CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Mac headed down Palmer Street and drove through the yellow police tape.
Nash had no idea why it was called a street. It was nothing more than a concrete track. Nash figured old man Mason had possibly preempted the town getting so large that the road to the factory would need a street name.
Now the road was broken with weeds and grass growing from the cracks in the old concrete. Birch trees lined the way with oaks behind those. At the end of the road, Nash and Mac caught sight of the old Mason factory.
Nash had only been there at night. But seeing it by day was something else.
The tall gray building looked like something from a nightmare. The walls were matted with moss and vines, the windows of the factory were smashed. The metal of the beams and window frames were
