Read Online The Last Place on Earth by Carol Snow - Free Book Online Page A

it was possible. In any case, it was the only lead we had. We took my mother’s car because it was less likely than Peter’s to break down and also because it had a full tank of gas. Besides, the temperature was supposed to hit a hundred degrees today, and Mom’s car had working air-conditioning.
    Peter started the car, turned on the AC, and stroked the worn velour next to his thigh. “I love how the seats aren’t ripped.”
    I fiddled with the dial. “I love how the radio works.”
    It’s sad when a twelve-year-old Honda Civic is your family’s luxury car.
    Peter put the car in reverse and zipped down the driveway. “Let’s do this.”
    *   *   *
    In a few months, day-trip skiers would clog the roads that led to Big Bear, but today traffic was light. We made it out of town and onto the 57 freeway without any problem. We got a little swamped in truck traffic heading through Ontario on the I-10, but that was about it.
    As we passed Ontario Mills, Peter said, “Wanna stop at the outlets? I still have that Tilly’s gift card I got for graduation. Could use some new T-shirts.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWow. You are worried.”
    â€œI don’t have any money. But mostly I’m worried.”
    Peter knew better than to say I had nothing to worry about. Instead, he just turned up the radio, and we continued our journey across the flat terrain rimmed with soaring mountains, which kept the thick, hot, dirty air down near the valley floor.
    Even with the air-conditioning going full blast, it was warm in the car. Outside, the hazy smog blurred the mountains and lent the sky a yellow tinge. On a day like this, the air actually looked stinky—and if you don’t think that’s possible, you’ve never driven through Ontario during Santa Ana season.
    At last, we made it to the base of the mountain, where blackened trees told a stark story of an earlier season’s wildfires. Not that that would keep people from building more houses. Or traipsing around the forest on hot, dry days. But it’s good to be reminded that yes, when it comes to man versus nature, nature wins every time.
    The scorched trees gave way to dry grass and thirsty vegetation. Our radio station fizzled out. I played around with the dial till I found something else.
    Before long, the dense, dark forest enveloped us. We forgot about fires and even, for a moment, why we were here in the first place. The second radio station sputtered out. After twisting the dial from country to Latin music and back to country, I gave up and turned it off.
    I rolled down my window, and clean, almost-crisp air rushed inside and chased out the lowland heat. “I love mountain air.”
    â€œWe keep going on this road for how long?” Peter asked.
    Since the car lacked GPS and we didn’t have smartphones (not that there was reception up here anyway), I’d printed directions before we left home. I’d also checked the address on Google Maps, but the tree cover was so dense, I couldn’t see what the building underneath looked like.
    â€œFive-point-three miles. Then turn right.”
    The narrow road twisted and turned in the dark hush of the towering pines. We passed country stores, a café, a gas station. We were going up, of course. Otherwise, it was hard to get any sense of direction.
    At last we reached the turnoff.
    â€œYou sure this is it?” Peter eyed the rutted road.
    â€œIt’s what it says.” There was no street sign, but I’d been following the route on my printed directions. This had to be right.
    We turned onto the road. Peter watched his speed. Still, the car lurched and bounced. This could not be good for the Civic’s shocks.
    We passed one cabin set far back from the road. Then another. And then … nothing. Just lots of trees. And more bumps and ruts.
    â€œI wish I had a smartphone,” I said. “Then I could