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the train. Did their loved ones even know they were missing yet? Did they expect them to come home tonight?
    Footsteps thudded on the macadam ahead of us. We looked up as a guy in a charcoal-colored business suit ran past us, shouting at the top of his lungs to nobody in particular that the stock market had crashed. His tie fluttered behind him as he dashed by. He skidded in the gravel, almost losing his balance. Then, without even glancing at Frank, Charlie or myself, he vaulted over the guardrail and slid down the embankment. A cloud of dust marked his passage.
    We passed by a Cadillac with its driver’s door hanging open. The keys dangled from the ignition, and were turned to the accessory option. The radio was on, tuned to the news, and sure enough, the stock market had crashed, just like the man had been shouting. I wondered if this was his car. A cell phone lay on the passenger seat. The floor was littered with fast food bags and Styrofoam coffee cups.
    “Should we take the car?” Charlie asked.
    I stared at him in disbelief. “This isn’t fucking Thunderdome, man. Stealing cars is still against the law.”
    “Well it ain’t like whoever left it here needs it. Maybe the driver vanished.”
    “That’s not the point.”
    Charlie glanced up the highway. “We’ve got a long walk home, Steve. We’d be there in an hour with the Caddy.”
    “No.” Frank stepped forward. “Much as I hate to say it—believe me, my feet hurt already—but a car will just slow us down. Look how congested things are. Traffic’s not moving.”
    We listened to the frantic reporter for a minute. The news was bad, getting worse by the second, and the reporter’s voice kept breaking. The world’s financial markets were in an uproar. Millions were reported missing, including politicians, C.E.O.’s, world leaders, religious figures and celebrities. They’d vanished from their homes, their cars and their places of business. According to NASA, a Russian cosmonaut had even gone missing off the International Space Station, leaving one countryman and an American astronaut behind. Planes fell from the sky. Trains crashed. The highways were deathtraps. A nuclear reactor at a power plant in China was reportedly in meltdown. Fires and rioting had broken out in just about every major city on Earth, and there were dozens of reports of authorities shooting looters and declaring martial law amidst the unrest. Religious fighting swept through Asia and the Middle East, with the worst of it centered in Israel. All of this within a few hours. I wondered how much worse things would get before it was over.
    Charlie gave one last, lingering look at the Cadillac, and then we continued on, trying to ignore the screams and plaintive calls for loved ones from those left behind. I saw surreal signs of the missing as well: an abandoned baby doll in the middle lane, an empty wheelchair, a pair of empty shoes, a castaway purse, and a cluster of roadside construction vehicles—steamroller, bulldozer, and dump trucks. Judging by the path of destruction, it looked like the steamroller had kept going after its operator disappeared, flattening orange traffic cones and toolboxes.
    A few minutes later, we came across a tractor-trailer. The seal on the back door had been broken and a gang of youths was looting it, hauling away televisions and DVD players. Most of the teens were armed. Stranded motorists minded their own business, pretending they didn’t see it happening. Charlie, Frank and I did the same. There were no cops around. Not even the distant sound of sirens. The last thing we needed right now was more trouble, and besides, stopping would just slow us down even more and impede me getting home to Terri. So they were stealing electronics. It wasn’t our problem. It was somebody else’s.
    The construction ended after Shawan Road and the lanes expanded again, making it easier for us to navigate. Traffic was less snarled here, and although there were still