Ed came back in the evening after the last entry to tell me what the newsman had said. The damage to San Francisco was extensive, but not catastrophic. The typhoon dissipated shortly after we left in what the news is calling divine intervention. They aren’t entirely wrong.

I let him read the morning’s entry. I knew he didn’t fully understand it, but that’s to be expected. Ed’s the type of man to stare into the painting even if a knife were sticking out of his chest. He offered to hide the child in Salinas Valley while I was away and brought me a horse from the Duvals’ farm, a beautiful chestnut Arabian gelding, fully built of body and legs, with a spot of white between his eyes. His name is Feltheart. Where the Duvals found an Arabian gelding in America I will never know.

David and Mauve came soon after on foot, their first visit since we’d arrived. The reunion was filled with teary smiles on both sides.

They convinced me to stay for the wedding and not a moment more. The way I see it there’s no point in saving the game if you’re not going to take the time to play it, so I’ll do it. No harm in it. I’ll remain in Salinas until tomorrow, then I’ll go southwest toward Los Angeles, and onto Arizona after that. David tells me my first stop will be a town in the valley called Soledad, a farm town. They know very few people in or from Soledad, and even fewer whom they trust.

“Farmland and hot springs,” David said. “That and a whole lot of drifters, workers with nowhere else to go. It’s probably best you stay the night and leave as soon as you can. After Soledad is Kings’, and after Kings’ there’s nothing for you along the river for a good fifty miles, at least until you hit Paso. Turn west to the coast once the tributaries of the river split south of there and hug the coast until you get to Los Angeles. From there it’s a straight shot east, you’ll find directions somewhere in Arizona.”

“How long to Los Angeles?” I asked, sitting on my bed reading the map with him.

“With just the one horse? Two weeks at most.”

“And with fresh horses along the way?”

“Three days, but there’s no pony express that way. I’m not sure if they’d take you on the pony express even if it did. Three days, and that’s if you can get the horses. If you wanted speed you’d take the train, friend. Here, you’re choosing safety. The less dealings you have the better, and that includes horse changes. Besides, you won’t find a better mount than Feltheart this side of the Rockies, and I’ll be damned if I let him get sold to some saloon pimp and taken as a cart dragger.”

“Two weeks it is. How long to New York?”

“Feltheart can do thirty miles a day the whole way and that’s a hard earned figure, Charles. If you take the road east through Arizona, then northeast until you get to Ohio, you can cut straight through to New York and that’s about a three thousand mile trip. A hundred days, call it four months for safety’s sake, detours and such.”

“Four months?”

“Four months. Time is the price you pay for safety here. You want fast and loud, you take the train. You want to get to New York in one piece, you follow the river south, then the trails from Arizona to Columbus, and you do it on Feltheart and Feltheart alone.”

“Will Marcel even be alive in four months?”

“I have a feeling he will.” I hadn’t shown the Duvals the entry itself, but I had told them the plan.

“I told you it was Marcel, you know,” Mauve said, smirking. “At least, I tried to.”

“Well, we arrived at the answer either way,” David said, tracing the river down from Salinas with his finger, stopping at the space between Kings’ and Paso. “You’ll need to find something here, in this fifty mile gap. The horse is strong but not fifty miles a day strong. Find a roof there, a mission, a barn, anything. You can’t count on good weather anymore, you can’t count on much but the good Lord’s blessing. You’ll have to get by on that alone.”

“I’ll manage.” I can’t imagine what his reaction would be to reading our conversation yesterday, spirits. I’d think he’d either curse me out without a horse or, more likely, break down completely. Catholic Dogma doesn’t much account for all this talk of interpretation and games. On the other hand, perhaps he’d be fine. The mind is malleable. I’ll have to reread the gospels on my ride to find a better answer. I’m sure the Duvals have a Bible to spare.

“Tomorrow’s to be clear skies,” Ed said, leaning in from the front yard. “Not a cloud in any direction.”

“In the middle of April?” Mauve said. “Someone’s watching over us today, gentlemen, and I like it!

“Good will find a way,” David said to me. “Love and goodness always win out, somehow. They always have.” He folded the map and handed it to me. “All we need to do is push it in the right direction. You have a map to the eastern border. Get a new one in Arizona, something to guide you through the Salt River Valley. It’s hotter than hell, or so they say. I can’t say I plan on visiting either any time soon.”

“Thank you, David.” I pocketed the map and stood, holding out a hand to him. He ignored it and embraced me instead.

“All is well, Charles,” he said. “The world is looking out for us. All of us.”

The child laid asleep in a rocking crib beside the bed, wrapped in a white muslin blanket. I walked over to her, my footsteps soft and silent on the creaky boards. She was unlike anything I’d ever seen, yet so familiar to me. I hadn’t felt the need to ask you about her because I already know everything I need to know. She will be safe here. She will learn how to be more than she was made to be, more than a killer. I believe she is important, more important than we realize. I believe her story will outlast mine. My goal is to keep the world alive until she is ready to start. I’ve named her Alice.

“Keep her safe,” I said to them. “Keep her hidden. I hope she’s about the same when I return. I don’t want to miss anything. When do children learn to walk?”

“A year, year and a half,” Ed said. “Eight months if they feel like it.”

“I’ll be cutting it close, then.”

“Who knows? She’s not what you would call a normal kid, eh? Maybe she’ll just fly everywhere.”

“Hopefully not,” Mauve said. “All we need around here is a sighting of a demon child flying over Salinas.”

“She’s not a demon child,” I said, my voice suddenly stiff. “She’s a baby.”

“We can’t control what people will think, Charles,” she said. “You know that.”

“What do you think of her, Mauve? Do you think she’s a demon child, the spawn of Satan?”

“Even if she were, it wouldn’t matter to me. Please, Charles, we’re all we have. We can’t fight amongst ourselves or there’ll be nothing left.”

I sat down on the bed. “We may not have a choice. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

They took the cue and left.

I know what I have to do. There’s no other choice. I’ve been far too selfish with my friends, far too demanding. I’ll have to take the child with me.