The soldiers were Paulson and Davis. They introduced themselves when they got back to the van. One was from Connecticut, the other one from New Mexico, though Carter got them confused, and he didn’t figure it made much difference, since he’d never been to either place. Davis was the one with the red hair. For the rest of the drive they left open the little window that connected the two compartments in the van; they left the shackles off, too. They were in Colorado, like he’d guessed, but whenever they came to a road sign the soldiers told him to cover his eyes, laughing like this was a big joke.

After a time they got off the interstate and took a rural highway that wound tight against the mountains. Sitting on the front bench of the passenger compartment, Carter could view a bit of the passing world through the windshield. Snow was piled steeply against the roadsides. There were no towns at all that Carter could see; only once in a while did a car approach them from the other direction, a blaze of light followed by the splash of melted snow as it passed. He’d never been anyplace like this, that had so few people in it. The clock on the dash said it was a little after six A.M.

“Cold up here,” Carter said.

Paulson was driving; the other one, Davis, was reading a comic book.

“You got that right,” said Paulson. “Colder’n Beth Pope’s back brace.”

“Who Beth Pope?”

Paulson shrugged, peering over the wheel. “Girl I knew in high school. She had, what’s that thing, scoliosis.”

Carter didn’t know what that was, either. But Paulson and Davis thought it was funny enough. If the job Wolgast had for him meant working with these two, he’d be glad to do it.

“That Aquaman?” Carter asked Davis.

Davis passed him a couple of comic books from the pile, a League of Vengeance and an X-Men. It was too dark to read the words, but Carter liked looking at the pictures, which told the story anyway. That Wolverine was a badass; Carter had always liked him, though he always felt sorry for him, too. It couldn’t be no fun having all that metal in your bones, and somebody he cared about was always dying or getting killed.

After another hour or so Paulson pulled the van over. “Sorry, dude,” he told Carter. “We’ve got to lock you up again.”

“’Sall right,” Carter said, and nodded. “I appreciate the time.”

Davis climbed out of the passenger seat and came around back. The door opened to a blast of cold air. Davis redid the shackles and pocketed the key.

“Comfortable?”

Carter nodded. “How much longer we got to go?”

“Not much,” he said.