By the second day, they had come over the mountains and down to the edge of the Salmon River, a broad expanse of water sluicing by the lush bank like a serene serpent. Burnout hesitated long enough to fill his liquid reserve tank. And as he bent to the languid water, Burnout got the first clear picture of what was left of his face. What stared back at him out of the dark water didn't resemble anything living. It was a gruesome mixture of scarred chrome and bits of dried, hanging vat flesh.