CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Mesquite Acres was a sprawling trailer park on the other side of I-86 from the equally massive gas station. Rylie plugged 1490 Mesquite into Michael’s GPS, and the route took them past a sign, painted on metal, that had faded so dramatically by the sun that the name of the place could barely be seen, surrounded on each side by flat, dusty terrain and browned bushes. The park itself was surrounded by metal fencing, and there were perhaps fifty dilapidated motor homes situated within it, though there was room for at least ten times more. A collapsing swimming pool and wind-pummeled playground were vacant in the distance, and although faint, sloppily played chords from a guitar were audible, there was no sign of life to be found.
“Looks like a nice place,” Michael mused, pul
