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"Look at that moon," Cyrus whispered. They were the first words he had uttered in over an hour. |
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Kyna glanced over. "You seem awfully preoccupied with the moon lately." |
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He fell back into his thoughts. |
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A little after three in the morning, Kyna exited I-5 at the California border, and a short time later they entered the outskirts of Crescent City. |
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"This place is really jumping," Kyna muttered, anxious to hear even the sound of her own voice. |
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Crescent City was a tourist way point and fishing village with more mom-and-pop motels and Burger King restaurants than permanent residents. The city's claim to fame was U.S. Highway 101, the Redwood Highway. A two-lane blacktop road that snaked down from the Oregon border, passing through the coastal redwood forests along the Northern California coast. After driving through what passed for the downtown business district, Kyna followed the big curve in 101 that turned south toward San Franciscoa little over 350 miles to the south. They had just started past the town's motel row when Kyna suddenly pulled over at a small roadside park and announced that she was too exhausted to go on. Cyrus nodded and suggested they pick one of the inns across the highway and catch a few hours' sleep. |
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To Cyrus went the thankless task of shaking the innkeeper out of bed, and after weathering the old woman's indignation, he deposited their overnight bags in a frumpy second-floor room on the back side of building two, the side that faced the forest. Kyna made a beeline for the bathroom and ten minutes later marched across the room and climbed into bed. |
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"'Night." She was asleep before her head hit the pillow. |
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Cyrus stepped over the wet towels to take his turn in the shower stall, a medieval contraption so narrow that he had to step out, turn around and step back in to rinse the last traces of dried blood from his back. When finished, he wrapped a towel around his waist andwet hair and allwalked out on the balcony and leaned stiff arms on the wrought-iron railing. |
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