Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [177]
"Let's get a map," Harvey suggested.
"It doesn't show on a map," Mark protested. "If it did, everybody—"
"I believe your road," Harvey said. "I want to see what happens after that. I've got maps in the TravelAll." He started to turn, but Joanna went to the motorcycle. She reached into a saddlebag.
"Frank Stoner made us take three copies. One for each bike," she said. She held up a big aeronautical chart. It showed terrain features in colors. "There are Auto Club maps, too."
It was too dark to read the map properly. Mark went to the TravelAll and came back with a flashlight. Marie was standing stiffly aloof, silent, her eyes still accusing
"See?" Mark said. "Right across here. The highway goes past lakes. With dams. That sit on top of the San Andreas. You really think the big highway's still usable?"
Harvey shook his head. It wouldn't matter. If the highway could be used, a million people would be trying to use it. If not … "So we come out through Frazier Park."
"Right! Then down in the valley and it's a straight shot north," Mark said. "I was thinking of getting to the Mojave 'cause that's where Frank said we should be, but it's no good. Can't get to Sequoia that way." He pointed. "All the eastside routes lead past Lake Isabella. Follow the Kern River. Harv, with all this rain, how many bridges will there be over the Kern?"
"None. Marie, he's right. If we went the direct route we'd never get there."
Mark looked pleased. Joanna leaned the shotgun against the bike and collapsed onto the seat, sidesaddle.
"If you had explained before … " Marie began.
"Jesus, I tried!" Mark shouted.
"Not you."
She meant me, Harvey thought. And she's right. I can't curl up and die, I've got a boy up in those hills and I've got to go get him, and thank God for Marie. "How's our gas?" Harvey asked.
"Pretty good. We've made about fifty miles—"
"No more than that," Harvey muttered. Of course it was true, he could see it on the map. It seemed like much further. They couldn't have been going very fast. "Mark, how sure are you of this fire trail? Won't it wash out?"
"Probably," Mark said. He pointed silently to the dams poised above Interstate 5. "Rather risk that?"
"No. If we're going, we'd better do it. I'll drive," Harvey said.
"And I'll scout ahead. Joanna can ride shotgun with you." Mark didn't mention Marie. He wasn't speaking to her.
It felt good to be doing something. Anything. He had a throbbing headache, the beginning of a migraine, and his shoulders and neck were so tense he could feel knots in them, but it was better than curling up in the seat.
"Let's go," Harvey said.
The road ran along ridgelines, curled around hills, boring north and west. It stayed on high ground. Rock and mudslides spilled across it, but being high, the debris wasn't deep; and being almost untraveled, the road wasn't cut away at the edges.
The mountains had shifted. The road might have ended anywhere. Like Mark Czescu's judgment, it was nothing you could count on absolutely; but neither had failed them this time. Eventually they came to paved road, and Harvey could increase his speed.
He liked driving. He drove with single-minded determination, with no room for other thoughts. Watch for rocks. Ease around curves. Keep going, rack up the miles, on and on and never look back and never think about what's behind you.
Down and down now, into the San Joaquin. Water standing everywhere. That was frightening. Harvey stopped