ALLISON LEFT HOME THE NEXT morning at ten, and by eleven fifteen was taking exit 149 off I-90 to head north over Blewitt Pass. Though still early enough in the year for the threat of snow at the top, the only thing she encountered was intermittent drizzle.
She was pushing midafternoon by the time she reached Highway 2 and passed Rocky Reach Dam on the Columbia River. Mazama was still two hours away, and based on her brother’s description of how to get to his hideout, she would have at least an hour on foot. So be it. The light wouldn’t fade for a few more hours, and she had her iPhone’s flashlight.
Allison pulled into Mazama just over two hours later, spotted the sign Parker had mentioned, then took a road off to the right a few yards past it. His directions said to stay on that road for three miles. She glanced at her odometer and 2.9 miles later slowed her Honda to a crawl, then stopped.
What was the next part of the directions? She glanced at her phone. No service. Wouldn’t have helped anyway. Parker hadn’t given her a physical address, just a series of directions that sounded like they came out of a board game. She grabbed the sheet of paper he’d mailed to her and studied it.
Take highway 20 into Mazama. When you hit the sign that says Deer Skinning for Free, take a right. Check your odometer. Three miles later, take a right at the huge woodpile. That road will go from paved to dirt after six miles. Keep going till you get to a wooden sign nailed to a tree about ten feet up that says, “If you don’t know exactly what you’re doing here, turn around.” You’ll see a gate with a combo lock on it. The combination is 9–36–29. Stay on that road for 2.7 miles. It will get narrow. Keep going. When you see a wide spot, park there.
Put a sign on your car that says your name and that you’re my sister. Make it big. Stay on the road for 0.7 miles. Take a left on the trail you’ll see right next to the stream. It’s wide enough for a small car, but nothing but a quad is going to make it, so don’t think about trying to drive it. Stay on the trail for half a mile. You’ll find me at the end.
Allison spotted the woodpile, took a right, and reached the “If you don’t know . . .” sign twenty minutes later. After another ten minutes of navigating a track that was a road in name only, she found the wide spot and parked, then put the sign she’d made in her windshield.
Allison glanced at her watch as she locked her car. She wouldn’t beat sunset by much, but she’d make it. She slung her daypack over her shoulder and headed toward the trail that would take her to her brother.
They’d always been close. At least growing up. Maybe they were still close, but the fact he’d left without a word and been out here for five months without letting her or their mom know where he was—that was not cool.
She and Parker hadn’t seen each other much during college. Out-of-state school for her, Parker working insane hours getting his moving company going . . . Their schedules didn’t line up. During holidays, yes, but that was about it. Then the summer after her junior year of college, she’d decided to take a year off school. She’d broken up with a boyfriend and announced her plan to hike the Pacific Crest Trail from southern Oregon to southern Washington. Parker joined her, and they grew closer than ever. But now? He’d checked out. Gone off the grid. Found someplace off in the middle of nowhere and gone silent.
Allison trudged on, hand shoved in the pocket of her jeans, hat pulled down low over her face. She checked her pocket odometer. Getting close. Another fifteen minutes and she should be there. There had been no one else on the road in and no one on the trail. Parker had wanted to get away from it all? Mission accomplished.
Sixty feet farther up the trail, Allison spotted a No Trespassing sign nailed to a tree on the right. Twenty feet more, another one on her left. Then a Private Property sign. They were weathered but not much.
A trail leading off to the right at a forty-five-degree angle made Allison hesitate. Parker hadn’t mentioned it in his letter, so the logical choice was to stay the course. She trekked on in silence till a sound out of place in the forest stopped her cold. Then movement to her left. A second later a man stepped out from between two small trees and pointed a shotgun at Allison’s chest.
“Stop moving, little lady. Unless you want a hole in your chest the size of a beach ball.”