Waindale
"I know I sound crazy, but you have to believe me when I say that I have a bad feeling. I know something is wrong. I need to get to him."
Adam's mother thinks again about my words. It's as if I can see her thoughts processing through the black of her eyes.
"Alright," she says. "Let's go. Come on."
She drives us down a road I've never been on before, and it suddenly turns to dirt. I realize it's because I've never been this north of Waindale, an area close to the mountains and blanketed by dense forest. The ground is uneven and rocky, bouncing me around in my seat. When I stare out at the trees, they seem to carry on forever, never thinning out, only becoming thicker, so close that they seem
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