The Deadliest Strain

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As the sun rose, setting the eastern sky ablaze, the northwestern hills ahead of them grew bright against the deep blue to the west. It had been three hours since they'd started out from her sister's house in Portland. Haley knew they should be getting close to the lake now.

The sunny weather forecasted for the week had sounded like a good omen to her. She glanced at her husband, but Neil was focused on the road ahead. With good weather, Haley knew the two teenagers in the backseat would soon get over their complaining about being taken away on this "forced" family vacation. Their friends and sports and the zillion electronic gadgets were so important now.

Still, they'd been coming to this same island, renting the same cabin, for eight years now. The boys had been five and seven when they first started. Eager for a week of hiking, fishing, swimming — and having a hundred percent of their father's attention — the boys had always regarded this vacation as a special treat. That made it worth it to Haley. Neil needed this more than any of them. He traveled nearly fifty-one weeks a year for his job, and going to an island in the middle of nowhere in Maine, with no electricity or Internet or cell phone service, was the only way he knew of getting a full week to devote just to his family.

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