Wolgast takes Amy to Bear Mountain

Wolgast takes Amy to Bear Mountain after the explosion at the Chalet, turning their escape into a journey toward a place that exists for him both on the map and in memory. He retrieves her from the grounds, carries her to a car, and drives west through the night and into the following day. The destination is not a town or a staffed refuge but an abandoned camp in the mountains, whose location he must recover from remembered landmarks. When they reach its old lodge, he calls it “Home.”

From the Chalet to the road

The explosion throws Wolgast down and separates him from Amy. When he finds her lying nearby, she appears to have survived the blast, though she is unconscious. His own hearing is impaired, and smoke and the burning Chalet surround them; nevertheless, his immediate attention narrows to the keys and to getting Amy out. He discovers the keys are still in his hand, lifts her over his shoulder, and carries her toward the Lexus.

Wolgast drives away at speed, crossing grass before the car reaches the pavement and taking the long drive out from the burning Chalet. The escape begins as an urgent response to immediate danger, but the destination is a longer-term refuge: Bear Mountain Camp, a place he knew as a boy and now hopes remains usable. The movement from the burning site to a remembered childhood place gives the flight its central reversal, from sudden dislocation toward the possibility of shelter.

The cross-country flight

By the time Wolgast reaches the camp, the journey has carried them through Colorado, Wyoming, and Idaho, much of the Idaho stretch passing in darkness. They cross into Oregon at sunrise on the second morning. During the day, they travel across the state’s dry interior, with open fields and sagebrush hills passing around the car. Wolgast drives with the windows open to remain alert, and the air’s sagebrush scent recalls his boyhood and home.

The car changes along the way. Wolgast leaves the Lexus with its keys in the ignition and a note saying, “Keep it, it’s yours,” then takes an old Toyota Corolla from a mobile-home park outside Laramie. Amy lies across the Corolla’s back seat among fast-food wrappers and empty cigarette packs. By the time they reach the camp, the vehicle is battered and its fuel is nearly gone. This improvised change of cars marks the journey as a flight sustained by resourcefulness rather than by a prepared route or reliable transport.

Finding Bear Mountain

As darkness falls, the Cascades rise ahead. Wolgast continues on unmarked roads, entering a forested region with no towns or houses. His memory is his guide, but it does not immediately guarantee that he has the route right: after several forks, he fears he has lost his way. Familiar details gradually return—the slope of the road, a view of the starry sky at a bend, and the open-air sound beneath the car as it crosses a river. The route becomes recognizable through a sequence of remembered particulars rather than a visible signposted path.

The first confirmation is a weathered sign by the roadside: “BEAR MOUNTAIN CAMP,” with a “FOR SALE” notice hanging beneath it from rusted chains. The sign is pocked with bullet holes, and its sale notice indicates the camp has long been out of active use. Wolgast then follows the mile-long driveway along an embankment above the river and around an outcrop of boulders. He has feared finding fire damage or buildings collapsed beneath winter snow; instead, the camp emerges from the trees, including Old Lodge, the smaller cabins and outbuildings, and a lake held by an earthen dam.

Shelter and the meaning of home

Wolgast breaks the lodge’s hasp with a tire iron and enters with a flashlight. Before waking Amy, he wants to make sure the building is safe. The power is off, and a generator might exist, though it would need fuel and may not work. Inside, he finds wooden tables and chairs, a cast-iron woodstove, a metal office desk, and a nearly bare bulletin board with one old, curling sheet of paper. The lodge is dry and enclosed; with the stove going, it should warm quickly.

The camp offers no ready-made comfort or functioning infrastructure, but it gives them a roof and a plausible place to stay after the long escape. When Wolgast tells Amy, “Home,” the word gathers together the remembered landscape, his childhood association with the camp, and the immediate prospect of shelter. Its importance lies not in the camp being intact or provisioned—it is closed, unpowered, and reached with almost no fuel—but in Wolgast’s ability to turn a remembered place into a refuge for Amy and himself.