We’d found the thing shortly after Jesse arrived at the camp (the one in Granger, a town full of dinosaur sculptures, go figure), back when we were still getting to know each other, still feeling each other out. Quint and I had already met and mostly hit it off—I’m still not sure why, he was from nearby Wapato (population 4,997) and I was from Los Angeles (I’d taken a Greyhound to spend the summer with my uncle, who had since vanished in the Flashback). We just had, same as we had with Jesse, who had arrived a short time after without so much as a knapsack—no family, no friends, nothing—and to whom we were introducing our favorite fishing spot (perfect and secluded and shady beneath the State Route 223 bridge, on the Yakima River) when the body washed up.
“Miles, what the hell is that? I
