d out and broke off a stalk. It crumbled into
fragile chips. He wondered what it was. It wasn't any crop he'd ever
seen before.

He stood, looked around. The field went on and on, dead flat. A locust
came whirring toward him, plumped to earth at his feet. He picked it up.
Long elbowed legs groped at his fingers aimlessly. He tossed the insect
in the air. It fluttered away. To the east the smudge was clearer now;
it seemed to be a grey wall, far away. A city? He picked up his bag and
started on.

He was getting hungry. He hadn't eaten since the previous morning. He
was thirsty too. The city couldn't be more than three hours' walk. He
tramped along, the dry plants crackling under his feet, little puffs of
dust rising from the dry ground. He thought about the rails, running
across the empty fields, ending ...

He had heard the locomotive groaning up ahead as the train slowed. And
there had been feet in the corridor. Where had they gone?

He thought of the train, Casperton, Aunt Haicey, Mr. Phillips. They
seemed very far away, something remembered from long ago. Up above the
sun was hot. That was real. The rest seemed unimportant. Ahead there was
a city. He would walk until he came to it. He tried to think of other
things: television, crowds of people, money: the tattered paper and the
worn silver--

Only the sun and the dusty plain and the dead plants were real now. He
could see them, feel them. And the suitcase. It was heavy; he shifted
hands, kept going.

There was something white on the ground ahead, a small shiny surface
protruding from the earth. Brett dropped the suitcase, went down on one
knee, dug into the dry soil, pulled out a china teacup, the handle
missing. Caked dirt crumbled away under his thumb, leaving the surface
clean. He looked at the bottom of the cup. It was unmarked. Why just one
teacup, he wondered, here in the middle of nowhere? He dropped it, took
up his suitcase, and went on.

* * *

After that he watched the ground more closely. He found a shoe; it was
badly weathered, but the sole was good. It was a high-topped work shoe,
size 10-1/2-C. Who had dropped it here? He thought of other lone shoes
he had seen, lying at the roadside or in alleys. How did they get
there...?

Half an hour later he detoured around the rusted front fender of an
old-fashioned car. He looked around for the rest of the car but saw
nothing. The wall was closer now; perhaps five miles more.

A