Her mother and father, her brother, none ofthem existed here. This was her Le Marais, her Sch?neberg, her Haight,and her Soho. Even though she kept it...nondescript and as ordinary as shecould; inconspicuous; with the door firmly shut and the lamp casting itssoft shadows, with a scarf over the shade it became her palace ofsecrets.She looked into the mirror at her reflection. Her hair was finally longenough now that she could tie it up while at home. Months and months ofwetting it and wearing it. Slowly, the wheeled gangway began to roll.Anthony was the first out of the hatch, stepping onto the now extended stairway, pistol in hand. After the recycled air of the past months, the cool fresh air was a shock. He paused, taking in a ragged breath. And another. It felt like spring. Early spring. Chuck moved past him, holding a rifle, repeating the ritual Anthony had started. The two men looked out across the valley. A wide path, paved with irregular, colored smooth stones, extended from the. More

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