“Sorry what I said about your dad,” he told Poe now.

“I don’t give a shit,” said Poe.

“We gonna keep walking like this?”

“Like what?”

“Not talking.”

“Maybe I’m just being sad.”

“Maybe you need to man up a little.” Isaac grinned but Poe stayed serious.

“Some of us have their whole lives ahead of them. Others—”

“You can do whatever you want.”

“Lay off it,” said Poe.

Isaac let him walk ahead. The wind was picking up and snapping their clothes.

“You good to keep going if this storm comes in?”

“Not really,” said Poe.

“There’s an old plant up there once we get out of these woods. We can find a place to wait it out in there.”

The river was a dozen or so yards to their left and farther ahead the tracks bordered a long floodplain with the grass bright green against the black of oncoming clouds. In the middle of the field, a string of boxcars swallowed by a thicket of wild rose. At one end of the floodplain was the Standard Steel Car factory, he’d been inside it before, the plant was half-collapsed, bricks and wood beams piled on top of the old forges and hydraulic presses, moss and vines growing everywhere. Despite the rubble, it was vast and open inside. Plenty of souvenirs. That old nameplate you gave to Lee, pried it off that big hammer forge, polished the tarnish off and oiled it. A minor vandalism. No, think of all the people who were proud of those machines, to rescue a few pieces of them—little bit of life after death. Lee put it over her desk, saw it when you went to New Haven. Meanwhile this rain is coming in. About to be cold and wet. Bad way to start your trip.

“Christ,” said Poe, as the rain started to fall. “That plant doesn’t even have a roof. Course with your luck I should have figured.”