THE BLACKWOOD OAK
by Stephen Gallagher
A Paul Di Filippo Presents Selection.
Damien could see that the biker and his girlfriend had pitched their tent among the trees, about fifty yards up the hill from the picnic area. It was an orange two-man ridge job, well-used and a little faded. They’d chosen an awkward spot, away from the other campers. But with the flysheet unzipped they’d have one of the best views in the whole valley, right out across the lake to the wooded hills on the other side.
He took the keys out of the pickup and swung the door closed as the biker walked toward him.
“Damien Ryan,” he said. “Ranger Service. What’s your problem?”
The biker seemed embarrassed. He was about twenty-five, a couple of years older than Damien and a bigger man all round. He wore a white T-shi
