By the time they got to a crossroads with the
first main highway beyond the island, she’d all but lost it. “I
think it goes left,” she said, as Michael slowed for the
intersection. At that time of night, they’d seen few cars once they
crossed the bridge. No one pulled up behind to insist they move
when Michael braked to a halt. She stared north and south,
straining for more substantial hints of the trail, but finally
sighed and gave it up. “I think it goes south—to the left, but I
won’t be able to follow it much farther. It’s all but gone.”
Michael sighed. “They’re probably heading for
I-40 or the airport at Wilmington.”
“It’s what I’d do.”
“Me too.” He put the car in gear and executed
a two-point turn-around on the deserted road.
“What now?” she asked.
A near-full moon, par
