello?”

“It’s not gonna be on the radio,” the woman said, her voice miserable.

“How the hell do you know?”