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speeds； rubber wheels blistering the road。 'I see better than I want to；' Wolf finished forlornly。
3
Two days later a pair of tired； footsore boys limped past the MUNICIPAL TOWN LIMITS sign on one side of Highway 32 and the 10…4 Diner on the other side； and thus into the city of Muncie； Indiana。 Jack was running a fever of a hundred and two degrees and coughing pretty steadily。 Wolf's face was swollen and discolored。 He looked like a pug that has e out on the short end in a grudge match。 The day before； he had tried to get them some late apples from a tree growing in the shade of an abandoned barn beside the road。 He had actually been in the tree and dropping shrivelled autumn apples into the front of his overalls when the wall…wasps； which had built their nest somewhere in the eaves of the old barn； had found him。 Wolf had e back down the tree as fast as he could； with a brown cloud around his head。 He was howling。 And still； with one eye pletely closed and his nose beginning to resemble a large purple turnip； he had insisted that Jack have the best of the apples。 None of them was very good…small and sour and wormy…and Jack didn't feel much like eating anyway； but after what Wolf had gone through to get them； he hadn't had the heart to refuse。
A big old Camaro； jacked in the back so that the nose pointed at the road； blasted by them。 'Heyyyyy； assholes！' someone yelled； and there was a burst of loud； beer…fueled laughter。 Wolf howled and clutched at Jack。 Jack had thought that Wolf would eventually get over his terror of cars； but now he was really beginning to wonder。
'It's all right； Wolf；' he said wearily； peeling Wolf's arms off for the twentieth or thirtieth time that day。 'They're gone。'
'So loud！' Wolf moaned。 'Wolf！ Wolf！ Wolf！ So loud； Jack； my ears； my ears！'
'Glasspack muffler；' Jack said； thinking wearily： You'd love the California freeways； Wolf。 We'll check those out if we're still travelling together； okay？ Then we'll try a few stock…car races and motorcycle scrambles。 You'll be nuts about them。 'Some guys like the sound； you know。 They…' But he went into another coughing fit that doubled him over。 For a moment the world swam away in gray shades。 It came back very； very slowly。
'Like it；' Wolf muttered。 'Jason！ How could anyone like it； Jack？ And the smells 。 。 。 '
Jack knew that； for Wolf； the smells were the worst。 They hadn't been over here four hours before Wolf began to call it the Country of Bad Smells。 That first night Wolf had retched half a dozen times； at first throwing up muddy water from a stream which existed in another universe onto the Ohio ground； then simply dry…heaving。 It was the smells； he explained miserably。 He didn't know how Jack could stand them； how anyone could stand them。
Jack knew…ing back from the Territories； you were bowled over by odors you barely noticed when you were living with them。 Diesel fuel； car exhausts； industrial wastes； garbage； bad water； ripe chemicals。 Then you got used to them again。 Got used to them or just went numb。 Only that wasn't happening to Wolf。 He hated the cars； he hated the smells； he hated this world。 Jack didn't think he was ever going to get used to it。 If he didn't get Wolf back into the Territories fairly soon； Jack thought he might go crazy。 He'll probably drive me crazy while he's at it； Jack thought。 Not that I've got far to go anymore。
A clattering farm…truck loaded with chickens ground by them； followed by an impatient line of cars； some of them honking。 Wolf almost jumped into Jack's arms。 Weakened by the fever； Jack reeled into the brushy； trash…littered ditch and sat down so hard his teeth clicked together。
'I'm sorry； Jack；' Wolf said miserably。 'God pound me！'
'Not your fault；' Jack said。 'Fall out。 Time to take five。'
Wolf sat down beside Jack； remaining silent； looking at Jack anxiously。 He knew how hard he was making it for Jack； he knew that Jack was in a fever to move faster； partly to outdistance Morgan； but mostly for some other reason。 He knew that Jack moaned about his mother in his sleep； and sometimes cried。 But the only time he had cried when awake was after Wolf went a little crazy on the Arcanum turnpike ramp。 That was when he realized what Jack meant by 'hitching。' When Wolf told Jack he didn't think he could hitch rides…at least not for a while and maybe not ever…Jack had sat down on the top strand of guardrail cable and had wept into his hands。 And then he had stopped； which was good 。 。 。 but when he took his face out of his hands； he had looked at Wolf in a way that made Wolf feel sure that Jack would leave him in this horrible Country of Bad Smells 。 。 。 and without Jack； Wolf would soon go quite mad。
4
They had walked up to the Arcanum exit in the breakdown lane； Wolf cringing and pawing at Jack each time a car or truck passed in the deepening dusk。 Jack had heard a mocking voice drift back on the slipstream： 'Where's your car； faggots？' He shook it off like a dog shaking water out of his eyes； and had simply kept going； taking Wolf's hand and pulling him after when Wolf showed signs of lagging or drifting toward the woods。 The important thing was to get off the turnpike proper； where hitchhiking was forbidden； and onto the westbound Arcanum entrance ramp。 Some states had legalized hitching from the ramps （or so a road…bum with whom Jack had shared a barn one night had told him）； and even in states where thumbing was technically a crime； the cops would usually wink if you were on a ramp。
So first； get to the ramp。 Hope no state patrol happened along while you were getting there。 What a state trooper might make of Wolf Jack didn't want to think about。 He would probably think he had caught an eighties incarnation of Charles Manson in Lennon glasses。
They made the ramp and crossed over to the westbound lane。 Ten minutes later a battered old Chrysler had pulled up。 The driver； a burly man with a bull neck and a cap which read CASE FARM EQUIPMENT tipped back on his head； leaned over and opened the door。
