She stops kissing him suddenly.

I always liked you, she says to him. You were always nice to me.

He smiles a little.

Then she takes the fabric and jams it into his mouth.

An expression of tragic betrayal comes into his eyes – and so surprised is he that he doesn’t even struggle against her for a moment – not until after she has already got Moses’ looped belt around his neck like a leash.

Then she opens the car door and pulls him out by the end of the belt. He reaches for the fabric in his mouth so that he can cry out, but Moses is there, taking his hands and holding them still.

In such a manner, they drag the man through the snow and into the trees by the side of the road and tie him to one of the trunks using the belt and strips of torn fabric. He does not struggle much, for he is set upon by the woman he once knew, who kissed him even, and a man he does not know but who is a Paul Bunyan of a man who looks like he would brook no resistance. Besides, the Vestal Amata keeps reassuring him they aren’t going to kill him.

See, she says and points. The road’s right there. They’ll see you from it. They won’t leave without you.

He’s the doctor Fletcher keeps with him, the Vestal says to Moses as they make their way back to the car. Peabody’s his name. He cured me of the clap once. He’s an okay guy.

Hush up, Moses says. Let’s just get ourselves out of here.

Moses climbs into the driver’s seat, and the Vestal gets in the other side.

You ready? Moses says.

I’m ready.

Moses glances once more into the woods at the man called Peabody who at some time in the past cured the Vestal of her gonorrhoea and is now tied to a tree with mild staring eyes. Then he starts the engine, puts the car in gear and accelerates as quickly as he can without letting the tyres spin on the ice.

At first the others don’t seem to notice – then, as they pass the first few vehicles of the caravan, some of Fletcher’s men begin calling out. By the time they reach the front of the caravan, guns are unsheathed and aim is being taken – and Moses can see Fletcher himself in the rearview mirror – standing there atop the truck, throwing in fury the half-empty bottle of wine so that it spins end over end through the air and spills its contents onto the snow, staining the earth with a burgundy that looks like day-old blood.

Some potshots are fired, one of them thunking into the plastic of the bumper – but they are too far gone for an effective hit.

Now what? says the Vestal.

Now we outrun em, Moses says. They’re slow, but we’ve got a tail we got to stay ahead of. Besides, Abe’s waitin on me. Let’s get this business finished for once and all.

They drive five hours straight, though the roads are icy and slow going. They pass places with names such as Mountain Village, Sawpit and Loghill. The road begins to decline, and they find themselves coasting down out of the mountains where the snow diminishes and finally disappears altogether. In a city called Montrose, they veer off onto a highway going east. It is good driving for a while, and Moses sees no sign of the caravan behind them.

Maybe they gave up, says the Vestal. I can’t be worth all this.

Maybe they gave up, but I do doubt it. The more I take you away, the more of a holy grail you get to be to Fletcher. There’s not much can come between a man and his grail – particularly not reason.

A what?

Grail. It’s a cup.

A cup?

Not a cup. A goblet I guess. The one Jesus drank out of.

Jesus drank out of a cup?

That surprises you?

I don’t know. I guess I always pictured him drinking out of his hands like you do at a river or something.

Well, he drank out of a cup at least once. And there for a while everyone was lookin for it.

When? When were they looking for it?

I don’t know. The time of the knights.

Did they find it?

He considers this.

You know something, I don’t remember that part. Maybe they did and maybe they didn’t. Anyway, it was the looking for it that counted.

You know a lot.

He looks at her to see if she is making fun of him, but she doesn’t seem to be.

I don’t really, he says. It was just different when I was growing up. You had time to learn a lot of things that didn’t matter much.

For a while they find themselves driving parallel to a large, elongated reservoir. There are no signs of life on either of its shores – just pale-brown hills under the rutted sky. They come to a place where the road turns and crosses a two-lane bridge over the reservoir to the north shore, but there is a pile of burned-out cars blocking the route.

Is that where we need to go? asks the Vestal.

Yup.

Can we go around another way?

We maybe could. But it’d be a long way out of our way, and I don’t like the risk of it.

Can we move the cars?

He looks at her.

Then what? she says.

We walk across. I reckon we can find another car on the other side. Plus it’ll slow Fletcher down considerable. Those that move in bulk don’t do so good with obstacles.

