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sixties, sweat covered his face.
    “We’re not here to hurt you. Don’t shoot. Just tell us you’re here!” he yelled, further annihilating the peaceful atmosphere. Seconds passed in silence. He nodded toward Sam, took a deep breath, and rushed into the darkened room.
    Straining his vision in the dimness, he scanned the room’s layout. One door led to the back, another to where the bathroom might be. Sam followed, and they opened each door to check the rooms.
    “Clear,” Dalton said out of an old habit no longer necessary.
    “Are there keys anywhere?”
    Breathless from the adrenaline rush, Dalton pointed to a key rack mounted behind the main door.
    Sam said, “There’s one missing.”
    “One of the keys?”
    “Yeah. Cabin seven.”
    Dalton looked at the keyboard hanging on the wall and, in fact, keys swung from every hook except the one for cabin 7. “Hmmm . . . you think there’s someone here and they’re staying in cabin seven? Can it really be that easy?”
    “Maybe someone was left here when the sickness began. Maybe cabin seven is the owner’s cabin, or the caretaker’s?”
    “Well, let’s go find out. Grab the keys to the others. We’ll clear them along the way. The noise might rattle them out of their hidey-hole.”
    “There’s no doubt in my mind they’ve heard us by now, if there’s anyone here.”
    Dalton agreed. Whoever was here was either hiding in fear or waiting to ambush them. He had to convince the residents that even though they were trespassing, Dalton’s group didn’t intend to stay more than one night, and he wanted to warn them about the enemy to the south.
    As they exited the office, Rick nodded in their direction. Dalton pointed down to the row of cabins, and Rick understood their intention. Dalton cautiously walked down the row of cabins and Sam followed, covering their rear. An attack could come from any direction, and though they were guarding against the most obvious, they were completely vulnerable.
    At cabin 7, the one missing its key, Dalton looked in the window before opening the door. The dark interior showed no signs of life, so he knocked loudly. “Anyone there?” He paused as his plea echoed across the lake. He tilted his head toward the rear of the cabin for Sam to check it out. After a few seconds, Sam called it clear.
    Dalton reached for the doorknob and turned it, and the door opened easily. Sam rejoined him, and the two stepped inside. The combination living room and kitchen was clean and neat, with white cabinet fronts and light streaming through a small window framed in cheery yellow plaid curtains above the kitchen sink. The bedroom and loft bunk room slept four easily, and the beds were neatly made. There were no personal affects lying about, and no dirty dishes, but there was wood stacked by the woodstove and clean, dry towels hung neatly in the bathroom.
    “What’s out of place here?” Dalton asked Sam. “Sure, it’s a cabin rental, it should be clean and tidy, but what am I missing?”
    “It smells fresh,” Sam answered. “The upstairs window is cracked open a few inches. Nothing’s out of place, and there isn’t a musty smell; there would be if that window had been shut the whole time. Someone’s keeping this place up.” Sam pointed behind Dalton’s head toward the door. “There’s your missing key.” Beside the doorframe, at eye level, key number 7 hung from a hook.
    Dalton flipped on a light switch; nothing happened. “No power. Not that I expected it.”
    “Someone must be maintaining the dam. Leeching out the water after storms, taking care of these cabins. Do you want to keep going, or stay here tonight?”
    “As much as I’d like to keep going, it’ll take all day to get everyone over here. We’ll stay put until tomorrow,” Dalton said.
    With that they headed back to the boat to drive off the truck. When they were through, Sam stayed with the truck while Rick and Dalton returned with the barge for the next load.
     
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