VIAs it turned out, there was a road directly north at where Highway 28 bent east—a dirt road. It even had a couple crude signs, one of which read REDNECK HIGHWAY and the other BARLEY HOT SPRINGS: 22 MILES. Williams couldn’t figure it, even after consulting his maps; for one, there was the Santiago River, which stood between them and Barley and would need a bridge in order for the road to make any sense. But a bridge for a dirt road? It seemed unlikely.
“It does say Redneck Highway,” said Sheila. “Redneck Bridge is probably a plywood ramp propped up with cinderblocks.”
“Someone’s idea of a joke, maybe,” said Sammy, and stood up from where they’d all knelt around the map.
Williams remained crouched, squinting down the lane. “But look at it ... it runs just as straight as an arrow, and fo
