Survive the Chaos
Author: Grace Hamilton
Date: 2022-01-24 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Post-Apocalyptic | EMP | Survival
Description: When the lights go out, anarchy reigns supreme. After journalist Austin Merryman's wife died, he and his fourteen-year-old daughter left home to travel the country in an old RV. But the comfort and renewal they sought soon descends into chaos. After a message from an old college buddy leads Austin to a bridge in the middle of nowhere, he finds his friend—now an NSA agent—waiting to give him a USB drive. Before the contents can be explained, machine gun fire strafes the bridge, killing Austin's friend and forcing Austin into the raging river. Rescued downstream by a beautiful veterinarian, Aust
Publisher: Relay Publishing

EMP: Return of the Wild West

Survive the Fall

Survive the Attack

Survive the Journey

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, FEBRUARY 2021

Copyright © 2021 Relay Publishing Ltd.

All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Grace Hamilton is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Post-Apocalyptic projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.

www.relaypub.com

Blurb

They’re entering the storm—and only together will they survive.

Spring is around the corner, and the Healys must again face Canada’s mountainous onslaught to reach the security of the hunting cabin. Though they were forced to give up the family’s ranch to the post-apocalyptic mob, the most important thing to Greg Healy now is that they still have the cattle and the family is all together safe and sound. But just as the end of their grueling trek is within sight, the spring thaw brings unending trouble.

And heartbreaking tragedy.

The burden of leading loved ones falls hard on Darryl Healy’s shoulders as he confronts his most daunting task yet—becoming a father. But the trail is an unforgiving master, not fit for man, woman, or beast, and the cattle have proven time and again to be an irresistible draw to those determined to take everything the Healys have left.

When a vicious new enemy follows in their wake and guns are drawn in the avalanche-prone pass, Darryl is forced to defend and protect his family just as his father and grandfather taught him.

By any means necessary.

Prepper survivalist author Grace Hamilton invites you to step into a post-apocalyptic, EMP-ravaged world filled with strong, resourceful characters, survivalist knowledge, and edge-of-your seat action.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

End of Survive the Journey

Thank you!

About Grace Hamilton

Sneak Peek: Erupting Trouble

Also By Grace Hamilton

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1

Emma stood at the mouth of the cave, her gloved hands stuffed deep in her coat pockets as she watched the landscape emerge from the gloom. The land sloped down into a broad meadow that was walled in on three sides by dense forest. Sunrise made the residue of fog burn orange, but she saw animals moving in the mist. The cows and horses were grazing contently around a small pond, where the fog gathered like steam rising from the silvery surface.

It took a moment to pick out the small figure walking among the animals. Her father had taken the animals down to graze, as he often did in the morning. However, Emma noted that he was carrying a rough-hewn staff with him, clearly something he’d carved from the trunk of a sapling. Emma laughed. Her father really wanted to complete the picture of being a cowherd from the olden days. It wasn’t necessary. The animals had proved to be docile and well-behaved. They always stuck close by. In fact, they’d been little problem at all during the winter, unlike the people.

She could feel the shift in temperature that morning. It was going to be warmer than the previous weeks. Not quite warm enough to shed her coat, but the snow seemed patchier. Indeed, as she watched the fog slowly burn away, she was amazed at how much of the wild grass was visible. Could this be it? Had the time finally arrived to escape this inhospitable place?

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw flickering candlelight in the dim of the cave. The winter camp was, in fact, a cave system at the base of the mountains a few dozen kilometers northeast of the old ranch. Emma had been amazed to discover that such a place existed—apparently it had been one of many wilderness camps her grandfather used for his hunting trips over the years.

The big wagon was parked just inside the entrance, looking sadly neglected. It had sat there in the same place for months now. As she was staring back into the cave, Emma saw a shadow move along the wall. A few seconds later, Justine Carmichael appeared from around the bend. Dressed in one of her usual baggy sweatshirts with a pair of ski pants, her pregnancy was very visible now.

Justine approached, one hand on her belly, and circled the wagon. She reached up to unlatch the tailboard, and only then did she notice Emma. Pushing her hood back, she gave her a questioning look. Emma still found Justine hard to read sometimes.

“Oh, hey,” Emma said, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

“Guarding the cave entrance?” Justine said, lowering the tailboard of the wagon. “That’s good. The Neanderthals might attack again and try to steal our mastodon tusks.” The barest hint of a smile let Emma know that Justine was being humorous rather than sarcastic.

“The only Neanderthal out there this morning is my dad,” Emma said.

“I always figured he was more of a Denisovan,” Justine said, climbing up into the wagon—no easy task in her current condition. They’d mostly unloaded the boxes and crates from inside the wagon, but a few that they hadn’t expected to need were still tucked against the sidewalls. Justine went to one of these and eased down in front of it.

Emma didn’t know how to keep the joke going, so she turned back around and gazed down into the valley, where the cattle and horses continued to graze contentedly at the new growth in the valley.

“What do you think?” Justine said.

“About what? Denisovans?” Emma looked back at Justine.

“No, silly,” Justine said with a laugh. “About the weather. Is it spring yet? Not just calendar spring but actual spring? How does it look out there?” Justine pulled a blanket out of a crate, then gave it a few good smacks to knock off the dust. “There’s a lot of grass visible this morning,” she said. “More than before.”

“And the mountain pass?” Justine asked. “Is it clear yet?”

“I can’t tell from here,” Emma replied, but suddenly it was a question she needed the answer to.

Justine wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and put the lid back on the crate. “Oh, that’s too bad,” she said, painstakingly climbing down out of the wagon. She raised the tailboard and latched it. “Someone should check. Maybe we can finally get out of here.”

And with that, Justine headed back into the living quarters deeper in the cave, the blanket swaying behind her like a cloak. Emma had never gotten used to their sleeping arrangements—or their eating arrangements, bathing arrangements, or anything else about living in this winter camp. The prospect of spring finally melting the pass seemed almost too good to be true.

What are you waiting for? she thought. Go and see for yourself.

She stepped out of the cave with a flutter in her belly and energy in her limbs. Just outside the cave entrance, a simple wooden framework housed a kind of working area that included a large tub and clotheslines for washing and drying clothes. They hadn’t used either because of the cold, and the framework was still frosted over.

Emma stepped past the framework, where a path led down into the shallow valley. The animals had trodden the ground here into slush and mud. Down below, Emma saw her father standing to one side, leaning on his staff as he watched the animals continue to graze. These months in the winter camp had been excruciatingly slow, a waiting game in the cold, damp, and dark. The possibility that their time here might be coming to an end was thrilling.

After moving a few meters beyond the cave entrance, Emma stopped and turned around. The cave was carved into the side of a big rocky slab that protruded from a mountainside. Someone in the past— Tuck, perhaps—had created a narrow, switchback trail that led up the mountainside toward a promontory about forty meters up. This created a crude, and fairly unsafe, lookout post, which had been coated in ice throughout the winter and early spring. However, this morning, it looked clearer than usual.

If the trail is clear, the pass must be clear, she thought.

She started up the trail, picking her way carefully along the loose rocks and dirt. They’d never made it to the hunting cabin. The old trail to the cabin led over some mountains and down into a valley, but they’d found the pass snowed in. This cave had been the only accessible alternative, and so had begun a long, miserable winter. This morning, the warmth of the morning sunlight on Emma’s face indicated spring was finally here to stay, and it only strengthened her hope that the pass would be clear.

As she ascended toward the lookout, she hugged the rock wall on one side, though she’d expected the ground to be more slippery than it was. When she reached the lookout, she edged out toward the overlook, moving in a crouch as she gazed down into the field. It was a perfect place for containing the animals, an open meadow about a hundred meters across with dense trees acting as walls and a perfect little pond near the middle.

Emma’s angle from above gave her a long view beyond the trees, where the line of mountains curved around to the south. From here, she could see part of the pass as it rose above the trees a few kilometers in that direction and followed a cleft through the mountains. Through that pass was the old hunting lodge, a place that had taken on almost mythical overtones in her mind.

Emma’s heart leapt. Through the gap where the pass cut into the mountains, early morning sunlight carved a broad path of light that spread out over the treetops below. It was practically a shining arrow pointing the way. The pass was open.

We’re free of this place, Emma thought. We’re finally free!

She started to rush back down the path, but the soles of her boots slipped on the rocks. She went down to her knees, scraping her winter pants and tearing open one knee. It didn’t matter. Indeed, she hardly cared. Picking herself up, she resumed her descent, moving as fast as she dared, her heart pounding. As she approached the cave entrance, she spotted her father making his way back from the meadow, and she couldn’t decide which way to go. Should she race out to meet him and tell him the news, or should she rush into the cave and tell everyone else?

