He leaned wearily against the log and pulled off his backpack. The first thing he needed to do was eat. He opened a can of beans and scarfed them down in less than a minute.
The rumble in his stomach momentarily tamed, he gathered up loose pine needles and added them to the ones already under the dead tree to create a more comfortable surface to lie on. He untied his sleeping bag from the pack, and started to unroll it. As he did, he caught a whiff of something in the air.
Smoke?
He sniffed again. It was there for a moment, then gone.
He walked through the trees in a slow circle, testing the air until he reacquired the scent. It was definitely smoke.
Forest fire?
The thought made him tense, but he was pretty sure it was too cold for that. Or did fires not care about the weather?
He took in the odor once more. There was something comforting about it, something familiar.
A campfire. That’s what it smells like.
It seemed to be coming from his left.
Could be a mile away, he thought, just drifting on the wind.
Or it could be closer.
A chill moved through his body. What if it was the people from the helicopters? Maybe a couple of them had been following him on foot.
He had a sudden urge to flee, to get as far away from the smoke as possible. Hurrying back to his gear, he rolled his sleeping bag back up, and reattached it to the bottom of his backpack. But then he paused.
What if it was someone else? Someone who could help him?
He stood there unmoving, staring into the darkness.
Just check, he thought. They’ll never know you’re there.
If he was careful and didn’t get too close, he should be okay. Besides, whoever was out there — someone looking for him or someone who could help — it would be better to know than not.
With a final deep, decisive breath, he strapped on his pack and headed toward the smoke.
Brandon allowed himself to use the flashlight as he started out, but as the odor intensified, he became more and more nervous, and finally turned it off so as not to give himself away.
He was careful to keep the sound of his footsteps to a minimum as he watched the forest ahead for any sign of the campfire. So far, the darkness remained unchanged.
Maybe it was a mile away, he thought. If he didn’t reach it in the next few minutes, he’d find another place to camp for the night, then look for the source of the smoke again in the morning.
He’d barely had that thought when he noticed he could see the sky up ahead above a large clearing.
He moved to the edge of the tree line and stopped. The clearing was probably twice as big as the one where Hayes had been killed, but its size wasn’t what caught Brandon’s attention. His eyes were fixed on something just the other side of center.
A house, spewing smoke from its chimney.
For thirty minutes, Brandon remained where he was, hidden in the trees. He shifted his gaze from window to window, watching for movement.
The house was two stories high, but small. He didn’t think there could be more than two or three rooms on each floor. The fireplace was on the far side of the house, the chimney peeking up above the roof, silhouetted against the night sky.
There were three windows on the side facing Brandon, one on the first floor and two on the second. Because of the smoke, he knew someone had to be home, but the windows were all dark.
Still not comfortable enough to approach the house, he moved counterclockwise around the edge of the clearing to get a look at the rest of the structure. There were four windows on the new side — dark like the others — equally divided between the floors. There was also a door off to one side on the bottom floor. It had a set of three narrow steps that led down to the ground, and looked to Brandon like a backdoor instead of the main way in.
He kept going.
The next side was the one with the chimney — two windows here, one on each floor, and the stone chimney widening out to the back of a large fireplace.
There was also another building he’d been unable to see before. It was set off to the side about a hundred feet from the house, almost butting up against the trees. It looked to Brandon like a shed or garage.
Maybe he could find a way into it, and spend the night there. It would sure be better than sleeping out in the woods. After the sun came up in the morning, he could knock on the door of the house. Or maybe see if someone came outside first, and then decide if he should approach them.
He moved through the trees until the structure was between him and the house, and quietly slipped over to the building. Like the house, it had wood siding that had seen its share of bad weather.
He eased up to the corner and took a cautious look around it. Definitely a garage, he decided. The side he was looking at had a wide door that was more than large enough for a good-sized SUV to pass through. It appeared to be the kind of door that rolled up. If he could move it a foot or so, he should be able to slip underneath.
He sneaked over to the handle, and gently tugged it upward. The door barely moved a quarter inch before it stopped. When he tried again, the same thing happened.
Great, he thought.
It was probably operated by a remote control, like the garage his family had had once. No way he’d be able to open it on his own.
There’s got to be another door, right?
He moved to the far corner and peeked around. The house was just a stone’s throw away. From this angle he could see both the side with the chimney and what was obviously the front, given the small covered porch and door more appropriate for a main entrance. The windows there, like the rest of the house, were dark.
Slowly, he stuck his head out far enough so he could look along the side of the garage. There was a door.
He looked at the house again, studying the windows.
They’re asleep, he thought. They won’t see me.
He had to repeat this to himself a couple times before he got the courage to step around the side and sneak over to the door.
He placed his fingers on the handle and twisted it. Locked again, but the door was loose. He gently pushed against it, and could feel the bolt wanting to slip out of the latch. He thought for a moment, then pulled out Mr. Hayes’s pocket knife. He couldn’t get it all the way through the space between the door and the frame, but he was able to angle it in so that the tip touched the bolt. Working it like a lever, he pushed the bolt away from the latch until it was finally free.
Smiling in relief, he sent up a silent prayer wishing for nothing creepy to be inside, then pushed the door open, and quickly passed through.
The moment he closed the door behind him, the interior of the garage was plunged into darkness. He stood motionless, thinking he only needed a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but as time passed the garage remained pitch-black. Not having a choice, he pulled out his flashlight and turned it on. The beam seemed impossibly bright, and he quickly put his free hand over the lens, cutting the illumination by more than half.
Worried that the light might have been seen from the house, he moved back to the door and placed his ear against it. After several quiet seconds, he began to breathe easily again, and allowed himself to take stock of his surroundings.