Night fell at Cortez, Colorado, on the edge of the San Juan Mountains, where the stone climbed over itself like worn steps to the waning moon. Here the mountain building was recent and ongoing, rubbing and fraying the road to macadam dust. Clouds tore by like steam from the engines of the earth, and winds heaved stones downhill, chasing tires and rattling on the ambulance roof. Joe followed the red lights of the repair truck ahead, although they would disappear around a wall of stone or desperately wink as the truck fought a downgrade. On one side was granite, on the other the unforgiving dark of an abyss. Sometimes the road lay on a ridge with a black void on either side, and there ice had chipped away at the road and left just enough room for the truck to inch through. The wind rose out of the depths below them, sounding as if it were pushing boulders uphill. The convoy had stopped in Moab to eat, but Ray did not eat, drink, piss or shit and would not until the trip was over. At least, Joe thought, the night would cool Ray’s sweat and the dark would hide the canister that danced at their backs.

“Let me confide in you, men, and tell you why you’re here,” Santa said, breaking the quiet. “Why you were ordered to make this run again, although it’s not part of your ordinary duties. You were chosen because you have higher clearances than the other drivers and have some inkling as to the actual nature of the project and of tonight’s cargo. As we approach a test shot, more and more men—enlisted men on the Hill and at the Trinity test site—will get some inkling of the nature of the project. There’ll be wild stories. You may hear, for example, that Dr. Teller once tried to have the project stopped because his calculations showed that one such device would set the atmosphere on fire.”

“Did he?” Joe asked.

“Yes, but later calculations showed that such a danger doesn’t exist.”

“Hardly exists?”

“Hardly. You see, then, how these stories get started. In fact”—Santa chuckled—“Dr. Teller wants a bomb a hundred times bigger, so he’s not afraid.”

“What’s he say?” Ray came out of a reverie.

“Teller’s not afraid,” Joe said.

“Afraid of what?” Ray winced as Joe dodged a pothole.

“All the same, there may be incidents of apprehension among the enlisted men as more of them come into contact with this sort of cargo.”

“You think so?” Joe asked.

“There’s the possibility,” Santa said.

“Doesn’t radiation cause tissue cancer, blood cancer, bone cancer and immediate or lingering death?” Joe asked.

“Theoretically,” Santa granted. “Plutonium’s got a clean bill of health so far.”

“It’s only been on earth five months,” Joe pointed out. “Ray and I made the first run.”

“In the fucking snow,” Ray said.