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“Are there any other people around?” you ask, following Jason up the ladder like stairs that lead to the glass-walled lookout. “Nope,’ says Jason. “Closest is Agnes Ellison at the store. He opens the door and you enter. “That’s your room,” he says pointing at the screened-off corner. He points to another screen and says, “This one’s mine” There are coats behind each of the screens; a sink without taps; and a two burner stove. An old couch is in the center of t he room, and Jason’s typewriter is set up on a card table. Beside it sits a fancy two-way-radio and a pair of binoculars. “My link to the world,” Jason says, nodding at the radio. You walk around the table looking at the page in the typewriter. ‘Is this your new book? Can I read it?” “Not now” he says. You can read it when it’s finished.” “Okay,” you say, but your heart is thumping. The single paragraph you read is astonishing: A crown fire will take out all the pines on the southwest slope. It’s been hot and dry. Not much snow runoff from last winter. Isaac Cairn’s words! But Jason wrote this before you arrived! “You can read it when it’s finished,” Jason repeats firmly. “Get unpacked. I am going down for some water.”

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