“Umm, y-yeah, sure.” The father grabs a newspaper off the picnic table. Hands it to Hunter, who begins ripping and wadding up pages and dropping them in the center of the stone circle. Then he starts crisscrossing small sticks and twigs over the wads of paper until he’s built a teepee. Grabs the pack of matches. Scratches one. The paper flames orange up into the twigs. He starts laying larger sticks over the burning twigs. “Do this for a few; then add a larger stick. We’ll get it.”

“Man, I tried to get that shit going. It just wouldn’t fucking burn for me.”

“We’ll get it. Just takes a little finagling.”

“Patience, more like. I just don’t got much of that anymore.”

On the picnic table are paper plates with a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and Hershey bars. “Making s’mores?” Hunter asks.

The guy chuckles. “Well, hell, we just might get to, now that you came along. I appreciate the help. Wasn’t sure if you was coming over to help, or to hand me my ass ’cause of something I did in a bar years ago when I was too drunk to remember.”

The man offers his hand. “Wendell.”

He doesn’t introduce his son. Gripping Hunter’s hand, he’s trying to show his strength.

“Hunter.”

“Dude, I really appreciate the help.”

Releasing the man’s hand, Hunter looks to the skinny kid with long dark bangs and green eyes. “And you are?”

“Devon.” He’s wearing a Slipknot T-shirt.

Hunter shakes Devon’s hand. “Cool shirt.”

And Wendell asks, “Stupid question: You lift?”

“Yeah, my buddies and I spot each other back where we live.”

“Thought so. You got that swollen look about you,” Wendell says, puffing up his chest while pulling on the collar of his shirt. It’s like a nervous tic. “Where y’all from?”

“North Carolina.”

“Out for a long ride?”

“You might say. Traveling to California. My father passed away. Taking our time, taking in the countryside. Figure it’ll take us a week or better to get there.”

“Damn. Sorry to hear that, man.”

From behind comes the rumble of Itch’s Harley. “Appreciate it, dude. Hate to run off, but my buddy’s back. You and Devon have a good evening. Need anything, give us a shout.”

“Appreciate it, man,” Wendell says.

Walking back to the campsite, Hunter sees Itch turning off the fuel petcock on his motorcycle. Pulling some white plastic grocery sacks from his leather saddle bags, he says, “Grabbed us a six-pack of Zombie Dust beer, some candied almonds, Mingua beef jerky, Grippo’s chips, and a little water to keep us hydrated.” Looking at Hunter, he asks, “Everything cool?”

“Yeah, just giving some campers a little help with their fire.”