Her indecision caused her to do a little shuffle step for a couple of seconds, but finally she went back into the cave, running past the wagon and through the open space where they penned the animals at night. At the back, a curtained doorway led into the deeper chambers where the family resided. As Emma pushed through the curtains, she saw the network of rooms that had been carved and shaped to make them more habitable.

“Everyone!” She spoke a bit louder than she intended, and her voice carried deep into the cave. Emma clapped a hand over her mouth as she stumbled to a stop.

The first room was a communal gathering area, with rugs laid down on the floor and wood planks set across boxes and barrels to serve as tables and chairs. Darryl was the only one in the room at the moment, and he was currently bent over the fresh water barrel, using a wooden ladle to scoop water into a cup. The sudden loud noise caused him to lurch up and turn toward her with a scowl.

“No, no, it’s way too early to start screaming,” he said, in a sleep-thick voice. “What are you doing?”

A row of candles flickered on one of the makeshift tables, providing the only real light inside the main room. They had a small iron brazier, but the coals had burned out in the night. As curtains parted on the other side, some of the candles went out. Emma’s mother, Marion Healy, appeared in the gap. She’d layered on two bathrobes, along with sweatpants, to stave off the cold. Behind her, Emma caught a glimpse of the crude chamber her parents had been using as a bedroom.

“What’s going on, Emma?” she asked, rubbing her face. “Is something wrong?”

“The pass is open,” Emma replied, struggling not to shout the news. “I went up the trail and looked and saw sunlight shining through the gap. It’s open!”

Marion glanced at Darryl, but otherwise had minimal response. She clearly wasn’t as excited about this news as Emma.

“Mom, that means we can leave the camp and head to the cabin,” Emma said. “Don’t you get it? We can get out of here! We’ve been waiting all winter for this.”

Emma heard footsteps behind her and turned to see her grandmother, Tabitha Healy, stepping through the curtains of her room in her long winter coat. Tabitha was a leathery old woman, tough as nails, and she didn’t seem all that excited either. A moment later, Horace Bouchard also appeared from another set of curtains, moving unsteadily on his crutch. Cave life had not been especially kind to the old veteran. He had trouble using his prosthetic legs on the uneven floors of the cave. His white hair and beard were looking especially scraggly this morning.

And now Emma was surrounded by people all staring at her with unhappy looks on their faces. She didn’t understand why they weren’t excited to get the news.

“Well, don’t you people want to leave this cave?” she asked. “We’ve been stuck here for months, but now that the pass is open, we can move on to the cabin, just like we planned to do from the beginning. Isn’t that good news? Mom?”

Marion stepped further into the room, letting the curtains to her chamber fall shut behind her. “Of course it is, sweetie. We’ll need to make sure you’re right, of course,” she said.

“Sunlight wouldn’t be shining so brightly through the gap if the way was still snowed in,” Emma replied. “Why is everyone acting like I just delivered bad news? Did you people fall in love with this cave or something? Man, guess we really are Denisovans.”

This got her a few confused looks, but Emma heard Justine chuckle from elsewhere in the cave. Just then, the tromp of boots behind her signaled the arrival of her father, who strode into the room with a huff and set his staff against the wall.

“The pass is open,” Marion told him. “Emma went up to the lookout this morning and saw it.”

Greg gave his daughter a grave look, eyes narrowed, and nodded. “Just because the pass is finally open, doesn’t mean the trip is going to be easy,” he said, “but I guess we’d better load up and set off as soon as possible. No reason to linger in the winter camp any longer.”

“Are you sure the animals will survive the journey?” Marion asked. “It’s still really cold out there.”

“We lost three head of cattle over the winter,” Greg noted. “That’s not as bad as I’d feared. They’re more resilient than I anticipated. Anyway, we can’t go on living here like primitives. I say we load up and get ready to head out.”

“Bear in mind, we still don’t know the condition of the hunting cabin,” Tabitha said. “I’d hate to get everyone’s hopes up. It could end up being even worse than this.”

“Grandma, a cabin—any cabin—can’t be worse than living in a cave,” Emma said. “We get cave spiders and mud everywhere, and the ground is always freezing cold, even when we’ve got a fire going, and the air is always damp. Nobody is supposed to live like this. At least at the cabin we’ll have a real floor and a real roof over our heads.”

“I certainly hope so,” Tabitha said. “It was a really lovely cabin when we first built it. Plenty of room, nice furniture, a big fireplace, a wood-burning stove, a barn out back, a split-rail fence around the yard. Oh, you should’ve seen it when it was new.”

“This is what we’ve waited all winter for,” Greg said. “No reason to mope about it, as if something bad were happening. We’ll be glad we made the trip once we arrive. Don’t you agree, hon? Let’s start gathering our things.”

And with that, he crossed the room, slipping past his wife—he gave her a brief hug in passing—and went into his chamber. “Hon” neither agreed nor disagreed but simply continued to stare at nothing in particular. Emma decided to help get the ball rolling.

“I’ll start packing my stuff,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “It won’t take as long as you think, guys.”

This got a groan from Darryl. “Can’t we wait a few hours? Justine just settled down for a little more rest. She had a rough night.”

“Let her rest while you do the hard work, Papa,” Tabitha said, giving her grandson a wink. “Yeah, we’re all tired and cranky, but Greg is right, and we’ll be glad to get the next leg of the trip over with. Emma, you’re a good little cheerleader.” And with that, she turned and stepped back into her chamber, flinging the curtain out of her way with a sweep of her hand.

Emma’s room was another small alcove in the rock wall of the main chamber, separated by burlap curtains that had been hung from hooks her father had driven into the ceiling. Her sleeping bag was wedged into a narrow space against the wall. For furniture, she’d balanced a plank on two small boxes, and here she’d stacked some of her books, toiletries, and other personal items. Her clothes were mostly stuffed into a crate, but some of them had found their way into a messy pile on a blanket in the corner.

She started going through the room, picking up the loose articles of clothing and shoving them back into the crate. After a moment, she heard someone clearing her throat, and she looked over her shoulder to see her mother standing in a gap in the curtain.

“Sorry if I seemed disappointed in the news,” Marion said. “I’m just nervous about making the trip. The last few months have been rough.”

“But that’s why it’s good news, Mom,” Emma said, picking up a crumpled t-shirt and stuffing it into the crate. “We’ll be safer in the cabin. Like Grandma said, we’ll have a stove, real furniture, beds, all sorts of stuff.”

“I know,” Marion said softly. “It’ll be hard road, but it’s worth it. Just ignore my grumpy attitude. I’ll be fine.”

Emma nodded and continued picking up. Many times, she had daydreamed about riding back to Glenvell to retake their old family ranch, but she knew that was a foolish thought. Glenvell would never be home again. Even if they could take the ranch back, they would never feel safe living there, not with all of the new threats in the world. No, the hunting cabin was home now, and the sooner they got there the better, even if the road was hard.

Don’t be such a pessimist, Mom, Emma thought. It’s not like we’re headed for the North Pole.

By the time she’d rolled up her sleeping bag, folded the blankets, put away all of her books and knick-knacks, and deconstructed her crude table, the rest of her family was already in high gear. She heard the squeaking wheels of the furniture dolly, as her father pushed a big stack of crates out of the living room area. Emma met him just outside of her room, lugging her backpack and carrying the smallest box from her room.

“Don’t strain yourself,” he said, headed for the front chamber. “Let’s use the dolly for heavy stuff.”

“I know,” she replied, following him through the front curtains toward the wagon. “I’m fine. I’m just glad we’re finally leaving. I can’t believe how much snow we had this winter.”

“It was pretty typical for the area,” he replied. “We’ve just never had to trek over a mountain in it before, and that mountain pass isn’t easy even in the best of times. On top of that, we’re trying to drive a herd of cattle.”

“It’s going to be okay, isn’t it, Dad?”

She followed him to the back of the wagon. Once he’d lowered the tailboard, she set her crate on it.

“As long as the wagon holds up and doesn’t get stuck, we’ll be fine,” he replied. “We rode heavy on the way here, but the wheels are still in decent shape. I’m a little worried about the axles, but I made a few repairs to the frame. We should be fine.” He reached out and laid a hand on Emma’s back, giving her a reassuring smile. She wasn’t sure it was entirely genuine.

