Turner walks along the Great Dam. He remembers seeing it in the distance six days ago. The thing is colossal, holding a massive, raised city above an absurd example of urban and suburban sprawl. He laments spending four days reaching the dam. He laments the two days climbing the seemingly endless distance to the top. The dam is easily one mile in height.
He recalls the exhaustion of the climb with the clarity of his own raw and weary limbs. Turner believes his fatigue to be worth the climb. The horned snake will not follow him to this height, and he expects to find either food or transportation here. Hunting seems plausible, as well. Near-primary birds fly about freely, and there is bound to be plant life somewhere. Water, of course, is plentiful.
The edge of the Great Dam has no safeguards of any kind. As Turner wanders the edge of the reservoir, gazing at the skyscrapers both above and below, the strong winds and thin air remind him of his height.
He hopes he does not fall.