Apparently no one else had thought of the river; perhaps they had considered it as a possible avenue of escape and then discarded the notion when they realized how it ripped and raged among the rocks as it finally plunged from the canyon's mouth. Obviously, no one could hope to combat that current and survive. But strange things happen in nightmares. And you fight the numbness and the blackness and you claw and convulse and you twist and turn and toss and then you ride the crests of frenzy and plunge into the troughs of panic and despair and you sweep round and round and sink down into nothingness until you break through to the freedom which comes only with oblivion. Somewhere beyond the canyon's moiling maw, Harry Collins found that freedom and that oblivion. He escaped from the nightmare, just as he escaped from the river. The river itself roared on without him. And the nightmare continued, too.... 5. Minnie Schultz--2009 When Frank came home, Minnie met him at the door. She didn't say a word, just handed him the envelope containing the notice. "What's the matter?" Frank asked, trying to take her in his arms. "You been crying." "Never mind." Minnie freed herself. "Just read what it says there." Frank read slowly, determinedly, his features contorted in concentration. Vocational Apt had terminated his schooling at the old grade-school level, and while like all students he had been taught enough so that he could read the necessary advertising commercials, any printed message of this sort provided a definite challenge. Halfway through the notice he started to scowl. "What kind of monkey business is this?" "No monkey business. It's the new law. Everybody that gets married in Angelisco takes the shots, from now on. Fella from State Hall, he told me when he delivered this." "We'll see about this," Frank muttered. "No damn government's gonna tell me how to run my life. Sa free country, ain't so?" Minnie's mouth began to twitch. "They're coming back tomorra morning, the fella said. To give me the first shots. Gee, honey, I'm scared, like. I don't want 'em." "That settles it," Frank said. "We're getting out of this place, fast." "Where'd we go?" "Dunno. Someplace. Texas, maybe. I was listening to the 'casts at work today. They don't have this law in Texas. Not yet, anyway. Come on, start packing." "Packing? But how'll we get there?" "Fly. We'll jet right out." "You got prior'ty reservations or something?" "No." The scowl returned to Frank's forehead. "But maybe if I pitch 'em a sob story, tell 'em it's our honeymoon, you know, then we could--" Minnie shook her head. "It won't work, honey. You know that. Takes six months to get a prior'ty clearance or whatever they call it. Besides, your job and all--what'll you do in Texas? They've got your number listed here. Why, we couldn't even _land_, like. I bet Texas is even more crowded than Angelisco these days, in the cities. And all the rest of it is Ag Culture project, isn't it?"