“Well, if they saw what was coming … if they took precautions, Paterville may be the only game in town now.”
Then Christie saw a handmade sign, big block letters dripping, on the side of the road.
APPROACHING DINGMAN’S FALLS. Then in smaller letters. BE PREPARED TO STOP!
Christie spoke quietly. “Did you know that there’d be so many of these stops?”
Jack shook his head. “Nothing in the brochure about them. No big deal.” Then: “Good to know that they’re trying to keep their towns safe.”
“If you say so.”
It was nearly four P.M.
They’d be at the camp soon. Time to wash up. And then sample some of the home-grown food that Paterville offered.
He passed a speed limit sign: 25 MPH. Get cars driving nice and slow through the town.
Just beyond it, a makeshift barrier—a sawhorse with a blinking yellow light at each end.
Jack slowed down.
He leaned over to Christie and whispered.
“God, what is this?
But Simon had unplugged and immediately asked, “What’s
Christie turned to Simon as one of the locals walked up to the car, a big rifle hung over his shoulder.
“A movie about the mountains, honey.” She saw that even Kate had looked up, taking note of the men at the impromptu barrier.
The man by Jack’s window made a rolling motion with his hand.
Christie looked at the other men at the barrier. Five of them, all with rifles. As if expecting an invasion.
“Afternoon, folks.”
The man leaned down to get a good look into the car and Christie got an equally good look at him. Eyes filmy. A little drunk.
Good combination, booze and bullets.
The guy did something weird with his mouth, as if removing a wad of gum that had become lodged in his cheek. Maybe shifting an errant tooth back into position.
“Afternoon,” Jack said.
Two other men had also come closer now. One of the younger guys seemed to have spotted Kate.
The man at the window tried to widen his eyes. “You folks stopping here, at Dingman’s Falls?”
Jack shook his head.
“Just passing through. We’re on our way to the Paterville Family Camp.”
The man looked away from the window.
“Figured that. Though right here in Dingman’s is real nice. Got the falls … nice people. Good town. And it’s clear. Know what I mean?”
“Clear?” Jack said.
“
Christie saw Jack’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. Never a good one for hiding his tension.
“Good to hear. Nice and safe town. Great.”
The man nodded. “But I got to tell you. You seem like nice people. So, a bit of advice. Stuff they didn’t tell you when you left the big highway. The towns here, they’re safe. The people make them safe. But in between, like when you leave Dingman’s … and head on to Scooter’s Mill?”
“The next town?”
A nod.
“Don’t stop.”
The man was looking right at Kate as if she was the special of the evening at the local greasy spoon.
“Don’t stop,” he repeated. “Keep your windows up.” Back to Jack. “Eyes on the road. Look out for anything
“Thanks for the advice.”
Jack didn’t sound too sincere.
Perhaps the man picked up on that.
“Paterville, hm? Hear it’s nice. And pricey. Musta set you back a bundle.”
Jack clenched his hands tighter on the steering wheel. He’s just about to hit his limit, Christie guessed.
“Yeah. Saved a long time.” A breath. “Look, we’ve been traveling all day.”
The man backed up.
“Sure, sure. You wanna get going. Just remember what I said, hm? You seem like nice folk. Wanna see you coming back this way, next week, whenever your
“Thanks.”
Some of the other men began to move the sawhorse, opening up a lane and a way past this checkpoint and into the town of Dingman’s Falls.
Once again, the man made a rolling motion with his hand.
Jack hit a button and the window went up as he slowly cruised past the volunteer guards.
* * *
Christie watched the town roll by, dotted with people. A lone boy on a bike. Two men outside a shuttered hardware store, talking, taking due notice as Jack drove by.
“Dingman’s Falls,” Jack said to her as they left the town.
“Have to make sure we come back real soon, y’hear?”
“Absolutely. Maybe buy a little vacation condo.”
Christie laughed. “You could join the local border patrol.”
“Get me some
But somehow, the last thing Jack said didn’t sound funny.
Trophies. What the hell kind of trophies would they have?
Outside the town, things turned even more surreal. Motel cabins with holes in the roofs, paint flaking off in giant clumps, the color barely holding on, doors smashed in.
Lots of bears on the signs. The Sportsmen’s Lodge. The Nite Owl. The Emerald Inn. All those happy bears on the decrepit signs.
The area looked as if it had been hit by bombs, turned into a war zone.
Christie stole a quick glance at the kids, sitting in the back, barely taking notice.
