I kept to the speed limit through Centennial, I checked my mirror to make sure no one was following me. When I parked my car under the aspens on Foxton Ridge, I put it out of sight behind a rock. So I expected the last part of my journey to go smoothly. I would walk along the ridge until I reached the water tower, by which time the Beautiful Dead would have used their super-sensitive hearing to pick up my presence. Hunter would send someone up to meet me. Make it Phoenix! I said to myself, picturing another happy reunion under the midday sun. In spite of what had occurred last time, I wasn’t ready for what actually happened. First I heard the rustle of wind through the new leaves and felt it blow against my light shirt and through my hair. Like a fool I welcomed it and walked another ten paces. The wind picked up. It flattened the grass on the hillside leading down to the barn, making waves of movement that built up until it reached me and almost knocked me off my feet.
