After a sniff or two, Green found to his surprise that he could pick up the faint scent of rotting vegetation and fish mixed with the fragrance of pine. Nighthawk took some water and tucked the can- teen back into his pack. Lowering his voice, he said, “We'll have to be very careful from here on in. I'll communicate with hand signals.”

Green gave him the okay sign, and they set off again. Almost im- mediately, the scenery began to change. The trees grew shorter and slimmer as the soil under their feet became sandier. The under- growth thickened, and they had to push their way through thorns that ripped at their clothes.

Shafts of light streamed in from breaks in the trees overhead.

Then, quite suddenly, they could see the sparkle of water. At a sig- nal from Nighthawk, they got down on their hands and knees and made their way to the edge of the lake.

After a moment, Nighthawk stood and walked to the water's edge, with Green following. An elderly Cessna floatplane was tied up at a rickety dock. Nighthawk inspected the plane, finding nothing out of

place. He removed the cowling and gasped when he saw the engine. “Josh, look at this!”

Green peered at the engine. “Looks like someone took an ax to it.” The hoses and connections hung loose where they had been cut.

The engine was scarred in a dozen places where it had been hit with something hard.

“This is why no one could fly out of here,” Nighthawk said. He pointed to a foot-worn trail that led away from the floatplane dock. “That path leads to the village.”

Within minutes, they were making their way to the edge of a clearing. Nighthawk held out his hand for them to stop. Then he squatted on his haunches and peered with sharp eyes through the bushes. “There's no one here,” he said finally.

“Are you sure?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Nighthawk said. He walked unafraid into the open, with Green hesitantly taking up the rear.

The village consisted of a dozen or so sturdy-looking log houses, most with porches. They were built on both sides of a swath of packed-down dirt in a rough approximation of a small town's Main Street, complete with one structure that had a general-store sign on it. Green expected someone to burst out the front door at any mo- ment, but the store and every other house in the village were as still as tombs.

“This is my house, where my parents and my sister lived,” Nighthawk said, stopping in front of one of the larger structures.

He went up on the porch and went inside. After a few minutes, he came out, shaking his head. “No one. Everything is in place. Like they just stepped out for a minute.”

“I poked my head in a couple of the other places,” Green said.

“Same thing. How many people lived here?”

“Forty or so.”

“Where could they have gone?”