In the distance there was a sign. One of the big ones you sometimes saw where the roads used to be. Most had fallen down, but a few soldiered on, still spouting their stale messages.

Dan and Tim in the Morning, this one proclaimed.

Wat wondered what Dan and Tim got up to in the morning.

When he asked Mags about it, she said he didn't want to know.

Wat walked next to the railroad tracks, which stretched into the Breaks with no end in sight. Every once in a while, he stepped up onto to the rail, and walked one foot over the other for as long as he could keep his balance. The tracks soaked up the heat of the day, and were pleasantly warm under his feet.

There were all sorts of stories with trains in the them in the old books, but it was hard for Wat to imagine seeing one in real life. They seemed so big. So big they had special cars that were just for eating. Special cars where everyone dressed fancy, and everything they ate was fancy, probably dripping with butter, or stuffed with chocolate, or even both at the same time.

Wat's stomach rumbled.

"You know, I read once that some of the trains were more than a mile long," he said to Mags, on the other side of the tracks.

Wat noticed that Mags wouldn't walk on the actual tracks, and that every tenth step she would reach out and tap the rail with her left foot. That would be Ezra's fault, who convinced her that ten was some kind of lucky number, especially if you were on a journey. Wat had to count her steps for four or five cycles to be sure, which meant that now they were both counting her steps.

What the hell, there was nothing else to do out here anyway.

"It sounds like a kind of God," Mags said back to him.

"A big snake God," said Wat.

"Named Serpentina Ultimente," said Mags.

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"And if she thinks you look tasty, she snatches you up as she wooshes by, and chokes you down whole," Wat said.

They looked at each other for a long moment as they kept walking. Mags' left foot tapped the rail.

"If we just talked her up, I'm going to kill you," Mags said.

Wat thought about for a second.

"That's fair," he said.

Mags stuck out her tongue.

The trip to Eleanor was a bust. Bust wasn't even the right word for it. Eleanor wasn't there. A whole village, and it was just gone. Wat wasn't even sure how a thing like that could happen. It had taken two days and three screaming arguments to convince themselves they were actually in the right place.

Wat and Mags spent a week on the Eleanor-less shores nonetheless watching fat, mouthwatering fish dart through the water, always just out of reach. They'd cut branches, and tried to make spears, but it turned out spearfishing was one of those things that was a lot harder that it sounded.

They came up with a list of options, narrowed it to two, and rolled the dice. The dice came up odd, a six and a seven, and that's why they were headed for Beacon Pointe.

A place that might not exist.

They crossed paths with a woman named Sheila, who offered them a ride as far as Transact Junction. They'd been following the tracks since then. To get to Beacon Pointe, it was said, you had to follow the tracks until you thought they would never end, and then follow them a little more.

Which didn't sound like precise directions to Wat.

Sheila felt sorry for them, particularly after Mags had laid it on thick about all the friends they'd lost when Survivor City burned. No one had actually died, of course, but Wat figured that what Sheila didn't know wouldn't hurt her. When they parted, she'd retied her bandana, given them a little salute, and driven off, secure in the knowledge she had done a good deed.

Wat figured that feeling was a fair trade for the supplies she'd left with them. They had about a gallon of water left, and the strips of dried beef would last another two days, three if they were both careful and miserable.

"So, what do you think Beacon Pointe will be like when we get there?" he asked, more to take his mind off the hunger than anything.

"Assuming it exists?" Mags asked.

"It wouldn't be much of a game, otherwise," Wat said.

Mags popped one of the smaller strips of beef in her mouth, and chewed it while she thought it over. Wat knew what she was up to. Mags would try to "forget" about that one later, when they divided up the portions. He decided to let her get away with it.

"Well, there's a big tower in the front. Everybody knows that. And when they see you coming, all of the people climb to the top and cheer you on while you run inside. And they're all holding balloons. I've never seen a balloon in real life," she said.

"And after you get through the gates, they give you a huge piece of cake. On a real plate," said Wat.

"That has your name on it," said Mags, and she was smiling, and that made Wat happy, because it meant the game was working.

"And then they take you to a really soft bed, and tell you to sleep as long as you want, because you must be tired," said Wat.

"So tired," said Mags. "And in the morning they bring you fresh clothes that actually fit."

"And a bucket full of bacon. And they don't judge if you just thrust your head in and start eating," Wat said. He could practically smell the bacon. He hadn't had bacon in years.

"And the boy who brings you the bucket is really cute," Mags said.

"Since when do you care about that?" Wat asked.

"Since I've pretty much only had your face to look at for the last two years," Mags said.

Wat rolled his eyes.

"Well, there's also Dan and Tim. I'm sure they'd let you help out in the morning," he said.

"Ew. You made it gross," Mags said, glaring at him.

"How do you know they're gross?" Wat asked. "This is Dan and Tim we're talking about."

"If they need a giant sign to make what they're doing seem ok, they're definitely gross," said Mags.

Wat thought that was probably reasonable.