Shortly their headlights illuminated a rustic, wooden sign that read Rainbow Lake Campground. Just beyond it was a small log cabin with another sign, this one tacked to the railing that ran the length of the porch. Office, it read and, a small board hanging under it read, Closed.
Lane slowed down, but Remy waved him on. “I have the keys already,” he said. “We have about a mile and a half to go. Keep left at the fork.”
A marker reading LAKE stood at the fork in the road, with an arrow pointing to the left. Lane followed it, moving slower now that the dirt road had dwindled to nothing more than two rutted tire tracks worn into the earth. They passed a few other cabins—larger than the office one, obviously meant to be rented out by couples or families—and saw a couple of tents pitched a way