As her father began unloading the boxes from the dolly, Emma headed back to her room. Along the way, she saw Darryl frantically rooting through some boxes, muttering under his breath. On the ground nearby, Tuck’s old toolbox sat open, tools scattered on the ground.

“Hey, has anyone seen the old compass that was in here?” he asked. As Emma approached, he looked up at her. “Have you seen it?”

“No, I haven’t been in the toolbox lately,” she replied.

Darryl resumed rooting around in boxes, until Tabitha appeared and made an exasperated sound. “I thought we were supposed to be packing up and loading the wagon, not dumping everything on the ground.”

“Grandma, have you seen the compass that used to be in here?” he asked. “It belonged to Grandpa. It was in a leather carrying case. I’m pretty sure the brand name was Selsi or something like that. We used it when we lost the trail on the way to the winter camp, but I’m sure I put it back in the toolbox. At least, I think I did. I hope it didn’t get dropped somewhere along the way.”

“I’ll help you look,” Emma said, kneeling beside him.

“Thanks,” he replied, as he continued digging through boxes.

Emma picked her way through the toolbox, making sure it wasn’t tucked underneath something. Darryl might have overlooked it, after all. He wasn’t the best at finding lost things.

“Don’t worry about that old compass,” Grandma said. “We probably won’t need it. From here to the cabin the way is clearly marked.”

Emma didn’t find the compass anywhere in the toolbox, though she rooted in every corner. Finally, she began putting the tools back in place.

“I hate to lose it,” Darryl said with a sigh. “He used to take it with him when he went hunting. It’s a shame to lose something that reminds me of him.”

“Well, I can certainly relate to that feeling,” Tabitha said, “but we might just have to accept that it bounced off the wagon somewhere along the way. Let it go. Let’s load up and get out of here. We have a long way to go.”

Darryl shook his head, grabbed up a bunch of towels and blankets and shoved them back into a crate. “Let’s just hope we don’t end up needing it.”

“As long as we stick to the trail, we’ll be fine,” Tabitha said. “I remember the way. Heck, I even know a shortcut that will shave off a few kilometers.”

2

The baby clothes were all folded up at the bottom of the box, waiting to be used. Darryl pressed them down firmly to make room for Justine’s clothes. She had a fairly limited wardrobe, comprised almost entirely of t-shirts, hoodies, and sweatpants, all in dark colors. The girl definitely had a distinct look.

“Maybe we should give it a few more days,” Justine said. She was rolling up her sleeping bag in the corner. “Not that I want to stay here, by any means, but if the pass just opened up today, a few more days of warm weather will only help, don’t you think?”

“Maybe so,” Darryl replied, putting the lid onto the crate of clothing, “but I also think people want to get the heck out of this cave, you know?”

“Add me to that list,” Justine said, “but going over the mountain is going to be a big pain in the butt. We’ve got a bunch of cattle and supplies. What if we get all the way up there and find that some of the trail is gone, washed away, or snowed in, or we get lost?”

Indeed, he’d had this very thought. It was the reason he’d gone looking for Tuck’s old compass. On a cloudy day, with no obvious trail, it was far easier to get lost in the wilderness than he’d expected. They’d had a hard enough time trying to find the winter camp after the pass had proved impassible.

“We’ll just have to hope for the best,” he said, “but the fact is, most of those things will still be possible in a week, or a month. Waiting longer won’t make a washed-away trail come back.”

She gave him a look that suggested she didn’t find his words comforting. He went to her side and put his arms around her. Initially, she just tolerated the embrace. But finally, she warmed up and returned it.

“I just want civilization again,” she said. “I’m tired of living like pioneers in the seventeenth century.”

“It’ll be a lot better at the cabin,” Darryl said. “We can fix it up and make it nice.”

“First we have to get there.”

“We will,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it. Trust me.”

“I do trust you,” she said. “But you don’t control nature.”

Once all of Justine’s things were packed up, Darryl went looking for the furniture dolly. He found his father at the back of the wagon, stacks of boxes and barrels around him. He was slowly loading them one by one, but he had a scowl on his face. The furniture dolly was on the ground beside the back wheel.

“Is there a problem, Dad?” Darryl said, as he picked up the dolly. He’d quickly learned, in their current living situation, not to let things fester. It was better to make sure his Dad put everything out into the open. The man tended to brood privately, and that only led to trouble.

“I’m just trying to figure out how to get everything into the wagon,” Greg said, hoisting a small barrel into the back. “We’ve acquired a bit of stuff here at the camp.” He gestured toward an open box. It contained a bunch of rusted old tools and scrap metal that they’d found in a back room of the cave. “Hopefully, there will still be room for all of our people, but it might be a tight fit.”

“Why do we need to bring all this junk?” Darryl asked. “We can leave half our stuff here and be just fine, Dad.”

Darryl was looking into the back of the wagon and trying to imagine poor Justine being all scrunched up between the boxes and crates. As his father continued to slide more and more boxes into the back, it only got worse. She would have more room if she rode up front on the driver’s seat, but Darryl didn’t think she would do that.

“I don’t want to leave anything behind,” Greg said, hoisting the big box of junk tools and scrap metal into the back of the wagon. “You never know what we might need once we get to the hunting cabin.”

Shaking his head, Darryl took the furniture dolly back to Justine. All of her things had now been packed away, and whatever illusion of a bedroom the cave chamber had held was gone. It was, after all, just an irregular space at the back of a cave.

“We’re going to be in the wagon all day, aren’t we?” Justine said. “I’d better sit in the very back so I can barf my brains out when the fancy takes me. Hopefully, Horace will trade places with me. I know he likes being the lookout.” She rose, pulling her hood up.

Pregnant, still suffering from morning sickness, and crammed into the back of an overfull wagon. Darryl didn’t like it, and as he pushed the boxes back through the cave, he again thought of all the unnecessary stuff they were lugging along. The journey from the ranch to the camp had been bad enough, with everyone crammed onto the back bench, but Justine was very pregnant now. When he returned to the wagon, he found his father tucking smaller boxes under the bench.

“Dad, I really think we need to leave some of this stuff behind,” Darryl said. “Why are we taking all of the old junk we found here at the camp?”

“If something breaks, we may need the scraps to make repairs,” his father replied, climbing out of the wagon. “I don’t want to leave anything behind and then realize I need it somewhere down the road.”

“Yeah, but we have to fit actual people in this wagon,” Darryl replied, unloading Justine’s stuff beside the other stacks. “You know how tough this ride is going to be for Justine? She’s still sick almost every morning, and she’s always uncomfortable. We need to get to the cabin as fast as we can, because the longer it takes, the harder it’s going to be on her and the baby.”

Greg just stood there for a moment, chewing on his lip.

“We don’t need to become hoarders just to survive,” Darryl added. He knew he was pushing things, but he felt strongly about this. More than that, he knew his dad could be stubborn. “We have to prioritize people.”

He’d gone too far, and he knew it. A look flashed briefly across his father’s face: eyebrows down, lips pressed tightly together, nose scrunched up. Darryl anticipated the anger and braced himself to stand his ground for Justine’s sake. But then the look passed, and his father resumed loading the wagon.

“I understand how you feel,” Greg said. “I really do. You’re worried about the mother of your child, and you’re right to make that your first concern.” It was a remarkably civil, even compassionate response, that reminded Darryl just how much things had changed between them. Could they actually have a decent conversation about something when they were of contrary opinions? “Here’s the thing, son. We can’t anticipate any and every problem, so we have to be ready for things we haven’t even thought of. That’s how we’ll keep everyone safe.”

Darryl knelt beside the big open crate full of junk. He picked up a leather boot with a huge hole in the sole. “Really? Is there a problem that would require an old boot?” He tossed the boot back into the crate and picked up a small hatchet with a broken handle. “Or tools we can’t even use? Dad, you’ve got a pair of jeans in here with a hole in the crotch, a couple of chipped glass jars wrapped in filthy rags. This stuff is never going to be useful, is it? It’s basically someone’s garbage.”

“It might be,” he replied, maintaining a remarkably even tone. “Broken tool handles can be repaired. The leather from that boot could prove useful. The cloth from the jeans, the glass from those jars—you never know. Look, it’s not just for the journey today. The hunting cabin is isolated and private. No one’s going to bother us up there. We’ll have all the time in the world to build and repair and make things, but only if we bring plenty of materials with us. You’re looking into that crate and seeing junk instead of thinking about the possibilities.”