So they take their things and put them in duffel bags. Then they say goodbye to the car and run it down the slope into the reservoir to confound Fletcher’s trackers for a little while at least. They watch the car sink, as though it were a symbol of something important.

Then Moses climbs up on the parapet of the bridge and helps the Vestal up behind him. They walk on the parapet until they are beyond the pile of cars, then they hop down onto the concrete and follow the broken and faded centreline in, she on one side and he on the other.

Halfway across, they find three dried-up corpses that begin to rise when they hear footsteps. As the slugs pull themselves up, Moses can see their brittle white bones cracking from misuse under their loose skin. There is a clicking coming from their throats, as though their tongues and gullets had shrivelled up and speech were now a thing of bone and grit.

Stay back, Moses says to the Vestal Amata as he drops the duffel and pulls from it a pistol.

Sure, I’ll stay back.

The Vestal walks casually to the side of the bridge and hoists herself up to sit dangle-footed on the parapet. Moses has forgotten, for a moment, that the slugs pose no threat to her, but he is reminded by the complete lack of alarm in her expression – as though she were taking her seat for a weakly acted matinee performance.

As the three slugs drag their feet in his direction, he takes aim and fires. The first shot goes wide. The second is too low, hitting one of the slugs in the chest, and the third blasts off an ear. On the fourth shot, the slug on the right drops back down to the ground. The other two continue forwards. Moses takes aim again.

I see you ain’t a sharpshooter, says the Vestal from her seat. She breaks in half a twig she’s been carrying and uses it to clean her teeth while she watches.

It takes him five shots to bring down the second one.

You’re burnin through our ammo, says the Vestal. Well, at least it’ll make a lighter load for us to tote.

When he fires the pistol at the third and hears the click, he is reminded that he needs to reload. He reaches down to do so, but the slug is only a few paces away now – slow in movement but undeviating in purpose, more machine than animal, its rusty, ossified mechanics grinding away with click and bristle, enslaved to its single appetite.

Before Moses realizes, the dead man’s hands are on him, his sandy, brittle fingers pawing at Moses’ jacket. Moses drops the gun – it’s too late now to load it. Instead, he takes the creature by the neck with both hands to keep the deadly snapping jaw away from him. The dead man has little strength left in his body, so Moses can hold him, like a snake wrangler, out of danger, but there is little else he can do without releasing the slug.

He is still undecided about his next move when the slug’s face explodes before him, splashing his own face with moist, papery gore. He can also hear the bullet whistle by his ear, and when he drops the dead man to the ground he can see the Vestal standing behind him, her pistol still aimed at where the slug’s head was a moment before.

Goddamnit, he says to her. You could of killed me.

She looks at the pistol as though confused by its purpose.

I didn’t think it would go all the way through him, she says. Did I get you?

He grabs the gun away from her, his heart trilling in anger.

Naw, you didn’t get me. Though it ain’t for want of tryin. You’re a goddamn menace.

Well, pardon me for tryin to come to your rescue. It seemed like you were in some peril – I ain’t ever seen so many bullets flyin wild.

Moses stuffs the guns back in the duffel and swings it over his shoulder. He does not want to look at her. She is a reckless thing, a shameful thing.

You know something? he says. I got a theory on you, and it’s a goddamn miserable one.

A theory! I bet nobody ever mistook you for a philosopher.

I got a theory that maybe you wore out your soul whorin and deceivin. Maybe some part of you’s already dead – which is why they don’t take you.

The moment is stricken by silence. A breeze blows cold and harsh across the bridge. Moses moves his feet against the sandy tarmac but makes no show to walk away. It would seem that there are no directions leading away from this moment.

Jesus, says the Vestal quietly. That’s an awful theory.

I told you it was, says Moses almost in a whisper.

Is that really what you think?

He shifts his feet against the tarmac again. He would walk away from everything in the world if he could. A wandering man.

Hey, look, he says, straining a note of apology. I’m shook up. You did me a service here. I ain’t the shooter of the family.

They walk on in silence to the opposite side of the bridge where Moses climbs down to the water’s edge and washes the blood out of his hair and beard.

The Vestal sits by him, soaking her feet in the cool water.

So you never really learned how to shoot, huh? she asks.

He holds up his right hand, palm downward, to show her. It is a thick, calloused paw, and it trembles as if in withdrawal from punching.

I ain’t so steady, he says. I guess I’m more of a cudgel man.