Read The Lost for Free Online Page B

stroll through pure sunlight. I feel coated in grit.
    “Why are you here, Little Red?” he asks. “Not the universe here, but here here. Or perhaps the universe here, since that would explain it.”
    “Just trying to get home,” I say.
    “Poor damsel. You’re doing it wrong.” He sounds amused.
    “Yeah, noticed that. Listen, I need a few gallons of gas and then I have to find the entrance to the highway. Somehow, I kept missing it in the dust storm.” I try to force a laugh, as if I am a silly damsel in distress who is geographically challenged and not the victim of inexplicable weirdness. “Do you know where the highway is?”
    “I know where the Milky Way is,” he says. “You’ll love the stars here. You can see forever, if you try. Well, not right now, since it’s daylight. But try tonight. You may see your way in the Milky Way.” He sweeps his arm overhead as if he could touch the sky.
    “Just need Route 10. And gas.”
    The man sighs, and the sparkle that was in his eyes fades. “Just once, it would be nice to be surprised by someone. This place has beauty, too, if any of you would bother to see it.” He forces a smile. “But I suppose you seem like a nice enough woman. Get yourself situated, learn the rules, and stay out of the void.”
    “Um, okay. Thanks so much for your help. Really.”
    He leaps onto a fence post. Balancing on the top, he places his hands together as if he’s meditating or praying. And then he springs forward and leaps from post to post, away from town. His trench coat flaps behind him like bird wings. He runs, feet hitting the tops of posts, as if he were flying, until he’s swallowed up by the dust storm.
    He doesn’t appear again, though I wait and watch. At last, I fetch my purse, lock the car, and walk into town. I look back over my shoulder every few steps. Oddly, the storm neither spreads nor dissipates. It simply sits, as if it is waiting, too.

Chapter Four
    Abandoned houses are scattered across the desert on the outskirts of Lost. I hadn’t seen them properly in the dark when I drove into town last night, but I notice them now. There’s no pattern to them that I can see. No driveways that lead to them. No mailboxes on the road. They look as if tornados dumped them here after they failed to reach Oz. Some are Tudors, some are Capes, some Colonials, Victorians, even a triple-decker town house, which has to be hell on the third floor in August. Only a few are the usual adobe-style ranch houses that should be here. Mesquites and brambles clog their yards, and windows are boarded up or broken. Some have piles of junk in their yard—trashed cars, old appliances, bicycle parts, empty bottles.
    I see figures scurry over the piles. They’re kids, scavenging like feral cats in a dump. One girl in a torn and stained velvet dress holds up a find: an apple.
    A boy in sagging jeans swipes it out of her hands.
    Shrugging, she dives back into the pile.
    There are no parents around, but this many kids can’t be homeless. If this were L.A., maybe. But not in a small desert town. The parents must not know that their kids are playing near so much rusted junk, rotted wood, and broken glass. Ahead, the vacancy sign flashes in its syncopated rhythm. All the suitcases are gone from the motel parking lot, and there’s no sign of the crowd. The pavement has been swept clean of all the debris, bottles, cans, and clothes. I walk into the motel lobby.
    Tiffany is perched on the counter. She’s tying a rope into a noose. She has a pile of nooses already next to her. She holds one up as I enter. “Souvenir?” she offers.
    “No, thank you.” Perhaps I should have tried the diner instead of the motel. “Listen, my car ran out of gas outside town...”
    “Uh-huh.” Tiffany tosses the new noose into the pile and selects another rope.
    “I would have had enough, but I had trouble finding the entrance ramp to the highway...”
    She rolls her eyes and begins to knot another noose.