He walked for an hour without finding a real paved road or getting a cell phone signal. There had been turnoffs, but they'd been even smaller and muddier paths leading away across the softly rolling fields. And something about the landscape was beginning to strike him as ... off. He couldn't quite pin it down, but the trees were wrong. They were somehow ... shorter? but not like young trees, and the hills were smoother, like the backs of workhorses, no cliffs or rocks in sight except the drystone fences. The hedges were as dense as walls. The clouds hung so low it was almost like a ceiling. Birds twittered, the sound somehow just a little bit off. He hadn't heard a car or the distant roar of highway traffic the whole time.
But he found a paved road, and getting away from wallowing in the mud caking his boots on the dirt road raised his spirits, and he could laugh at his nerves. What was this, the Twilight Zone? Well, a little! Even better, he came around a bend in the road, and the first thing to meet his eyes was some fancy planned development. Still no phone service! He'll have to call the phone company, when he had a phone that worked. Maybe that's how they avoid complaints, hah!
It was a bunch of pale tan stone houses, even stone roofs instead of tarpaper shingles like normal people, and narrow streets, and tiny little gardens out front instead of normal yards. Easier to mow, probably. Or have the help mow for you. But even rich people who move to places probably marketed as Having Olde Worlde Charm gotta buy gas somewhere. He stopped to admire a classic car. It wasn't a familiar model, but it looked great, like new.
He looked up to see the owner of the car glaring at him from the door of the house. He was a tough-looking thin old man, in an old shirt and vest and baggy pants hiked all the way up under his armpits.
"Nice car, sir," Mateo said placatingly, keeping the fashion commentary to himself and turning to move on so the guy wouldn't worry about him scratching the paint. "Oh, could you give me directions to the nearest gas station? I--" maybe honesty wasn't the best policy. "--my car broke down."He got a glare in response. A weird glare, like he was worried Mateo was going to mug him, like he was some weird threat that needed to be put down like a rabid skunk. He hurried back inside, leaving the door open. Okaaay. So maybe he had dementia or something. Mateo moved on, a little faster.
It was a weird little planned development, Mateo thought as he kept walking. But cool. If they were shooting for Olde Worlde Charm they really nailed it. Even the street signs looked old-fashioned. It was pretty, though, and if he hadn't been in such a hurry -- Avi must be going out of his mind -- he would have enjoyed it, all canals and willows and hedges and little gardens and houses all built out of the exact same tan stone in basically the same style. Now that part looked fake. He smiled despite himself. Another classic car came roaring around a corner and he had to jump onto the grass, getting honked at for his pains. Geez, some rich people! Don't make your streets so darn narrow, then!
Then he heard the clopping of hooves on asphalt and had to stop and stare. A kid about ten years old walked by, leading a big horse in a harness, neglecting the apple in his other hand to stare at Mateo. Mateo stared back -- the kid was wearing a buttoned sweater, a flat cap like an old Irish man and baggy knee britches and knee socks, like a golfer from back in the day. Then Mateo realized where he was.A movie set! It explained all those awesome classic cars parked out front, and the SUVs or Ferraris must be parked around the back. Some smart indie location scout must have found this place to be a dead ringer for the English countryside without even leaving Minnesota. Pretty smart! He'd have to watch the local news and see what it was. He waved at the kid -- who was still staring like Mateo was the one in plus-fours taking an entire horse on a walk -- and sped up. There was bound to be a tent or trailers, and somebody other than over-shy kid extras and grumpy old rich guys who didn't want to be always having to clear the shot or whatever. And they'd have phones he could borrow, and maybe even catering he could buy some of. Sweet!
He made it another few streets before a bunch of guys with shotguns came around the corner.
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