FORTY FIVE
STEVE FLEW across the globe, avoiding dark matter signatures below, which churned in his guts and guided his course wide of them. Above the snowy white mountain range, he set down in a Pakistani parking lot where rows of beat-up 18-wheel tractor-trailers rotted. He lifted the front end of one and snatched the disabled truck by its front axle. Off the ground, he hauled it up toward higher elevations.
Blankets of puffy fog as far as he could see, his shadow slithered from peak to slope and undulated over the white ridges through the wisps of moisture. Steve forged ahead on a direct line, dragging the tractor trailer in one hand.
He knew there was a time when icy steel would have frozen his skin and killed it with frostbite. His mind recalled his young son Michael and their firs