“Oh, I’m thinking about possibilities all right,” Darryl replied. He was tempted to raise his voice, but his father had stayed so calm. If Greg could manage a civil discussion, so could he. “The possibilities of what might happen if we overload the wagon, if we get bogged down on the mountain pass, or if the travel is too rough for the people—yes, Justine, in particular. I see where you’re coming from, Dad, but I’m prioritizing people over junk.”

“Me too,” Greg said. “I always prioritize the people. That’s my whole point.”

Darryl heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Tabitha and Marion approaching. By the looks on their faces, it was clear they had overheard at least some of the debate. Between them, they were lugging a big sack of folded linens.

“Well, it sounds like the two of you are least being civil,” Marion said. “Is this really the best time to have an impassioned debate about what to bring and what to leave behind? We’ve had the whole winter to figure it out.”

“I think we’re at an impasse,” Greg said. He started to reach for the crate full of junk, but he paused and grabbed another box instead, hoisting it up into the wagon. “Darryl wants to travel light; I want to bring everything. What do you two think?”

Tabitha and Marion traded a look, as if waiting to see which of them would go first.

“Well, I’m with Greg,” Tabitha said, setting the sack of linens down. “I think we should bring absolutely everything we can. I haven’t been to the cabin in years, so I’m not sure what we’ll find there. The roof might have collapsed. It might be infested with vermin. Who knows? The more resources we have, the better our chances of being able to address any problems.”

“I think you’re jumping the gun,” Marion said. “Before we can worry about what we find at the cabin, we have to worry about getting there. The journey ahead is the most important thing right now. If we’re overloaded, we’re going to travel a lot slower, and we might struggle to even get over the mountain.”

“So it’s a tie,” Greg said, shaking his head. “We’re still at an impasse.”

Now, Darryl was struggling not to get really annoyed. At this point, he was ready to suggest that they build a second wagon. Maybe they could somehow get the cows to pull the damn thing? Whatever it took to make Justine more comfortable. He was still kneeling beside the crate of junk, but he was at a loss for words.

“Should be play a round of rock-paper-scissors to settle the debate?” Marion asked. She didn’t sound like she was completely joking.

“I’ll settle it.” Justine’s voice. Darryl turned to see his girlfriend stepping through the curtains, her hands on her belly.

“We were just debating—” Greg started to say.

“I know. I heard it all,” Justine replied. “Sorry, Darryl, but your dad and grandma are right. Take everything. I can handle being crunched up in the back. You never know what we might need. Okay?” She gave each person a lingering look, one by one. “There. No need for rock-paper-scissors. Bring it all, and I’ll be just fine. I’m not so delicate, you know. Thanks.”

And with that, she turned, sighed, and walked back through the curtains. Darryl felt chastened. He’d been trying to advocate for her comfort, but in the process, he’d made her feel awkward about being in the center of an argument.

“Are you okay with that, son?” Greg asked.

Darryl appreciated the question. It was clearly an attempt to prevent hurt feelings. “Yeah, if she’s fine with it, I’m fine with it. Let’s load up.” To prove he meant it, he wrapped his arms around the crate of junk and struggled to hoist it up. Greg had to bend down and help him, and they managed to get it onto the lowered tailboard of the wagon.

“Look, I’ll make sure the trip goes as smoothly as possible,” Greg said. “That’s my promise to you and Justine.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Darryl replied.

But as he said it, he heard the back axle let out a loud groan. The sideboards were already lined with boxes and barrels from front to back, and they had a lot more to go. Greg didn’t seem bothered by the noise from the wagon’s underbelly, as he proceeded to shove the big crate of junk beside the back bench.

“It’ll ride heavy, but I did some work on the wagon over the winter,” Greg said. “It’ll hold up.”

And then, even as the words were still leaving his lips, the axle gave another loud groan. Then it snapped with sudden violence. The back right wheel broke free of its hub and fell over, and the whole back corner of the wagon crashed down. Greg fell off the tailboard, landing among their supplies, and the crate of junk slid backward. It hit the back leg of the bench, spun, and tipped over, gushing broken tools, scrap metal, and tattered clothes all over the cave floor, as Darryl danced backward out of the way. Other bags and barrels soon followed, sliding down the slope, many of them tipping over, tumbling, scattering their contents all over the ground.

3

For long minutes, nobody said anything as the echo of tumbling junk slowly faded in the cave. Darryl stared in slack-jawed amazement at the back of the wagon. The corner had fallen to the ground, and in the process, the back legs of the bench had snapped loose. The back right wheel with about a third of the axle was sitting on its side right in front of Tabitha and Marion, who gazed down at it like it was a fallen comrade in battle. A loose bolt continued to roll, making its soft sound all the way out of the cave.

Finally, Greg unleashed a deep groan and squatted behind the wagon, putting his face in his hands. Darryl saw Emma, Justine, and Horace peeking through the curtains that led into the living quarters. Still, no one spoke. Darryl was afraid to say anything, in case it might be interpreted as an “I told you so,” but he was also struggling against a sudden rush of anger.

It was Tabitha who spoke first, reaching out to rest her gloved right hand on the broken axle of the wheel. “I did not see that coming, I must admit.”

“I barely held this piece of garbage together on the journey here,” Greg said, kicking a rusty wrench out of his way, “but we worked on this damned thing all winter, and it doesn’t even make it out of the cave. I’d like to take it back to James Teagan and demand a refund.”

In an effort to avoid getting worked up over it, Darryl knelt and righted the crate, then began picking up the spilled supplies and dumping them back inside. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe this meant they would forgo the hunting cabin a few more days, giving the snow and ice more time to melt. Then again, the longer they waited, the harder the journey was going to get on Justine.

“Let’s hope this isn’t a bad omen,” he said aloud.

“Don’t talk that way,” his mother said, kneeling beside him to help pick up the supplies. “We’re lucky it broke here in the cave instead of up on the pass somewhere.”

“We can’t travel without the wagon,” Greg said. He rose and began removing the rest of the supplies from the back of the wagon, shoving them rather roughly onto the cave floor. “The damage will have to be repaired. Come on. Darryl, Emma, help me tip it on its side, so we can see the extent of the damage.” He made a little wave at them as he moved around to the side of the wagon.

Darryl left his mother to continue picking up their things, as he went to help his father. Emma pushed past Horace and Justine, scowling darkly.

“You should’ve been more careful loading it up, Dad,” she said. “You put too much weight toward the back.”

“I did not,” he replied. “The weight was evenly distributed. The problem was the wagon itself. Now come on. Help me.”

He grabbed the frame of the wagon just beneath the sideboard. Darryl and Emma did the same. Together, they lifted it and tipped it onto its side. It wasn’t easy. Indeed, Darryl strained until he thought he was on the verge of pulling a back muscle, but gradually the heavy wooden frame rose, tipped over, and then crashed down on its side, revealing the underbelly.

“If you’re not careful, you’re going to break the whole thing,” Tabitha said.

“We have to survey the damage,” Greg said.

Darryl stepped back. Not only had the axle broken but the axle clip had pulled loose, and the brake seemed to be damaged as well. Greg reached out and touched the brake beam, muttering something under his breath that Darryl couldn’t quite make out—but that he thought might have been a string of profanities.

“We should have moved it deeper into the cave,” Tabitha said. “It was exposed to the freezing cold and ice all winter, and it must have weakened the wood.”

“Mom, we were using it to pen in the animals at night,” Marion said.

“Well, we should’ve thought of something else,” she said.

Darryl felt Justine move up beside him. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. It was amazing how much their future depended on one beat-up old wagon. Darryl didn’t like it. Their survival was still too precarious if a single broken axle could mean so much.

“Under different circumstances, I would say let’s just hike to the lodge,” Justine said, quietly, one hand still pressed to her belly. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can make it, not like this.”

“You’re definitely not hiking all the way over the mountain pass,” Darryl replied. “No one expects that. I’ll carry you on my back, if I have to.”

“Is that all I am to you? A backpack to be lugged around?” Justine said, elbowing him gently in the side.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said.

His father was examining the front axle, and he finally made a disgusted sound and held up both hands. “Front axle’s in bad shape, too. This whole thing is shot. We might as well scrap it all and build a whole new wagon from scratch.” He kicked the underside of the wagon, and when that didn’t seem to satisfy him, he kicked it three more times, until Marion walked up and put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t beat it into submission,” she said, “and you might injure yourself.”

“What does it matter now?” he said, dragging his hands through his sweat-soaked hair. “The wagon is completely useless. I made all of those repairs for nothing. I should have examined the axles closer. They didn’t seem to be on the verge of snapping. How are we going to get over the mountains now?”

