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fear.”
    “I got it,” said Murthy, but then he lost it and continued scrolling.
    “If this spreads?” said Petey.
    Thomka frowned in solemn agreement.
    Murthy continued to fumble.
    Virginia looked the scene over, laughed, then placed her wrist to her forehead; taking a theatrical breath, she said with a southern drawl, “I have always relied upon the . . . kindness of strangers.”
    All three men fell strangely silent. This sentiment, in this context and coming from her lips, filled them with dread.

    * * *
    T he entire Village of Lily followed as Trooper MacIan led Pastor Scott, Fred and Max toward the Peregrine. MacIan whispered, “Doors.” The Peregrine whirred and its sides slid back, allowing easy access to any part of the interior. “Who knows how to get there?”
    Fred nodded at Max, who affirmed with a tenuous wave.
    “You’re in front.”
    Christmas broke out all over Max’s face and they settled in like first class tourists.
    MacIan placed his thumb on a fingerprint-reader set into the steering wheel; the dome lowered and the electric motor vibrations sent a column of ants up Max’s spine. Fred and Pastor Scott seemed unfazed. MacIan squeezed the steering wheel and the wind-dome locked in place. He tapped a green button on the dash; whatever had been stamped onto it had worn away long ago. Lights and meters and gauges read out the preflight sequence. MacIan gave these a glance, then turned to the star-struck boy next to him. “Max? Right?”
    Max nodded, eyes glued to the dashboard.
    MacIan said, “Hang on,” and hit the elevators as hard as he could, for Max’s entertainment. All stomachs dropped as they shot skyward, and MacIan asked, “Which way?”
    Max opened his mouth; nothing came out, but he pointed north. MacIan grinned and banked off with nose-bleed G-force. “How far?”
    “Jeez. At this speed?” said Max.
    “In miles.”
    “Oh, about five, on foot. Like this, I’m not so sure.” Max leaned forward. “See those mountains there? The two black spires? There’s two of ’em pretty much identical.”
    MacIan found the Twin Spires and roared right up to them in seconds. Max could see from this high point of view how they were anchored to the sheer cliff. “Pull back a little,” he said, pointing straight down.
    MacIan jockeyed out about one hundred yards from the cliff and waved a hand at the plateau of fallen boulders. “Looks like this mountain was hit by a meteor,” said MacIan.
    Fred leaned forward. “How many times I tell you that? Little shit-bird.”
    “Navy man?” said MacIan.
    “Drop ’em and cough,” answered Fred.
    “Corpsman?”
    “Fred Burdock, P.O. First Class, sir.”
    “He says that all the time,” said Max, pointing to a patch on the arm of the Navy pea-coat he was wearing.
    MacIan glanced at the Medic Emblem and turned a gloomy gray.
    Max caught that — he’d seen it before — and changed the subject. “Around that outcropping on the left,” said Max. “By that flat boulder near the sheer wall.”
    “Why were you up here?” asked MacIan.
    “Hunting,” said Max, stroking his fur hat.
    “You make that?”
    Max nodded proudly.
    “You could get a hundred dollars for that.”
    Max thought about it, then frowned. “I never met anyone with a hundred dollars.”
    MacIan chuckled.
    “On the other side of that really pointy one. See him?” Max swallowed hard. The body looked ridiculous without the red parka.
    MacIan poked at the controls and they slowly descended. At about thirty feet a heads-up display projected onto the wind-dome. MacIan did a 360-degree pivot to survey every inch with a thermal scan before dropping onto a reasonably level spot.
    A dreamy whir rippled through the billowing snow as the wheels telescoped down, each seeking a different length to accommodate the uneven terrain. The dome popped open and the doors slid back. Fred jumped out, but Pastor Scott thought twice. “I’ve seen rocks before,” he said, and leaned back to