By the light of the moon

paved
lanes, the lights of the oncoming and receding traffic made no
conclusive argument for a living population. The scene possessed an
eerie quality that suggested the science-fiction scenario of a
world on which all species had perished centuries before, leaving
their domain as morbidly still as a glass-encased diorama through
which the only movement was the periodic bustle of perpetual-motion
machines engaged in ancient programmed tasks that no longer held
any meaning.
    To Jilly, this bleak vastness began to look like the landscape
of Hell with all the fires put out. 'We're not going to get out of
this alive, are we?' she asked in a tone entirely rhetorical.
    'What? Of course we will.'
    'Of course?' she said with a rich measure of disbelief.
'No doubt at all?'
    'Of course,' he insisted. 'The worst is already behind us.'
    'It's not behind us.'
    'Yes, it is.'
    'Don't be ridiculous.'
    'The worst is behind us,' he repeated stubbornly.
    'How can you say the worst is behind us when we have no idea
what's coming next?'
    'Creation is an act of will,' he said.
    'What's that supposed to mean?'
    'Before I create a painting, I conceive it in my mind. It exists
from the instant it's conceived, and all that's needed to transform
the conception into a tangible work of art are time and effort,
paint and canvas.'
    'Are we in the same conversation?' she wondered.
    In the backseat, Shepherd sat in silence again, but now his
brother spewed a prattle more disturbing than Shep's. 'Positive
thinking. Mind over matter. If God created the heavens and the
earth merely by thinking them into existence, the ultimate
power in the universe is willpower.'
    'Evidently not, or otherwise I'd have my own hit sitcom and be
partying in my Malibu mansion right now.'
    'Our creativity reflects divine creativity because we think new
things into existence every day – new inventions, new
architectures, new chemical compounds, new manufacturing processes,
new works of art, new recipes for bread and pie and pot roast.'
    'I'm not going to risk eternal damnation by claiming I make a
pot roast as good as God's. I'm sure His would be tastier.'
    Ignoring her interruption, Dylan said, 'We don't have godlike
power, so we aren't able to transform our thought energy directly
into matter—'
    'God would whip up better side dishes than me, too, and I'm sure
He's a whiz at beautiful table settings.'
    '—but guided by thought and reason,' Dylan
continued patiently, 'we can use other kinds of energy to transform
existing matter into virtually anything we conceive. I mean, we
spin thread to make cloth to sew into clothes. And we cut down
trees to make lumber to build shelter. Our process of creation is a
lot slower, clumsier, but it's fundamentally just one step removed
from God's. Do you understand what I'm saying?'
    'If I ever do, I absolutely insist you have me committed.'
    Gradually accelerating once more, he said, 'Work with me here,
okay? Can you make an effort?'
    Jilly was irritated by his childlike earnestness and by his
Pollyanna optimism in the shadow of the mortal danger that
confronted them. Nevertheless, recalling how his eloquence had
earlier humbled her, she felt a flush of warmth rise in her face,
and for the moment she managed to put a lid on the sarcasm that a
fire of frustration had set boiling. 'Okay, all right, whatever. Go
ahead.'
    'Assume we were made in God's image.'
    'All right. Yeah? So?'
    'Then it's also reasonable to assume that although we aren't
able to create matter out of nothing and although we can't change
existing matter solely by the application of thought, nevertheless
even our less than godlike willpower might be able to influence the
shape of things to come.'
    'The shape of things to come,' she repeated.
    'That's right.'
    'The shape of things to come.'
    'Exactly,' he confirmed, nodding happily, glancing away from the
interstate to smile at her.
    'The shape of things to come,' she repeated yet again, and then
she realized that in her frustration and bewilderment, she sounded
disturbingly like Shepherd. 'What things ?'
    'Future events,' he explained. 'If we're in God's image, then
maybe we possess a small measure – a tiny but still useful
fraction – of the divine power to shape things. Not matter,
in our case, but the future . Maybe with the exercise of
willpower, maybe we can shape our destiny, in part if not
entirely.'
    'What – I just imagine a future in which I'm a
millionaire, then I'll become one?'
    'You still have to make