Slowing to a trot, Cal made good time, heading north. What had once seemed like a broken road was now smooth blacktop. That made sense to the part of his mind capable of observing his surroundings. The ammunition was unstable, not something to haul across a bumpy dirt road.

But that was a minor thought in the confusion that harassed Cal. Paramount was his hatred of Marilyn, his mind repeating a litany of the harsh jabs she had dealt over the past year. The memory of her frequent sneers and anger that rose to the surface more and more.

He could see no love from the woman, nothing for the past year that even resembled love or caring. She had become a stranger to Cal, worse she was someone he did not even want to know.

His trot slowed to a fast walk as lamps took their place alongside the road and illuminated the black surface. The trees had thinned so much he could see the factory buildings without trouble, vast buildings that dominated the north end of the valley.

He passed the line of bunkers, now grass-covered mounds, with their attendant road and track system.

Vehicles moved on the road, none of them coming close to Cal, as they performed tasks delayed for nearly seven decades. In his anger, Cal did not know what it meant, what the ghosts were doing, only that they had to get out of the valley or remain for all eternity.

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From his right, a voice called out to Cal. He ignored the summons, thinking the ghosts only wanted to delay him from finding Marilyn. A figure was running towards Cal. It was unimportant; Marilyn was the target. He would find her and drag her from the valley, dead if that was what it took.

Standing by the side of the road several yards ahead, a man with coveralls open to his waist seemed to laugh.

The sight so puzzled Cal that it burned through his anger and he stopped walking.

The ghost stopped laughing and stared at Cal with hatred.

A hand grasped Cal’s arm, and he spun with his hand raised to strike.

Bryon looked at Cal with fear while all the anger flowed from Cal to the sound of the ghost screaming foully. His hand dropping to his side, Cal tried to speak but found his voice lost.

“We’ve got to go,” Bryon said after taking a few deep breaths. He had done more running today than in all the time since he left school.

“Your mother,” Cal protested with a scratchy voice.

“So what?” Bryon spoke decisively, brooking no argument. He took hold of his father’s coat and started pulling Cal south. Maybe some day he would regret his move to save his father and not his mother, but for now Bryon only wanted his father to get out of the valley, to hell with Marilyn.

Dragging his feet, Cal allowed Bryon to pull him to safety, glancing over his shoulder to see the ghost was gone, as were the foul thoughts of his wife. The anger had drained him; he needed to rest, but Bryon showed no sign he was going to stop for a scenic rest in this valley.