The road is pitch black under a starlit sky, just the
headlights cutting a hole in the shadows, and the yellow dots of the lane
divider clip by. The silhouettes
of mountains and tall, thin pines stand out against a midnight blue sky. Out on Crippled Creek’s headway, off
Dead Fork Road, no one else exists.
Quietly, the miles pass.
The road bends and up ahead a blinking red light swings on a cable
stretched between 2 poles. It is a
crossroads and a town: Lost Falls.
Slowing down, a half dozen empty buildings slide by devoid of life: a
post office, a grocery store, a gas station, and in the distance a roadhouse,
the only open establishment for miles and miles. A neon sign shines brightly. In bold red letters, Nordo’s Hideout. It offers a place to rest
and find other people deep in the Northwest forest. A few cars in the gravel lot. A pickup. You swing in. And nothing tastes better, after a long stint on the road, than a fresh cup of coffee and breakfast.