No one had an immediate answer to this, but as Darryl looked around the room, he could tell each person was handling the situation differently. Greg and Tabitha were both angry. Emma’s lips were pursed, as if she were deep in thought, no doubt trying to come up with a smart way to fix the wagon. Horace looked weary, leaning heavily on his crutch, like a man who just wanted to go back to bed. Marion and Justine both just seemed worried.

As for Darryl, his own comment made him think. No, he couldn’t carry Justine on his back all the way over the mountain pass, even if she would have allowed it. Still, the idea of lugging her around made him think of another option, and he was surprised that no one else had thought of it first.

“I don’t know how we’re going to replace the axles,” Greg said. “We don’t have the wood for it, and this clip here ripped out of the frame. I don’t know.” He pressed his hands against the underside of the wagon, as if he intended to push it all the way over. Instead, he just leaned there, shaking his head.

“We have another option,” Darryl said, “besides going on foot, I mean. The answer is right outside of the cave and down in the meadow.”

“The horses,” Emma said, finishing his thought. “They came saddled. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Darryl said. “We have two big horses, and each of them can handle two riders. Justine, do you think you could sit in the saddle for an extended period of time?”

“I can handle it,” Justine said.

“I’m concerned it might be bad for you and the baby,” Darryl said, “but I don’t know what else we can do.”

“Afraid it’ll shake the baby loose?” she said. “We’re tougher than that. It can’t be much worse than being crammed on that bench in the back of the wagon,” Justine said.

Greg and Marion traded a look, clearly concerned about the suggestion.

“What about the supplies?” Greg said. “We can’t ride to the hunting lodge with just our backpacks. We’ll need more than that.”

Horace cleared his throat then. “Those big draft horses can handle a lot of weight. It wouldn’t take long to build a couple of travois, like the First Nations people used to do, to haul some of our gear. Two long sticks, crossbeams, some sturdy blankets or tarps, and a bit of rope—that’s really all we need. It looks like we’ve got it all right here.”

“How much weight can a travois carry?” Greg asked.

“More than nothing,” Horace said, “and more than the packs on our shoulders. We’ll have to be selective, but we can cobble together some saddlebags as well. It won’t be so bad. The kids came up with a great idea. We can make it work.”

Greg nodded, but he seemed to be deep in thought. After a moment, he walked to the cave entrance, stepping over their supplies. Tabitha and Marion went with him, and the three of them stood there together staring down into the meadow.

“I think it’s our best option,” Marion said, after a moment. “We can make it work if we double up on the horses. Even if we have to leave a bunch of stuff behind, it’s better than staying here. This winter camp is not a long-term solution, and it’s no place to deliver a baby.”

Darryl overheard Justine mutter something about Denisovans, but he didn’t quite catch it. He still had his arm around her. It made him proud to hear his mother prioritizing the baby’s well-being. At least he wasn’t carrying the burden alone.

“Okay, then,” Greg said finally. He turned around, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then I guess we’re all on the same page. The draft horses are strong enough. They should be able to carry two riders and also pull the travois, but we’ll have to go easy on them. Justine and Marion, you two can ride together. Tabitha and Horace, how cozy are you willing to get with each other? Will you share a saddle?”

Tabitha and Horace traded a brief, embarrassed look. “I think we can handle it like adults,” Tabitha said.

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” Horace replied, but as he said it, he reached up and swept his hair back, trying to put it into some semblance of order. “We’re all friends here.”

“Fine,” Greg said. “So Darryl, Emma, and I will be on foot, keeping an eye on the supplies and cattle. Is everyone okay with that?”

“Let Emma ride the horse,” Marion said. “I can walk.”

“No, Mom,” Emma said, with swift intensity. “If Dad and Darryl are going to walk, so am I. I don’t need to ride a horse.” She had that sharp, almost whiny quality to her voice that suggested she had chosen this hill to die upon, if need be.

Marion stared at her for a moment, frowning, then finally shrugged and said, “Okay, whatever. No sense arguing about it.”

“Good,” Greg said. “We know what we’re doing then. Let’s get to work.”

4

Determining which of the supplies were absolutely essential turned out to be very difficult. Greg and Tabitha were still pushing to pack up as much as possible. Darryl was sure his father would see reason about the junk now, but then he caught Greg adding some of the scrap metal and junk tools into Grandpa’s old toolbox.

“Come on, Dad,” he said. “Get that hatchet with the broken handle out of there. Essential tools, clothes, food, water, and medicine. Isn’t that what we decided?”

His dad seemed like he was going to say something, maybe to argue the point, but instead he grabbed the broken hatchet and tossed it aside. “Fair enough. But we might need some junk to repair the travois, if they get broken.”

“Extra rope, tarps, and wood,” Darryl said. “That’s all we need for repairs. What’s a broken hatchet going to do?”

“Maybe it reminds me of the old hatchet Tuck used to chop firewood,” Greg muttered. “Call me sentimental. Or maybe I just like the damn thing. Anyway, it’s gone. Get off my back, kid.”

Tabitha, Marion, and Emma began to disassemble the wagon board by board, as Greg repacked their supplies. Horace was the lead engineer for the travois, since he had the clearest idea of how to build them. He sifted through the pile of scrap from the wagon and set aside useful pieces, though Darryl did most of the work putting them together under his guidance. Justine had offered to help, but Darryl convinced her to rest easy. He’d even prepared a pallet of blankets for her in a corner near the back of the main chamber. Emma had given her a book to read, but she was mostly staring off into space. She looked worried, and Darryl didn’t blame her. They had avoided the worst-case scenario, but he still wasn’t looking forward to the upcoming trip. Indeed, everyone seemed a bit downcast at their prospects.

“It’s a shame that we have to take this thing apart,” Emma said at one point. “This wagon is kind of like an old friend, you know? It brought us all the way here, it carried our stuff, and it’s just been sitting here inside the cave with us this whole time.”

“Well, it’ll still be with us,” Darryl replied, “just in a different form.”

“In a whole bunch of pieces, you mean,” Emma said. “It’ll be sad not to look outside and see it sitting there. I don’t know. I’m just being sentimental, I guess, and maybe that’s weird. It wasn’t even our wagon to begin with. Those weirdos in town gave it to us so we would leave.”

“When you don’t own much, it’s easy to get attached to what little you do have,” Horace Bouchard noted.

To construct the travois, they used the longest, sturdiest pieces of wood they could find. They took the thick boards from the bottom of the wagon’s frame for one of them. For the other, they used the front axle, reinforced with extra wood, and a couple of boards from the underside of the wagon that they lashed together with plenty of rope. These were placed into V shapes, bound together at the narrow end. Then they fastened crossbeams from smaller pieces of wood and stretched layers of tarps across them. A simple design, it nevertheless took a good couple of hours to get it done. Horace helped as much as he could, though he was forced to sit on a stool.

“The tricky part will be creating harnesses to attach the travois to the horses,” Horace said. “To be honest, that’s the part of the design I’m less certain about.”

Emma was in the process of removing nails from the underside of the wagon to free up more scrap wood. “It’s too bad we don’t have access to the bookshelves in the den,” she said. “I brought a few books, but there were so many more. I bet one of them had directions for building a travois and harness.”

“Well, I hope James Teagan and his cretins get a lot of use out of those books,” Tabitha said, bitterly, as she pried a board off the wagon’s frame with a crowbar. “Most of them belonged to Tuck, and some of them belonged to his mom and dad.”

“Something tells me those guys aren’t exactly well-read,” Marion said.

As Darryl finished lashing a final tarp to one of the travois, he noticed that Horace had bent over and was drawing something in the mud of the cave floor with his finger. His lips were moving, as if he were talking to himself. When he realized Darryl was looking at him, he said, “I might have an idea for how to harness the travois to the horses. Give me a couple of minutes. I’m just sketching it out here as best I can.”

Darryl nodded and rose. As Horace continued to draw in the mud, Darryl stepped back and examined his handiwork. The two travois looked pretty sturdy. Multiple layers of tarps spread across the flat wooden crossbeams provided a lot more room for supplies than he’d anticipated, and the support poles on either side looked sturdy enough to survive the few kilometers of bumpy trail.

“Darryl, since you’re taking a break,” his father said, “would you go to the bathroom on the other side of the cave and get the box of medicine? We forgot it.”

The box of medicine! Darryl couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it. He would have assumed someone else would grab it, but apparently it had been overlooked. If the wagon hadn’t broken, would they have left it behind? That was an alarming thought, especially since Tabitha’s diabetes medication was in there. Darryl rose, dug a flashlight out of their supplies, and stepped past the travois, headed into the living chambers.

