Apparently, being in storage has protected the helicopter from whatever afflicted the cars we tried. We have plenty of supplies aboard. Enough to get us to Location Thirteen and maybe beyond, though Jack says it will be sensible to stop and refuel along the way. Neither of us wants to be stranded in the middle of the Nevada Desert with no fuel to get us back out again if there’s a problem at Location Thirteen. I try not to think about that. We’re pinning our hopes on help being there. The idea that it might not be, or that the Faders there might have been wiped out as easily as the inhabitants of Washington, just isn’t one that we can focus on. Instead, I try looking out at the ground below us as Jack flies the helicopter effortlessly, with the kind of skill that comes from a lot of practice. What I see from up here isn’t exactly encouraging though. Down below, the land is a patchwork of scorching, where fire has rained down. We’re still low enough that I can see buildings that are little more than burned out shells.
