CHAPTER 50
HIGHWAY 3, ONCE lively and thriving, stretched out now like a severed tentacle. Topper’s boots against the blacktop made clapping noises, the slow applause of a one-man audience as he progressed down the road. Soon he’d reach the old service road that wound up behind Mountain Vista. The abandoned ranger hut was up on the ridge that backed the neighborhood.
He’d woken this morning to a blank slate, unable to remember where he was or how he’d arrived there. Then he’d heard the sound of a woodpecker scrounging up breakfast and the pieces flew together. He stared up at the tarp, rippling in the breeze, feeling the slippery pine needles beneath the sleeping bag. It was time to pack up and move.
He ate two granola bars for breakfast and downed half a bottle of water, stashing the r