It was strange to see the empty rooms now. This weird, unpleasant place had been home for so long, he’d almost gotten used to it. Now that their personal possessions were removed, it just looked like a dim, dirty cave again.

A narrow passageway across from the living room led toward the back of the cave, where a second, smaller exit was hidden behind a crude wooden door. A small curtained-off corner served as a bathroom. It had a small mirror mounted on the wall above a shelf and ceramic basin. The toilet was essentially a large plastic bucket with a hinged toilet seat on top. The faint smell of flowery scented candles lingered in the air. Darryl made his way toward the corner beside the sink, where he found the small wooden box that served as a medicine cabinet on the floor. When he picked it up, the pill bottles rattled around inside. He opened the lid and felt inside until he found the smaller box that held Grandma’s diabetes medicine.

You should have remembered to bring these, Grandma, he thought. Why don’t you prioritize your own health care?

The small box felt much lighter than when he’d first packed it. She never took her medication in front of other people, and any time he dared to ask her about it, she always grumbled. Still, it seemed she’d been taking it, but there was so little left.

And when it runs out, then what? He didn’t have an answer to that question. Once it was gone, there would be no replacing it. Still, it couldn’t be helped. They would have to made do and hope for the best. He placed the diabetic meds back into the medicine box, shut the lid, and picked it up. Tucking it under his arm, he moved back through the cave to join his family.

Marion, Tabitha, and Emma had done a thorough job of tearing apart the wagon. Other than the wheels, the whole thing was mostly in pieces now, which they’d separated into distinct piles. Everyone looked melancholy, as if they’d just put down a family pet. Near the mouth of the cave, bathed in bright late-morning sun, his father had reduced their supply load to nine or ten large boxes and a couple of barrels. Darryl could only hope that the travois would hold the weight. He brought the wooden medicine box to his father, and Greg added it to the stacks.

“Okay, Darryl, I think I’ve got it figured out,” Horace said, bent over the rather elaborate diagram he’d drawn in the mud. “Come and look at the design here and tell me what you think. Do we have the materials to build these harnesses?”

Darryl went and stood behind Horace, gazing down at a confusing mess of lines and grooves carved in the ground. He couldn’t make sense of it, even after a few seconds of studying it. “Truthfully, I’m not sure what I’m looking at, sir,” he said.

Horace began point at parts of his diagram. “I’m not much of an artist, and I was never a draftsman, but my thought is we use the old lead lines, driving reins, ropes, and some blankets for padding to create the harnesses for the travois. Here’s roughly what they would look it. The ropes will bear the weight, but the blankets will help prevent chafing. What do you think? Can we create something like this?”

“You’ll have to guide me through it,” Darryl replied. I couldn’t follow your drawing if my life depended on it.

“Got it,” Horace said. “We’ll go step by step. Gather the materials.”

As Darryl worked to create harnesses for the travois, Tabitha, Marion, and Emma loaded up the supplies Greg had prepared, trying to distribute the weight evenly. Emma had strong opinions about where everything should go, and her mother and grandmother patiently tolerated it. Greg pushed all of the remaining supplies to one side of the cave, giving them a rather sad, regretful look.

Let’s hope he was wrong and we won’t end up needing the stuff we leave behind, Darryl thought. Then again, I suppose we can always make a trip back here someday and retrieve it all.

Maybe the journey to the lodge would end up being a few short hours along an open path with no real problems. In the end, they would feel silly about all of their worry, but at least they would be safe.

“I’ll go and get the horses,” Greg said. “I left them grazing in the meadow. Once the animals are all rounded up, it seems to me we’ll be ready to go.”

Darryl gestured at the harnesses that he and Horace had created. “Looks like it.”

“Okay, until I get back, rack your brains to make sure we’re not leaving behind anything that is absolutely essential.” He looked at each person in turn, as if personally assigning them the task, then headed out of the cave, walking down the slope that led to the meadow.

Of course, there was one thing that Darryl hadn’t been able to find. The old compass from Tuck’s toolbox. They’d wound up needing it on their journey to the winter camp. After finding the trail to the cabin snowed in, they’d gotten turned around in a snowstorm, and the compass had helped them find their way. Darryl couldn’t imagine what had happened to it, but he feared they might need it, especially once they got into the deep woods. For some reason, he couldn’t let it go. Its disappearance was bugging him.

“Horace, I think the harnesses are good here,” he said. “I’m going to take one more pass through the old rooms and make sure we didn’t leave anything we need.”

Horace tipped him a salute. As Darryl headed deeper into the caves again, he heard Tabitha and Emma bickering about the placement of the water barrels.

“Toward the front, Grandma,” Emma was saying. “Toward the front.”

“They’re more likely to tip over up there,” Tabitha replied.

“Nothing’s going to tip over,” Emma said. “The angle won’t be that steep. Look how long the poles are.”

“The horses are taller than you realize! Now, stop mouthing off at your granny. It’s starting to irk me.”

“But Grandma, I’m just trying to help.”

Let’s hope this doesn’t set the general mood of the trip, Darryl thought.

Justine was still sitting on her pallet, leaning back against the cave wall, with her hands resting on top of her big belly. Though she seemed half asleep, he paused and gently patted her on top of the head.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“I’m thinking about whether or not I have enough energy to get up, walk out of the cave, and barf in the grass,” she said. “Maybe not. I might just sit here and swallow it.”

“Yuck,” Darryl replied. “I’ll carry you out of the cave, if you want.”

She looked up with an ornery glint in her eye. “You sure are determined to carry me around. It keeps coming up. I’m not an invalid, you know.” Even as she said it, she reached up and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. He knew her well enough now to tell when the sarcasm was coming from a gentle place. “Just tell me when it’s time to go. I’m sick of sitting here not helping anyone.”

“It’ll be soon,” he said. “And you are helping someone. You’re helping the little one.”

“Well, tell the little one to quit kicking my ribs,” she said with a smile. “He can kick my spleen for a while and give the ribs a rest.”

Darryl headed back into the living chambers and spent a few more minutes rooting around in the dark, searching the likely places where the compass might have fallen. It was no use. The compass had vanished into thin air. It was a shame. Not just because they might need it, but because it had belonged to his grandfather. That made it irreplaceable. But that wasn’t really the problem, and he knew it. He’d become obsessed with maintaining anything that he thought might be helpful for Justine and the baby. Indeed, the reason why he’d been able to find the medicine box in the dark was because he checked the damn thing almost every day, making sure all of their essential medicine and first aid supplies were readily available, for Justine’s sake.

He felt along the floor, in the corners, along the walls. It was a futile effort, and he finally returned to join the others, resigned to accept its loss but irritated. Just then, Marion and Tabitha were placing the medicine box onto one of the travois. He hadn’t noticed just how bad Tabitha looked. His grandmother was sweating profusely, and she seemed flushed. After setting the box down, she collapsed on her rump, struggling to catch her breath.

“Grandma, don’t push yourself too hard,” Darryl said.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied. She pulled off her gloves, dabbed her forehead with one of them, and unzipped her coat. “Just need a little break. I haven’t worked this hard since we first got to the camp.”

Darryl glanced at the medicine box. It was a touchy subject. She hated it when he brought up her medication, but it needed to be addressed, especially with the hard journey ahead of them. Darryl gathered his courage before plunging ahead.

“Grandma, when I looked inside that box, I noticed that the container with your medicine is feeling really light,” he said. “I guess that’s a good thing, since it’s means you’ve been taking your meds, but are you close to running out?”

She wouldn’t look at him, but he could tell by the sudden tightness in her face that he’d made her mad. Tabitha looked down at the ground, her lips working back and forth.

“If you’re running out of meds, you should tell us,” Marion said. “It’s something that will have to be addressed. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m fine,” Tabitha snapped. “I have it all under control, okay? Darryl, you can be so nosy sometimes.” She laughed, but he could tell there was embarrassment behind it. Why did she hate this so much? Diabetes wasn’t something to be ashamed of. “As I’ve told you all many times, I mostly control my symptoms through diet, and that’s still the case. I’m not some old biddy that needs help changing her diaper. I am still fully capable of looking after myself.”

Darryl had always found his grandmother intimidating, but he wasn’t the same person anymore. His sense of responsibility had made him bold, even in the face of Grandma’s tirade. He waited patiently for her to finish and then, speaking as calmly as he could, he replied, “Grandma, it’s our responsibility to worry about you. Heck, it’s our responsibility to worry about everyone. We take care of each other, right? So we have to stay on top of any possible problem, especially when the well-being of a family member is concerned.”

