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shepherd, a poodle whose fluffy fur had grown out of its trim, a little Yorkshire terrier whose matted fur still held the remains of a pink ribbon.
    Then I realized the dog they’d cornered was no dog at all, but a coyote.
    The dogs, abandoned and neglected by their dreaming human owners, had turned feral and were attacking a coyote. The golden-eyed coyote snarled at them, baring its glistening teeth, and for a moment the domestic animals fell back, uncertainly. In that brief instant the coyote turned and sped off again. After a few seconds the dogs followed, barking and baying again. I listened until the sounds vanished into the north, where the foothills began.
    I hoped the coyote got away. Los Angeles had belonged to the wild animals before we got here, and by rights it should be theirs again.
    It was definitely time to go.
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    In the morning we had a last meal in the mansion, I took my dose of Prolixin , then I loaded Teddy into the SUV, and said goodbye to our shelter. I even made sure the front door was closed as solidly as possible. Silly, I know, but somehow it mattered.
    I knew where I wanted to go and, thanks to the road atlas, how to get there, but I had no idea how long it would take. I didn’t know how far the SUV would go on a gallon of gas, or how many gallons it held. I’d tested my siphoning abilities on some cars yesterday, and had discovered it wasn’t hard at all— one hard suck on the end of the tube, and the gas would flow out of their tank into our can. I figured as long as we found cars along the way that we could siphon gas from, we should be fine. It was late summer, so we shouldn’t run into any snow or any of that shit.
    Snow. Like I knew anything about snow.
    Christ, I’d never been out of Southern California before. Now I was embarking on a cross-country tour.
    Yeah, I know—everybody in L.A. is from somewhere else, right? Nope, not me. Born and raised. In fact, second generation—both my folks were natives, too. Of course they’d divorced when I was three, and my dad had moved then, to Atlanta. I hadn’t seen him since. Last time I saw my mom, she was just going into rehab for the third time.
    They were probably both dead now. Somehow that thought didn’t shake me up much.
    Between mom’s addictions and her minimum-wage job at a convenience store we’d never had enough money to travel. We’d been to Disneyland once. The beach a few times. Mom promised to take me to Vegas once, but then she went with a new boyfriend and left me behind.
    So, the mental facility in Oxnard was the farthest from L.A. I’d ever been.
    We drove through the early-morning streets of Beverly Hills, heading for the 10 freeway. It was still weird to see L.A. looking like a ghost town. I passed a few dead people on the sidewalks, and I saw exactly three living people in the few miles it took to get to the freeway. One teenage girl was naked and crawling across a lawn. One older woman staggered aimlessly down a sidewalk. One middle-aged guy looked like he was trying to hump a fire hydrant.
    I was glad when we finally got to the 10. It was relatively clear of cars and hadn’t been covered with sand or trash yet. It was a pleasure to get the SUV up to eighty. Its motor purred, and the air conditioner silently kept us luxuriously cooled. Teddy lolled in his seat with a slight smile on his face, and we headed into the east.

Chapter 6
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    We took the 10 freeway to the 15 heading north, which took us to Barstow, where we caught the 40 heading east again. We were going through desert country, and in some places the road was already partly covered with sand.
    If I tried to come back this way later, it might not be passable.
    A few hours later, we crossed the border, leaving California and heading into Arizona.
    I was out of California for the first time in my life. And you know what was strange? Arizona didn’t look much different from California. The same