Firewatch Ch 8

The rain has stopped, and the moon is out. The town is quieter than ever. Flores doesn’t love the pitiful hotel or its proprietor, who is almost suspiciously unhelpful. She locks her room and ventures out, composing a text to Wilde:

Chief of Police is Ava Johnson. No address.

There’s a restaurant that’s still open, but Flores doesn’t like her odds in there. Her stature often prevents her from being taken seriously, and asking questions now will tip their hand. Better to try it tomorrow with Wilde, whose height will be a significant advantage. Wilde has the rental car. Flores can’t see all of Barney on foot, but she tries to put herself in the shoes of Hailee Siegel.

She and whoever she’s with are on the move. They aren’t at the motel. A van, a camper, or an RV is a possibility. It’s also likely that they’ve moved on, but not without someone seeing something. Flores and Wilde just need to find that lead. This town is so quiet that any visitors must attract attention. A diesel engine from two streets over sounds loud.

Flores heads for the bright lights the larger of the two gas stations. The convenience store is warm, new, and full of good smells. A pint of ice cream is tempting; she doesn’t have to behave when she’s away from home, but there’s no freezer to put it in. She carries snacks and drinks to the counter, where an older woman waits, her hand resting on the phone facedown beside the register.

“Hi. Is this everything?” the cashier asks.

“Almost. Have you seen Chief Johnson lately?”

“Nope.” She begins scanning items.

“Any unusual groups of people coming through town?”

“Unusual how?”

“Any groups at all?”

The woman makes a face and glances toward the pumps. “I don’t know what to tell you, miss…”

“Flores.” Flores holds up her ID. The woman looks startled.

“Aren’t you a little short for an FBI agent?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. Have you seen this girl?” She shows a picture of Hailee Siegel.

There’s a slight hesitation. “Maybe. Maybe—I remember that hair. I don’t know if she came in. But she might’ve been here.”

Flores’s heart lifts. This store is new. The cameras are new. Her odds are getting better every second.

F-Files

Across town, Wilde perches on a stool in a bar hardly wider than she is. The place has a lot of personality, even for a dive bar. A collection of battered license plates and questionable photos of bigfoot are among the memorabilia on the walls. The smell of marijuana is pungent. Another text comes through from Flores:

Wilde smiles. Flores is doing good work out there. There’s nothing wrong with traditional canvassing. She replies:

“Can I get you another one?”

Wilde looks up. The pretty bartender leans on the counter, beaming at her. Her red hair has some fun, silvery highlights. Her gold and black plaid top shows plenty of cleavage. She is the most cheerful person that Wilde has seen yet on this particular trip to Oregon, although the bar is low.

“I should pace myself,” Wilde says warmly.

The bartender glances at the phone. “Girlfriend?”

“Partner. Coworker.” Wilde puts the phone down. “What is there around here? Any nightlife?”

“You’re looking at it,” she replies with a laugh, sweeping the bar with her eyes. There are five other drinkers. One awkward first date, one career alcoholic, and two relatively young guys deep in their phones. Wilde guesses they’re doing a little light sports betting.

“I guess it’s a weeknight.”

“People stay in more since that new gas station got its big liquor aisle. Sometimes kids go and drink and hook up at the campground, but nobody’s going out there much when it’s cold like this.”

“You call this cold?”

“It’s nippy. Something wrong?”

The window is dirty, but Wilde can see a woman across the street, just at the edge of the glow cast by a streetlight. She’s just standing there. It’s difficult to make her out.

Wilde clears her throat and refocuses on the bartender. “What?”

“Are you OK?”

Wilde looks again. The woman’s gone. “Yeah. You said there’s a campground?”

“Yup. Pretty popular in the summer.”

Wilde puts her chin in her hand and smiles, looking into the bartender’s eyes. “Want to show me how to get there?”

The bartender blushes.