Locked Doors (Andrew Z. ThomasLuther Kite Series Book 2) by Blake Crouch

Author:Blake Crouch [Crouch, Blake]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2010-09-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 44

MOONLESS and windless, the island brooded: cold, dark, silent. Having left the backpack in the church, we followed the path back to the old general store and turned at the junction onto a southbound trail that would lead us to the middle village ruins in the island’s interior.

We traversed Doctors Creek, passed an abandoned schoolhouse, and entered a thicket of live oaks.

Violet walked ahead of me.

The only sound came from the swish of wet Gortex, the splat of our boots in mud.

The trail narrowed.

We didn’t talk.

All around us the undergrowth rioted, impenetrable, in a state of unkempt anarchy, live oaks dripping, wet branches clawing at our arms and legs. I could hardly see Violet and she could hardly see the path before her. Occasionally she’d veer from the trail into a shrub, sigh, and right herself. I debated going back for the headlamp but decided against it. We’d already hiked at least a quarter of a mile and according to the map the ruins weren’t far ahead.

As we pushed on into the interior, I realized that I was trusting Violet to guide us, my eyes fixed on the back of her boots.

I couldn’t decide if I were more afraid of finding or not finding Luther.

At last we emerged from the thicket and arrived at the edge of a vast marsh.

I whispered for Violet to stop.

We’d reached the ruins.

Just off the trail I noticed what was left of a house—a crumbling stone chimney surrounded by a pile of rotten boards. Other remnants of the village were scattered throughout the neighboring wood. A brick chimney sprouted up from the middle of the marsh, no trace of the house it had warmed more than a century ago.

I told Violet to keep walking.

The trail followed a slim land bridge across the wetland. As we walked, distant splashes and squawks rang out across the water.

Well there’s some old hunting lodges down past the middle village ruins.

I kept hearing Charlie Tatum’s voice and thinking of that passage from Orson’s journal:

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