back to San Luis Obispo to answer the dean’s questions.
He barely heard Devon drive away as he took the gravel pathway up to the house. Why were the lights off but the fireplace going? It was getting close to seven o’clock and at least the lights in the kitchen should be glowing, with some traffic coming from the bunkhouse to the dining room.
The barn to his left was silent. One brown gelding was in the nearby corral.
It was spring and the place looked like a ghost town.
The front door creaked open under his fist and he helped his left knee up the front stoop and entered the house.
He found a weak fire, mostly glowing embers, in the living room fireplace, but the house was cool. The furnace was off. It was eerie.
A vicious snapshot, a horrific memory of the pump site, the compound, blackened to cinder. Nothing but craters and smoke where people and equipment used to be.
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