Spencerville

north from Atlanta into a vast tract of unspoiled wilderness, hills, lakes, streams, and marsh. Billy commented, “I remember that the roads on the map don’t always match the roads on the ground.”
    “Okay.” Keith turned on the overhead light and glanced at the map. The region they were entering was mostly state land, about two or three hundred square miles of forest, most of it accessible only by logging roads, game trails, and canoe. Keith couldn’t see a single village or settlement. He shut off the light and handed Billy the map. “You navigate.”
    Billy took a flashlight out of the glove compartment and studied the map.
    Keith said, “Baxter’s lodge is on the north side of Grey Lake.”
    Billy glanced at him but didn’t ask how he knew that. Billy said, “Okay… I see a road goin’ around the east side of the lake, but it don’t turn around to the far north side.”
    “We’ll find it.”
    “Yeah, people got these wood signs like that one over there, pointin’ up these dirt roads with their names on it—see that? ‘John and Joan’s Hideaway.’” Billy asked, “You know what his place is called?”
    “No… yes, I think it’s ‘Big Chief Cliff’s Lodge.’” Keith added, “But I have a feeling he took down his welcome sign.”
    “Yeah… we might have to ask around.”
    “I don’t see another human being around to ask, Billy.”
    “There’s usually somebody. They’ll know.”
    “Right, and they might call on ahead to Baxter.”
    “Yeah, maybe. Hey, you think about all these things, don’t you? Maybe I should start thinkin’ ahead once in a while.”
    “Can’t hurt. Start now.”
    They continued on through the pitch-dark night, through the narrow, winding road, bordered by towering pines. Keith asked, “You ever hunt through here?”
    “Now and then. You got deer, bobcat, and even bear. You get the odd timberwolf, too. But you got to know the area or you could get fucked-up in here. I mean, this ain’t the end of the world, but I think you can see it from here.”
    After a few minutes, Billy said, “You take this here small road to the left, and it wraps around almost to the north end of Grey Lake. After that, we got to wing it.”
    “Okay.” Keith turned onto the road, which was barely wide enough for the truck, and the pine boughs brushed both sides of the cab. Off to the left, through the pines, Keith caught a glimpse of the lake itself. A bright, nearly full moon had risen, and the lake indeed looked gray, like polished pewter. It was maybe a mile across, totally surrounded by pine with a few bare birch at the water’s edge. He saw no lights from boats or from houses in the pines.
    Truly, he thought, this was a spectacular piece of the world, but it was very far removed from Michigan’s other recreational areas, and Keith wondered what Annie thought of her husband buying a place in this wilderness. It occurred to him that, for people used to the endless horizons and big blue sky of farm country, this place must feel claustrophobic and nearly spooky, and it was probably hell in the winter. Baxter, however, would feel at home here, Keith realized, a timberwolf in his element.
    Keith spotted a cabin through the trees that looked uninhabited, and he suspected that most of these places were probably weekend homes, and, for all he knew, there wasn’t a single human being around the lake other than himself and Billy, and Cliff and Annie Baxter, which was fine with him, he thought. Before dawn, the population of Grey Lake would be zero.
    The road curved around the lake, and, again, Keith caught a glimpse of it to his left, then the road turned north again, away from the lake, and Keith pulled over.
    Billy said, “There’s got to be a road wide enough for a truck to get through someplace back there.”
    “Right.” Unable to make a U-turn, Keith backed up, looking for an opening in the pine trees and brush. There were utility poles along the narrow road, and Keith tried to spot an electric line or telephone wire that ran from a pole toward the lake.
    Finally, Keith nudged the pickup off the road onto a narrow drainage shoulder, leaving room for another vehicle to pass. He got out of the truck, and Billy followed. It was cold, Keith noticed, and he could see his breath. It was also quiet, a typical autumn evening in the northern woods, with no sounds of insects, birds, or animals, and it was dark and would stay that way until the first snows brightened the land