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Chapter 18
Upthelongslope,windingandtwistingthroughdeadcountry,burnedwhiteandgray,andnohintoflifeinit.OnceTomstoppedforafewmomentstolettheenginecool,andthenhetraveledon.Theytoppedthepasswhilethesunwasstillup,andlookeddownonthedesert—blackcindermountainsinthedistance,andtheyellowsunreflectedonthegraydesert.Thelittlestarvedbushes,sageandgreasewood,threwboldshadowsonthesandandbitsofrock.Theglaringsunwasstraightahead.Tomheldhishandbeforehiseyestoseeatall.Theypassedthecrestandcoasteddowntocooltheengine.Theycoasteddownthelongsweeptothefloorofthedesert,andthefanturnedovertocoolthewaterintheradiator.Inthedriver’sseat,TomandAlandPa,andWinfieldonPa’sknee,lookedintothebrightdescendingsun,andtheireyeswerestony,andtheirbrownfacesweredampwithperspiration.Theburntlandandtheblack,cinderyhillsbroketheevendistanceandmadeitterribleinthereddeninglightofthesettingsun.
Alsaid,"Jesus,whataplace.How’dyouliketowalkacrosther?"
"Peopledoneit,"saidTom."Lotsapeopledoneit;an’iftheycould,wecould."
"Lotsmustadied,"saidAl.
"Well,weain’tcomeoutexac’lyclean."
Alwassilentforawhile,andthereddeningdesertsweptpast."Thinkwe’lleverseethemWilsonsagain?"Alasked.
Tomflickedhiseyesdowntotheoilgauge."Igotahunchnobodyain’tgonnaseeMis’Wilsonforlong.Jus’ahunchIgot."
Winfieldsaid,"Pa,Iwantagetout."
