It was past midnight when he pulled off the road onto a gravel easement at the interchange that connected his nameless path with the great Interstate 90. It would have easily carried them to Billings right on schedule, but in the distance, the flickering lights of another roadblock filled the sky with a dome of color. He bypassed I-90 and entered the little town of Three Forks, all closed down past midnight anyway, except for a lonely service station, its neon sign flickering in the dark. He cruised down the main drag, abandoned buildings and burnt-out houses flicking by like film strip. Times were about as tough around here as they were back up in the Mission Valley.