Page 121 of The Reveal
There are pockets of mist and fog, small-animal tracks, and waterfalls in all directions. Beside me, Gran is humming to herself.In front, Samuel and Augie are talking in low voices about old football games played by long-since-eaten teams.
Just substitute my grandfather for Samuel, or even my dad in one of his rare family moods, and this could be any sweet Saturday from our childhood. The kind of day that would make me imagine that really, it wasn’t allsobad. It has the same effect now.
By the time we get to Union Creek—where there was once a very small community, my favorite campground in Oregon, and a diner that made the best pie in the Pacific Northwest—I’m almost ready to pretend everything really is normal. To get out of the car, go into the still-standing diner building, and ask if they have a slice of homemade marionberry they can heat up for me. And go heavy on the vanilla ice cream.
When we drive by, there are signs of life, but none of us knows what to make of it. Snow has been cleared from the main road. There are trucks parked all around and lights on inside the diner and the general store across the way. I can see smoke coming from some of the buildings.
It looks beautiful and bucolic, and we know better than to stop.
“Do you think they’re human?” I ask. Maybe a little bit wistfully.
“I haven’t heard one way or the other,” Samuel says, frowning out his window. “I suppose they could be. This is out of the way.”
Gran sniffs. “Not for wolves.”
Augie says nothing.
Samuel keeps driving. “Humans really have to stick together. That’s such an important part of keeping Jacksonville on the map. If we’re together, we have strength. I believe that. Don’t you, Winter?”
Only half listening, I jolt to attention when he says my name.
“I’ve been to every one of your meetings, Samuel,” I remind him. “As you know.”
Augie glances over his shoulder but doesn’t have to say a word. I’m just glad that both of us find Samuel annoying.
“I appreciate this notion you have,” Samuel continues as he navigates his way to the turn—where there used to be signs—that leads to Crater Lake. “It’s a very interesting experiment you’re doing, Winter. Really. And I know that everyone in school had a thing about Maddox Hemming. I get it.”
“I have a thing about rent money, Samuel,” I say, making sure to use his name in the same way he’s using mine. Irritatingly. “Maddox Hemming is just icing on the rent cake.”
“Humans should stick together,” Samuel says again and darkly, to my ear, and I swear he deliberately wiggles the steering wheel so I crash into the window next to me.
“Hey,” Augie says, sounding deceptively relaxed when I can see that he’s tense. “My grandmother is in the back seat. Be careful.”
The look that passes between him and Samuel then does not seem friendly andup with humans, but Samuel has more to concentrate on. This road is covered in snow, no hint of any plowing, and we have to bump along as best we can.
It’s actually a relief when we finally make it up the winding road and into the park. Or what used to be a national park and is now ... just here, though likely better off with the lack of annual tourists.
We make our way up to where the visitors’ center used to sit—and still does, I see, though it was gutted long ago. There used to be a gift shop, a cafeteria, a small museum. A little farther down the road is the lodge, where I always wanted to stay but never did.
But if anyone is staying there now, I don’t want to know.
We climb out of the truck into significant snow on the ground. I’m comforted by the fact that there are no tracks or footprints anywhere to be seen, and also that we all dressed appropriately. The sky above is still gray, with no snow flurries. At least not now.
All good news for our little gang, I think.
Augie and I each offer Gran an elbow, and she holds on to us with a surprisingly tight grip as we walk over to the rim and one of the overlooks.
There’s a wall there, still. And without meaning to, I catch my breath as we look out. Because Crater Lake is stunning, no matter why I might have come here today. Considered one of the seven great wonders of Oregon, I always thought it had its place on any list of wonders of the world. It’s the deepest lake in America. It has always been the sort of place that lends itself to myths and legends. Some claim that the natives feared this place and would not come here. The Klamath told of a monster who lived in its depths and asserted that the hills surrounding it were ripe with all manner of demons.
A trip to the abandoned library in Jacksonville also told me that there are other stories of those who came here to find their power, to risk whatever lurks in the lake, and to harness the magic here.
I find I believe all of the above, and more than that, I knowexactlywho is at the bottom of this lake.
I’ve swum in it myself. Some summers, I’ve hiked down the trail that leads to the water’s edge to put my feet in. Sometimes I’ve even gone swimming, jumping off rocks to submerge myself in the lake’s icy grip.
I always left exhilarated.
Like it was preparing you to be a vampire’s lover,something in me whispers.
