As Nate drew nearer to this particular way-station he began to search for the road in earnest. The plains were doing their very best to reclaim them, covering them with dust and shale and the high winds and heavy rains were helping.
He kicked at the earth, exposing a tiny patch of tarmac. Martha had told him about the motorways, three, four, even five lanes wide. The Autobahn in Germany, smooth and sleek, a masterpiece of engineering. And the grid like network of roads in America called the Interstate. Nate kicked away some more at the square, making it a little bigger and, raising his head, he stepped across it and began to walk again on the hard and cracked dirt.
When the man appeared in the doorway, Nate was still a good half a kilometre away from the way-station. He drew to an abrupt halt, squinting in the harsh light. The man was tall and skinny. Nate couldn’t make out much more but he wondered if the man had been watching him for a while from inside the station; standing in the cool and staring out through the space that had once been a window. Anyhow, he was looking now and Nate supposed that the man saw much about the same as he did. A tall skinny figure shimmering in the sunlight.