But Rydell had the sunglasses on again. "I thought you said to get out? What do you mean, leave her? Damn, Laney, why don't you make some sense for once? Why—Laney? Hey?" She saw Rydell's tension as he took off the glasses. "Listen up. Everybody. We're leaving now. Laney says they're setting fire to the bridge." Rydell bent, wincing, and opened his bag, hauling this silver thing out. She saw it glint in the light from outside. Like a big steel thermos. He pulled out some coiled cables and tossed her a length. "Find a socket." He had another cable in his hand now and was standing over the boy with the old military eye-phone rig. "Hey. Kid? We have to borrow the notebook. Hear me?" The helmet came up and seemed to regard him blindly but sentiently, like the head of a giant termite. Rydell reached down and took the notebook, unhooking the lead to the helmet. Chevette saw the boy's mouth close. The notebook's screen showed the black dial of a clock. No, Chevette saw, it was an old-fashioned watch, enlarged to the size of a baby's face.