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this time but as a dutiful report； Chyna…Shepherd…untouchedand…alive； much as a sailor in wartime might report to his captain after the ship had survived a vigorous strafing by enemy planes…〃All present and accounted for； sir。〃 She was present； she was accounted for； and she let God know of her gratitude with the same five words； figuring that He would hear the difference in her inflection and would understand。 It had bee a little joke with young Chyna； and sometimes she had even acpanied the report with a salute； which seemed all rivht because she had figured that God； being God； must have a sense of humor。 〃Chyna Shepherd； untouched and alive。〃
This time； from the motor…home bedroom； it was simultaneously a report on her survival and a fervent prayer to be spared from whatever brutality might be ing next。 〃Chyna Shepherd； untouched and alive。〃
As a little girl； she had loathed her name…except when she had been praying to survive。 It was frivolous； a stupid misspelling of a real word； and when other kids teased her about it； she wasn't able to mount a defense。 Considering that her mother was called Anne； such a simple name； the choice of Cbyna seemed not merely frivolous but thoughtless and even mean。 During most of the time that Anne was pregnant； she had lived in a mune of radical environmentalistsa cell of the infamous Earth Army who believed that any degree of violence was justifiable in defense of nature。 They had spiked trees with the hope that loggers would lose hands in accidents with power saws。 They had burned down two meat…packing plants and the hapless night watchmen in them； sabotaged the construction equipment at new housing tracts that encroached upon the wilds； and killed a scientist at Stanford because they disapproved of his use of animals in his laboratory experiments。 Influenced by these friends； Anne Shepherd had considered many names for her daughter： Hyacinth； Meadow； Ocean； Sky； Snow； Rain； Leaf； Butterfly。。。 By the time she had given birth； however； she had moved on from the Earth Army； and she had named Chyna after China because； as she had once explained； 〃Honey； I just suddenly realized one day that China is the only just society on earth； and it seemed like a beautiful name。〃 She had never been able to recall why she had changed the i toy； though by then she had been a working partner in a methamphetamine lab； packaging speed in affordable five…dollar hits and sampling the merchandise often enough to have been left with a few blank days in her memory。 Only when praying for deliverance had young Chyna liked her name； because she had figured that God would remember her more easily for it； would not get her confused with the millions of Marys and Carolines and Lindas and Heathers and Tracys and Janes。
Now her name no longer dismayed or pleased her。 It was just a name like any other。
She had learned that who she was…the true person she was…had nothing whatsoever to do with her name； and little to do with the life that she'd led with her mother for sixteen years。 She couldn't be blamed for the dreadful hates and lusts she had seen； for the obscenines heard； for the crimes witnessed； or for the things that some of her mother's male friends had wanted from her。 She was not defined either by a name or by shameful experience； instead； she was formed by dreams and hopes； by aspirations； by selfrespect and perseverance。 She wasn't clay in the hands of others； she was rock； and with her own determined hands； she could sculpt the person that she wanted to be。
She hadn't reached this realization until a year ago； When she was twenty…five。 The wisdom had e to her not in a dazzling flash but slowly； in the way that a plot of bare earth is covered gradually by creeping ajuga until one day； as if miraculously； the brown dirt is gone and everywhere are emerald…green leaves and tiny blue flowers。 Worthwhile knowledge always seemed hard…won while the winning was in progress…but seemed easily acquired in retrospect。
The old motor home lumbered through the night； creaking like a long…sealed door； ticking like a rusted clock too corroded to register every second faithfully； toward dawn。
Crazy。 Crazy to be taking this trip。 But nowhere else to go。 This was where her entire life had been leading。 Reckless courage wasn't restricted to the battlefield…or to men。 She was wet and cold and frightened…and strangely； for the first time in her entire life； she was at peace with herself。 〃Ariel；〃 Chyna said softly； one girl in the darkness speaking reassuringly to another。
Mr。 Vess drives out of the redwoods into a drizzling dawn； first iron gray and then somewhat paler； through coastal meadows the same drear shades of metal as the sky； back onto Highway ioi； into forests again； but of pine and spruce this time； out of Humboldt County into Del Norte County； ever more isolated terrain； eventually leaving ioi for a route that leads north…northeast。
For the first part of the journey； he glances frequently at the rearview mirror； but the bedroom door remains closed； and the woman seems fortable with the cadavers or； perhaps； with her ignorance of them。 In her retreat； the window is sealed off with plywood； and the light of dawn doesn't penetrate。
Vess is a superb driver； and he makes excellent time； even in bad weather。 We do best those things that we enjoy doing； which is why Mr。 Vess is such a success at killing and why he bines that enthusiasm with his love of driving rather than restrict himself to prey within a reasonable radius of his home。
Being on the open road with landscapes ever changing； Edgler Vess is the recipient of a constant influx of fresh visual sensation。 And of course； to one with his exquisitely refined senses and his ability to use them in a hologrammatic manner； a beautiful sight can also be a musical sound。 A scent caught through the open window can be not solely an olfactory experience but tactile too； the sweet fragrance of lilac like a woman's warm breath against his skin。 Ensconced in the driver's seat of his motor home； he travels through a rich sea of sensation that washes him the way water ceaselessly washes the hull of a deeply submerged submarine。
Now he crosses into Oregon。 The mountains e to him and pull him up into their fastnesses。
The thickening stands of trees on the steep slopes are more gray than green in the stubborn rain； and the sight of them is like biting on a piece of ice； hard between his teeth； a slight but pleasant metallic taste； and a shattering coldness against his lips。
He seldom glances at the rearview mirror any more。 The woman is a mystery； and mysteries of this nature can't be resolved by the sheer desire to resolve them。 Ultimately she will reveal herself； and the intensity of the experience will depend upon whatever purpose she has and what secrets she possesses。
The waiting is delicious。 Throughout the last few hours of the journey； Vess leaves the radio off； although not because he is afraid that music will mask the sounds of the woman stalking forward through the motor home。 In fact； he rarely listens to the radio while driving。 In his memory is a vast library of recordings of the music that he likes best： the cries and squeals； the