The Traveler

Antonio waved at some children as the truck moved slowly down the road. “The Pathfinder is a very strong person. Tell the truth and you’ll be all right.”

They reached the two-lane highway that led back to San Lucas, but turned off a few miles later onto an abandoned asphalt road that cut a straight line through the desert. NO TRESPASSING signs were everywhere, some hanging from steel posts, others left faceup on the cracked ground.

“This used to be a missile base,” Antonio explained. “It was active for about thirty years. Fenced off. Top secret. Then the Defense Department took out the missiles and sold the land to the county sanitation district. When the county didn’t want it anymore, our group bought all four hundred acres.”

“This looks like a wasteland,” Maya said.

“As you’ll see, it has certain advantages for the Pathfinder.”

Bear grass and cactus reached out and scratched the sides of the truck. The road was covered with sand for a hundred yards or so, then it reappeared. As the road slowly gained elevation they began passing piles of red rocks and groves of Joshua trees. Each stubby desert tree raised its spike-leafed branches upward like the arms of a prophet praying to heaven. It was very hot and the sun appeared to grow larger in the sky.

After twenty minutes of cautious driving, they reached a barbed-wire fence and a shattered gate. “We have to walk from here,” Antonio said, and everyone got out of the truck. Carrying the food bags, they slipped through a hole in the gate and headed down the road.

Gabriel could see one of Antonio’s windmills in the distance. The heat rising from the dirt made the tower waver and bend. Before he could react, a snake slithered across the road. It was about three feet long with a rounded head, a black body with cream-colored bands. Maya stopped and touched her sword case.

“It’s not poisonous,” Gabriel said. “I think it’s a garter snake or gopher snake. They’re usually pretty shy.”

“It’s a king snake,” Antonio told them. “And they’re not shy around here.”

They kept walking and saw another king snake moving through the dirt, then a third one sunning itself on the road. All the snakes had black bodies, but the pattern and color of their bands seemed to vary. White. Cream. Pale yellow.

More snakes appeared on the road and Gabriel stopped counting. Dozens of reptiles coiled and slithered and looked around with their little black eyes. Maya appeared nervous-almost frightened.

“You don’t like snakes?”

She lowered her arms and tried to relax. “You don’t see many in England.”

As they got closer to the windmill, Gabriel saw that it had been built next to a rectangular concrete area about the size of a football field. It looked like an enormous machine-gun bunker abandoned by the army. Directly south of the concrete area was a small aluminum trailer that reflected the desert light. A parachute had been set up as a sunscreen over a wooden picnic table and plastic boxes filled with tools and supplies.

The Pathfinder was kneeling near the base of the windmill, welding a reinforcement strut. He wore blue jeans, a long-sleeved checkered shirt, and thick leather gloves. A welder’s helmet covered his face and he appeared to be concentrating on the flame as he fused two pieces of metal.

A four-foot-long king snake slithered by, almost grazing the tip of Gabriel’s boots. He could see that the sand on both sides of the road was marked with thousands of faint S curves, a sign of reptile movements across the dry land.

Thirty feet from the tower, Antonio shouted and waved his arms. The Pathfinder heard him, stood up, and raised the welder’s helmet. At first Gabriel assumed that the Pathfinder was an old man with white hair. As they got closer he realized that they were about to meet a woman who was more than seventy years old. She had a broad forehead and a straight nose. It was a face of great strength without an ounce of sentimentality.

“Good morning, Antonio. You brought some friends this time.”

“Dr. Briggs, this is Gabriel Corrigan. He’s the son of a Traveler and wants to know if-”

“Yes. Of course. Welcome.” The doctor had a brisk New England accent. She pulled off one of the welder’s gloves and shook Gabriel’s hand. “I’m Sophia Briggs.” Her fingers were strong and her blue-green eyes were intense, critical. Gabriel felt like he was being evaluated and then she turned away from him. “And you are…”

“Maya. Gabriel’s friend.”

Dr. Briggs noticed the black metal case hanging from Maya’s shoulder and understood what it contained. “How interesting. I thought all you Harlequins were dead, slaughtered after various self-destructive gestures. Perhaps you’re too young for this business.”

“And maybe you’re too old.”

“There’s some spirit. A little resistance. I like that.” Sophia returned to her trailer and tossed the welder’s gear into a plastic milk crate lying on the ground. Startled by the noise, two large king snakes came out of the shadow beneath the trailer and slithered over to the windmill.