“Which way, Bo?” he asked, putting the truck in
gear.
“Let’s head over to Black Creek.”
They drove north along Jernigan Road until they
neared a crossroads, at which point, Bo told him to
turn left toward the setting sun. As they approached
the backside of the unincorporated little town of Black
Creek, population around 600 give or take a handful,
the empty land gave way to houses.
“Slow down a hair,” said Bo and his porkpie hat
swung back and forth as he studied both sides.
Dwight knew Bo was enjoying himself so he did not
spoil that enjoyment by asking questions.
“There!” Bo said suddenly, pointing to a narrow dirt
road that led south. “Let’s see how far down you can
get your truck.”
The houses here were not much more than shacks and
75
MARGARET MARON
the dark-skinned children who played outside stopped
to stare as the two white men passed.
The dirt road ended in a cable stretched between up-
rights that looked like sawed-off light poles. Beyond the
cable, the land dropped off sharply in a tangle of black-
berry bushes and trash trees strangled in kudzu and
honeysuckle vines. A well-worn footpath began beside
the left upright and disappeared in the undergrowth.
Bo looked back down the dirt road to the low build-
ings clustered in the distance, then nodded to himself
and struck off down the path.
Dwight followed.
In a few minutes, they reached the creek that gave
the little town its name and the path split to run in both
directions along the bank. Without hesitation, Bo fol-
lowed the flow of water that ran deep and swift after so
much rain.
They came upon the charred remains of a campfire
built in a scooped-out hollow edged with creek stones
next to a fallen tree that had probably toppled during
the last big hurricane and that now probably served as
a bench for the kids who had cleared the site. A dirt
bike with a twisted frame lay on the far side of the log.
Scattered around were several beer cans, an empty wine
bottle, cigarette butts and some fast-food wrappers.
There were also a couple of roach clips and an empty
plastic prescription bottle that had held a relatively mild
painkiller, which Dwight picked up. The owner’s name
was no longer legible, but the name of the pharmacy
was there and so was most of the prescription number.