This response seemed to soften her. Tabitha dabbed her face again, then pulled on her gloves. “Of course. I just don’t like everyone needling me about my health. I’m on top of it. I’ve been looking after my own health for a long time, and I’ve done a pretty good job of it, I’d say. If it’s any consolation, I’ve got more medications stocked at the hunting cabin, so if we can just get there, everything will be fine.”

“Mom, is that true?” Marion asked.

“Yes, of course,” Tabitha replied. “Now, can we stop worrying about how much medicine is in this little box here?” She patted the wooden lid. “Let’s just get to our destination as fast as we can, and I’ll be fine.”

Darryl didn’t believe her. By her own admission, she hadn’t visited the cabin in a few years. He decided not to press the point.

“Okay, fair enough,” he said, after a moment. “Then we’ll try to make good time and get there as soon as possible.”

“Just tell us if you have any major symptoms, Mom,” Marion added. “Don’t keep it a secret.”

“A little hot flash is not a major symptom,” Tabitha said. “I’ll let you know if I’m in real trouble. Just don’t pester me. That’s all I ask. Okay?”

Darryl and Marion glanced at each other. It would have to do.

5

Greg had a bad feeling about the whole journey from the moment they set out. He could see that the lower part of the mountain was dense with trees that crowded in along the edges of the pass, eating away at the road. In some places, it was going to be a tight squeeze. Keeping the fifteen head of cattle all moving in the same direction would be a pain, especially when three of the cowherds were on foot. As they crossed the meadow outside the cave, he realized their pace was going to be excruciatingly slow. At this rate, it seemed like it would take days to get to the hunting cabin. The draft horses, at least, seemed to handle the weight of two riders plus the travois with little trouble.

Greg lingered near the back of the group so he could keep an eye on everything, carrying the crude hiking staff he’d made out of a dry sapling during their time in the cave. Darryl fell back to walk beside him, the Remington rifle stuck beneath a strap of his backpack. Greg had the Walther PPK pistol in a holster under his coat. Hopefully, they wouldn’t need either.

“I don’t know if it’s because we’ve been stuck in a cave all winter,” Darryl said, “but I feel out of shape. We haven’t gone two kilometers, and I’m already sore.”

“Yeah, it’s rough,” Greg replied. “Everyone’s lethargic. Even the cattle. Let’s hope we start to warm up. Otherwise, we’re in for a hell of a trip.”

Darryl looked around, as if making sure no one was in hearing range, then said, “Maybe this was a mistake, Dad. Maybe we should have stayed in the cave a couple more weeks.”

“The trip to the cabin was always going to be a pain,” Greg replied, “and we would only have gotten more out of shape. I think the timing of our journey is right, even if it’s not easy.”

The horses were leading the way, Tabitha and Horace’s mount slightly ahead of the other. Emma had been trying to keep pace with the horses, trotting along at times. She was always the chipper one. The difficulty of the road ahead did little to discourage her. However, she noticed that Greg and Darryl were behind her, and she fell back to join them.

“What are we talking about?” she asked.

The leader of the herd was a particularly large, but relatively calm cow. They kept her on a lead line attached to the harness of one of the horses. As long as she kept moving, the others were likely to follow. However, Greg tried to keep his eyes on the fringes to make sure none of them wandered off. And what would he do if one of them did? A determined cow would have no trouble getting away from them.

How many of these head of cattle can we afford to lose? he asked himself. Let’s hope they keep following the leader.

He realized he hadn’t responded to Emma, so he finally said, “We’re talking about the hard life of being cowboys with no horses to drive the cattle.”

“Maybe we should have slaughtered them all first and cured the meat,” Emma said.

“We wouldn’t have been able to lug all of the meat,” Greg said. “It’s a bad situation all around, but we’re making the best of it. If we get to the cabin with a few cows left, I’ll consider it a success. We can’t do much more than that.”

“I guess it’ll be worth it to get settled into the cabin well before the baby is born,” Darryl said. “There might be a lot of work to do to fix the place up.”

“Let’s just hope the structure is still intact,” Greg said.

Approaching the mountains was a trick itself. Tabitha claimed there had been a dirt road here at some point in the past, but it had long since disappeared. They were kilometers from the nearest major road, so they were forced to cross the meadow outside the cave and find the easiest path through the woods. From the meadow, it was a slow curve to the southeast, circling around to approach the mountain trail from the east. Finally, they found the residue of an old gravel road that was still mostly hidden under the snow.

Greg didn’t care for the way the travois dragged over the rocky ground, bumping and thumping all the way, which caused their supplies to jostle together. They had lashed everything down with ropes and straps, but he wasn’t sure how long it would all hold up. With so many different things to worry about, he felt himself sinking into a fouler and fouler mood. He made a valiant effort not to let it show, but they were only two or three hours into the journey, and the whole thing already felt like a huge mistake.

We should have stayed in the cave. We had enough food, milk from the cows, access to clean water from nearby streams. We could have made it work. What was I thinking? Why did I agree to this?

But it was too late now, and he knew it. After all the work they’d done to get ready, nobody would agree to turn back. They had just come in sight of the lower switchbacks of the mountain pass when he saw one of the calves wandering off into the trees. He made his way toward it, working his way through the rest of the herd, but he didn’t want to startle any of the other animals. This slowed his pace, and by the time he got into the trees, the calf was long gone. He didn’t see it anywhere, and he couldn’t hear it over the constant dragging sound of the travois.

As he made his way back to the company, however, he was able to divert another cow that had started to wander off. He tapped it on the flank with his staff, and it turned back, trotting after the lead cow. Darryl and Emma met him as he rejoined the caravan.

“Did we lose one?” Darryl asked.

He nodded. “Don’t say anything about it to Tabitha. It’ll be easier up on the mountain. They’ll have a more restricted path.”

“Dad, I’ll go after it,” Emma said. “I bet I could circle around and shoo it back this way.”

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I don’t want anyone going off alone. Maybe it’ll come back of its own volition. We knew this would happen.”

He waved them on.

Another half hour brought them to a rather steep slope, the narrow mountain path cutting a zigzagging pattern through dense evergreen trees. Here, at least, the path was lined with dense brush that would keep the cows from wandering off. Greg eased back behind the herd again and did his best to make sure they were properly funneled onto the trail. This put the horses far ahead of him. Marion and Tabitha glanced back occasionally, and each time, he raised a hand to reassure them.

As they ascended the path, he sent Darryl and Emma to the front of the group. The horses had slowed down and seemed nervous to continue, so he had them lead the horses on foot. The weather, at least, was nice. By mid-afternoon, the sun was fully out, and he could feel the warmth on his face. Snow had continued to melt, making the ground damp and slippery, and occasionally one of the cattle took a bad step. However, the mountain trail turned out to be much easier than riding through the woods.

With little risk of the cattle wandering off, Greg worked his way back through the herd to rejoin the others at the front of the caravan. As he approached, he heard Marion, Tabitha, and Justine having a lively debate. They all looked quite cozy on their saddles, though Horace seemed half asleep, slumped forward with his arms crossed.

“Well, don’t take this as egotistical or anything,” Tabitha was saying, as Greg moved up alongside the horses, “but if it’s a girl, I think you should seriously consider naming it Tabitha. And if it’s a boy, you won’t go wrong naming it Tuck.” She had a smile on her face as she said, it, but Greg couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Marion and Justine stared at her in obvious confusion for a second, then Justine shook her head and make a soft little sound that might have been a laugh.

“I’ll add that to the list,” she said.

“It’s up to you, of course,” Tabitha replied, shrugging one shoulder. “Just throwing out ideas.”

“It’s so hard to pick a name,” Justine said with a sigh. “I mean, the kid is going to be stuck with it for the rest of their life. I want something interesting, something unique, but not too weird or anything. I wish I had a book of baby names. It’s hard to think of them.”

“Something unique?” Marion replied, a twinkle in her eye. “Oh, how about Rocky…or Gem…or Hamline. Yes, that’s it, I think. Hamline Healy.”

Unlike Tabitha, it was clear that Marion was joking, and Justine laughed loudly. Emma laughed too and joined in the fun.

“How about Tiger,” she said. “Or…or Pinecone…or Spider!”

Now, they were all laughing, even Tabitha. Horace snorted and looked up from his semi-sleep, and that only made people laugh harder.

“No one is naming our kid Spider,” Darryl said.

