The path ran along a creek and then ended at the remnants of a washed-out wooden footbridge over the water. A sign on a pole told Court this was Accokeek Creek, and the 11th Union Army had spent the winter of 1863 camped nearby. Court’s interest in the Civil War was surpassed by his interest in survival, so he worried he might have wandered into some sort of historic park that attracted visitors. But if he had, he was all but certain he’d come in through a back entrance, and he had the distinct impression there was no one around for miles.

Court turned off his bike’s engine and rolled it to the creek’s edge, then began pushing it upstream along the bank to get around the stone fence and find some cover from the storm.

He found the woods thicker here than he’d first thought, so he continued moving on the creek’s edge, knowing he had succeeded in finding a remote location in which to hide, but wondering if he had overachieved by getting too far away from civilization to be practical. He’d been in search of a roof, and it seemed now he’d have to settle for a fallen tree or maybe just foliage with thick leaves.

His mood darkened with the frustration growing in him.

After a time he found evidence of an old set of stone stairs rising out of the creek and up a hill. They were barely visible under the brush along the creek bed, but it made him wonder if more development was close by. He pushed himself and his motorcycle up into the woods and away from the water.

As he climbed he saw that, although this path had long ago been cleared of trees, it had not been used in some time, and the farther he got from the creek, the deeper the grasses and foliage grew.

He’d gone no more than fifty feet when, ahead and off to the right of the overgrown path, he saw something big looming in the woods. He looked closer, then he rubbed rainwater out of his eyes to do a double take.

It was a two-story building, covered with vines and surrounded by oak trees. The first floor seemed to be made of stacked stone, and the second floor and the steeply pitched roof were wood plank, much of it bowed or rotten.

Court left his bike where it was and pushed into the trees to investigate the building.

The door had a lock on it, but that wasn’t going to slow Court down, because the door was lying on its side on the porch, ten feet from where it had once been affixed in the doorway.