Page 8 of Obscurity
The old town of Grayfall had been cut off from vehicular access several years ago when flooding washed out the main road leading into town. Since the settlement had been abandoned for decades, no one had bothered to repair the infrastructure.
The only way to reach the festival grounds was on foot—a grueling hike that would challenge even experienced outdoor enthusiasts.
Kellerman had arranged parking near the lodge. A shuttle would take them as far down the trail as possible, but attendees would still have to hike five miles to Grayfall. Most festivalgoers would only need to bring a backpack with toiletries and clothes. Everything else would be provided.
Who chooses to hold a festival somewhere people can barely reach?Olive wondered, her unease from the gas station encounter adding new weight to the question.And why are people willing to pay so much for such an inconvenient experience?
Things didn’t add up in her mind.
She needed to find answers.
But being in such an isolated place would make all of this complicated . . . and entirely more dangerous.
CHAPTER 4
In the process of researching the festival, Olive had discovered that two other people had gone missing in this area within the past month—people not necessarily associated with Grayfall, but who’d been in the vicinity.
The first was David Brooks, a thirty-four-year-old software engineer from Richmond, Virginia, who loved hiking. His car had been found at a trailhead parking area twelve miles from Grayfall. David was an experienced hiker who always filed detailed trail plans with park rangers. But he’d never checked in from his planned overnight campsite.
The second disappearance was even more unsettling. Clara Holloway, a sixty-seven-year-old retired botanist from Virginia Tech, had been conducting research on rare mountain plants for the state environmental agency. Her colleagues described her as methodical and safety-conscious, someone who’d spent forty years hiking these mountains without incident. Her field notebook, found beside a creek bed three days after she was reported missing, contained her usual meticulous observations right up until the final entry.Something wrong here. Animals too quiet. Going back to truck.
Both had vanished without a trace.
The pattern was troubling, and it suggested that whatever had happened to Chloe might be part of something larger and more dangerous than a random missing person case.
A flash of something in Olive’s rearview mirror made her pulse quicken.
When she looked more carefully, the road behind her was empty.
It was probably just shadows and paranoia.
But the men at Murphy’s Last Stop had made it clear that too many people were asking questions about Grayfall. Some people around here had to know what was going on.
Olive needed to find those people.
She and Jason were going undercover as music enthusiasts attending the festival. They’d pose as a married couple from Ohio who were interested in the underground music scene. For this weekend, they would be Jase and Olivia Jones—sticking close to their real first names was always helpful. Jase was a contractor, and Olivia had developed her own line of all-natural soaps and lotions.
She’d already transformed her appearance into that of someone who fit the festival demographic: non-synthetic fabrics, braided hair, minimal makeup, and the lingering scent of patchouli oil.
The persona felt comfortable, reminiscent of the many identities she’d worn growing up when her family was constantly moving, constantly reinventing themselves for her father’s various schemes.
Olive checked behind her again, watching for anyone following.
There was still no one.
That should make her feel better. So why didn’t it? Maybe it was because this whole case was filled with mountain lore, ghost stories, and imminent danger.
Finally, a sign appeared in front of her. “Pine Ridge Lodge—2 Miles.”
Pine Ridge was a huge lodge located in the middle of the West Virginia wilderness. Years ago, it had been a hunting lodge. Today, it was mostly used for corporate retreats where people wanted to go off-grid.
The lodge was the base of operations for the weekend, the staging area where festivalgoers would gather before making the trek to Grayfall. Jason was supposed to meet her here. Tevin McIntyre, another colleague, was also coming along.
As she crested the hill, the building came into view—a massive log structure that looked like it belonged in a tourism brochure. A hand-carved sign reading “Pine Ridge Lodge” hung above the entrance, flanked by carved bears that seemed to watch approaching visitors with wooden eyes.
Olive pulled into the parking area, already noting the mix of vehicles—expensive SUVs with roof racks alongside beat-up Subarus covered in bumper stickers proclaiming various environmental causes and other music festivals.
It was exactly the kind of eclectic combination she expected at an underground music event that attracted both trust-fund hippies and genuine counterculture enthusiasts.
