How long do you think it will take us to cross?” Jefferson asks.

“According to the Major, about three and a half days,” I say, looking at the sky. “It’s Monday afternoon. Maybe we’ll be across by Thursday at sunrise.”

He whistles. “I was happier before I knew that.”

“Think of it this way: Once we cross, we’re in California. Give or take a mountain range or two.”

Therese says, “Then we’re practically almost there.