The rain started. At the junction of Potter’s Creek and Joe Lake, forked lightning struck with a crack of thunder following just a few seconds later. Without hesitation, we headed for an old dock across the inlet where an old cabin stood just beyond the water’s edge, almost swallowed up by bushes and pine trees. We turned over the canoe as the rain began to pour. I ran barefoot through the sumac, carrying my paddle in one hand and my rain-wet backpack in the other. Water droplets slid down my face.
We didn’t break in. We pressed our faces and hands against the old windows and saw that the bottom part of the door was a simple piece of plywood, which fell out of place when Toby tapped it. I went to make sure the canoe was safely on land. The sky was dark, except for periodic flashes of lightning. The pine trees were already dripping when I crawled through the door.