'Hop in； boys！ Dirty night； ain't it？'
'Thanks； mister； it sure is；' Jack said cheerfully。 His mind was in overdrive； trying to figure out how he could work Wolf into the Story； and he barely noticed Wolf's expression。
The man noticed it； however。
His face hardened。
'You smell anything bad； son？'
Jack was snapped back to reality by the man's tone； which was as hard as his face。 All cordiality had departed it； and he looked as if he might have just wandered into the Oatley Tap to eat a few beers and drink a few glasses。
Jack whipped around and looked at Wolf。
Wolf's nostrils were flaring like the nostrils of a bear which smells a blown skunk。 His lips were not just pulled back from his teeth； they were wrinkled back from them； the flesh below his nose stacked in little ridges。
'What is he； retarded？' the man in the CASE FARM EQUIPMENT hat asked Jack in a low voice。
'No； ah； he just…'
Wolf began to growl。
That was it。
'Oh； Christ；' the man said in the tones of one who simply cannot believe this is happening。 He stepped on the gas and roared down the exit ramp； the passenger door flopping shut。 His taillights dot…dashed briefly in the rainy dark at the foot of the ramp； sending reflections in smeary red arrows up the pavement toward where they stood。
'Boy； that's great；' Jack said； and turned to Wolf； who shrank back from his anger。 'That's just great！ If he'd had a CB radio； he'd be on Channel Nineteen right now； yelling for a cop； telling anyone and everyone that there are a couple of loonies trying to hitch a ride out of Arcanum！ Jason！ Or Jesus！ Or Whoever； I don't care！ You want to see some fucking nails get pounded； Wolf？ You do that a few more times and you'll feel them get pounded！ Us！ We'll get pounded！'
Exhausted； bewildered； frustrated； almost used up； Jack advanced on the cringing Wolf； who could have torn his head from his shoulders with one hard； swinging blow if he had wanted to； and Wolf backed up before him。
'Don't shout； Jack；' he moaned。 'The smells 。 。 。 to be in there 。 。 。 shut up in there with those smells 。 。 。 '
'I didn't smell anything！' Jack shouted。 His voice broke； his sore throat hurt more than ever； but he couldn't seem to stop； it was shout or go mad。 His wet hair had fallen in his eyes。 He shook it away and then slapped Wolf on the shoulder。 There was a smart crack and his hand began to hurt at once。 It was as if he had slapped a stone。 Wolf howled abjectly； and this made Jack angrier。 The fact that he was lying made him angrier still。 He had been in the Territories less than six hours this time； but that man's car had smelled like a wild animal's den。 Harsh aromas of old coffee and fresh beer （there had been an open can of Stroh's between his legs）； an air…freshener hanging from the rear…view mirror that smelled like dry sweet powder on the cheek of a corpse。 And there had been something else； something darker； something wetter 。 。 。
'Not anything！' he shouted； his voice breaking hoarsely。 He slapped Wolf's other shoulder。 Wolf howled again and turned around； hunching like a child who is being beaten by an angry father。 Jack began to slap at his back； his smarting hands spatting up little sprays of water from Wolf's overalls。 Each time Jack's hand descended； Wolf howled。 'So you better get used to it （Slap！） because the next car to e along might be a cop （Slap！） or it might be Mr。 Morgan Bloat in his puke…green BMW （Slap！） and if all you can be is a big baby； we're going to be in one big fucking world of hurt！ （Slap！） Do you understand that？'
Wolf said nothing。 He stood hunched in the rain； his back to Jack； quivering。 Crying。 Jack felt a lump rise in his own throat； felt his eyes grow hot and stinging。 All of this only increased his fury。 Some terrible part of him wanted most of all to hurt himself； and knew that hurting Wolf was a wonderful way to do it。
'Turn around！'
Wolf did。 Tears ran from his muddy brown eyes behind the round spectacles。 Snot ran from his nose。
'Do you understand me？'
'Yes；' Wolf moaned。 'Yes； I understand； but I couldn't ride with him； Jack。'
'Why not？' Jack looked at him angrily； fisted hands on his hips。 Oh； his head was aching。
'Because he was dying；' Wolf said in a low voice。
Jack stared at him； all his anger draining away。
'Jack； didn't you know？' Wolf asked softly。 'Wolf！ You couldn't smell it？'
'No；' Jack said in a small； whistling； out…of…breath voice。 Because he had smelled something； hadn't he？ Something he had never smelled before。 Something like a mixture of 。 。 。
It came to him； and suddenly his strength was gone。 He sat down heavily on the guardrail cable and looked at Wolf。
Shit and rotting grapes。 That was what that smell had been like。 That wasn't it a hundred percent； but it was too hideously close。
Shit and rotting grapes。
'It's the worst smell；' Wolf said。 'It's when people forget how to be healthy。 We call it…Wolf！…the Black Disease。 I don't even think he knew he had it。 And 。 。 。 these Strangers can't smell it； can they； Jack？'
'No；' he whispered。 If he were to be suddenly teleported back to New Hampshire； to his mother's room in the Alhambra； would he smell that stink on her？
Yes。 He would smell it on his mother； drifting out of her pores； the smell of shit and rotting grapes； the Black Disease。
'We call it cancer；' Jack whispered。 We call it cancer and my mother has it。
'I just don't know if I can hitch；' Wolf said。 'I'll try again if you want； Jack； but the smells 。 。 。 inside 。 。 。 they're bad enough in the outside air； Wolf！ but inside 。 。 。 '
That was when Jack put his face in his hands and wept； partly out of desperation； mostly out of simple exhaustion。 And； yes； the expression Wolf believed he had seen on Jack's face really had been there； for an instant the temptation to leave Wolf was more than a temptation； it was a maddening imperative。 The odds against his ever making it to California and finding the Talisman…whatever it might be…had been long before； now they were so long they dwindled to a point on the horizon。 Wolf would do more than slow him down； Wolf woul