“I don’t know,” Justine replied, tapping her chin with one finger. “I kind of like Spider.” She had stopped laughing, narrowing her eyes as if she were seriously considering it. “It sounds kind of tough, you know? Like a biker’s name. Nobody’s going to mess with someone named Spider.”

Darryl had been leading their horse, but he dropped back and grabbed Justine’s leg. “Please, tell me you’re not serious. Spider Healy? That poor kid’s life would be ruined.”

She smacked him playfully on the back of the head. “Of course, I’m joking. I would never name a kid Spider. I much prefer Pinecone.”

“Little Piney,” Marion said, joining the fun. “Yeah, I can see it.”

Greg couldn’t join them. He just didn’t have it in him to joke and laugh. There was too much weighing on him, and too much to worry about, but he was glad to hear his family laughing and having fun. The months in the cave had been dour and unhappy. All of this smiling and joking around was like a glimpse of normal life. Maybe once they settled in at the cabin they could find something approaching normalcy again. That would be worth the loss of so many of their possessions, even the loss of some of the cattle along the way.

Sadly, the joking around didn’t last long. After an hour of slowly winding up the switchbacks, walled in on either side by tall trees, the terrain started to get rougher and more difficult to navigate. The trail was rocky, eaten away in places, and uneven. Finally, the big draft horses began to really struggle. The one carrying Marion and Justine had the heavier travois, and the poor mare began to fall behind, despite Darryl’s best effort to keep her moving forward.

With the trees on either side, it was impossible to tell how much farther they had to go to reach the valley on the other side of the mountain, but Greg could feel a difference in the air. At one point, they turned a corner and got a glimpse of the land behind them through a break in the trees. He saw the great forest stretching out a couple hundred meters below.

“We’ll have to give the horses a break,” he said, coming up alongside Tabitha and Horace. “We don’t want to push them much harder than we already have. We are entirely dependent on them.”

“Do you hear that?” Marion said, cupping a hand to her right ear.

Greg tilted his head to one side and thought he heard a faint roar of water muffled down among the trees. He couldn’t tell how far away it was. “A stream,” he said. “That would be perfect. Can’t tell which direction it’s coming from.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s straight ahead,” Marion said, pointing up the trail.

The trail ahead curved up the side of the rocky slope, crested a rise, then disappeared around a bend. It was maybe another twenty or thirty meters to the top, but Marion and Justine’s horse was struggling to keep going.

“Let me run on ahead and see what’s up there,” Greg said.

“I’ll go with you, Dad,” Emma said.

“No, stay with the horses,” he replied. “Keep them moving.”

Though he was already sweating and out of breath, he ran past the horses and hurried up the slope, pulling his toque off as he went. His hair was plastered against his skull with sweat. Next, the gloves came off. He shoved them in his pocket and jogged up the path to the top of the rise. The sound of rushing water got louder, and when he reached the top, he saw it: sunlight gleaming like silver on rough water.

Beyond the top of the rise, the land actually dropped back down to a low, rocky ravine between mountains. A stream poured out of the dense trees to his right and rushed down the rocks to meet a mountain river, flowing in the ravine. At its widest point, the water was perhaps five meters across, churning with quite a bit of strength.

The trail forked here, following the river in either direction, the right trail disappearing into the trees, the left trail heading down into the ravine. Greg knelt at the water’s edge to catch his breath. The view into the ravine was beautiful, full of boulders and green trees, beautiful fresh water, and then the peaks on the other side rising up like points on a crown. He had an old plastic water bottle in a side pocket of his backpack, and he pulled it out now. He took a few deep swigs, then refilled it in the stream. The water was starkly cold—clearly, it was mostly melted snow from the peaks. Then he twisted the cap back on and shoved it back in its pocket.

Afterward, he found a large rock and sat down to wait for the others. A few minutes later, he heard the clop of hooves, and soon the horses appeared at the top of the rise, led by Darryl and Emma.

“Let’s give the animals a break,” Greg said. “We can afford a few minutes here.”

He helped Tabitha and Horace dismount. Darryl helped Marion, but Justine opted to remain in the saddle. Then they unharnessed the travois and walked the horses to the river’s edge. They bent down to drink, gulping water thirstily. Greg took the line of the lead cow and brought her to the river as well, and soon the rest of the herd joined her, fanning out along the river, drinking and nibbling at the plants. Looking at all the people and animals gathered by the river, Greg was impressed that they made it this far. A couple of cows appeared late, strolling over the rise a few minutes after all the others.

“What do you think, Dad?” Emma said, moving up beside him. “We’re not half bad as cowboys, after all. We only lost one. Maybe they’ll invite us to the Calgary Stampede next year.”

“Don’t count on it,” he replied, patting her on the back. “But, yeah, we did okay.”

He saw Tabitha sitting on a rock, leaning her shoulder against a tree and gazing intently at the water below. He moved up beside her.

“Anything look familiar here?” he asked.

“Yeah, this river is a sight for sore eyes,” she said. “I know this place. The left trail is the shorter route by far. It leads right to the cabin. It’s pretty much a straight shot from here.”

He looked down the slope. Actually, the left trail seemed somewhat treacherous. In places, it followed so closely to the river’s edge, that the water had eroded it. The ground was even rockier, and the steep downhill slope seemed dangerous. He didn’t like the look of it.

“Is the left trail our only option?” he asked.

“No,” Tabitha replied. “The right trail leads there as well, but it takes a very long, roundabout way. It may be safer, but it’s definitely the scenic route, meandering through the mountains to find the most beautiful views. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Greg looked in both directions. The shortest way wouldn’t be the safest way if one of the horses got injured. Still, the thought of taking a roundabout way to the cabin was exhausting. Tabitha was giving him a questioning look, clearly waiting for him to make the choice. Normally, he would have simply made a decision, but he caught himself. Turning, he watched the rest of his family. They were standing together with the horses. Justine was still sitting in the saddle, sipping from a water bottle, and for once, she had pushed her hood back, revealing her entire face and her long black hair.

Greg caught Marion’s eye and beckoned her.

“Marion, Darryl, come here,” he said. “I want your opinion. Let’s make this decision together.”

6

From his place atop a large boulder beside the river, Greg thought the two trails couldn’t have been more different. On the right, the trail looked smooth and sturdy, cutting a relatively straight course into the trees. On the left, it was steep and crumbling, eaten away by the water, as it sank down into the ravine.

“How much farther is the right fork?” he asked. “You called it the scenic route, but what does that mean in terms of actual distance?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Tabitha said. “Based on experience, at the speed we’re traveling, it would take us at least another day or two to reach the cabin. At least. It follows a meandering ridgeline for a while, heads upstream, then cuts across at a place where the river flows underground. The views are lovely along the way, I will say.”

Darryl and Marion were standing beside him, surveying the visible sections of both trails.

“I mean, the left fork doesn’t look that bad,” Darryl said, after a moment, pointing down into the ravine. “It follows right alongside the river. Personally, I’d rather take the faster road. This journey isn’t easy on Justine. The sooner we can get to the cabin, the better.”

“It’s not that bad,” Tabitha agreed. “After another kilometer or two, the land opens up, and it becomes a lot easier. We can handle it.”

Greg turned and looked at the horses. Currently, Emma was trying to wrangle another calf that had tried to wander off. She managed to circle around it and encourage it back toward the water’s edge. Horace was seated on a rock beside the river, his prosthetic legs removed and standing nearby. The old guy looked thoroughly uncomfortable, hunched over and frowning at the churning water. However, it was Justine that drew his attention. She was holding her belly in both hands and looked like she was on the verge of puking.

“I prefer a safe road,” Marion said. “Even if it takes longer. What we’re attempting to do here, driving cattle and dragging our personal possessions, is already a huge risk. Why add to the danger?”

“Time itself is a risk,” Darryl said. As he said it, he looked back toward Justine. She noticed and waved him over. “I say we take the faster road. It’ll be easier on Justine. She’s due soon, you know. Hang on. I’ll be right back.” And with that, he approached Justine.

“Mom, what do you remember about the leftward path?” Marion asked.

Tabitha had taken a seat, and she was fanning her face with her hands. She was drenched with sweat, and her complexion didn’t look great.

“Like I’ve said, it’s been years since we went to the cabin,” she replied, “but I remember that the left path follows the river for a while, then cuts through the trees and passes by the cabin near the bottom of a rocky ravine. It’s steep in places, but passable, even with the travois.”

Greg was torn. His personality made him want to take the leftward path. A faster, straighter course to the objective was always more attractive to him. But they had struggled to make it up the switchback trail to the river. Indeed, as he was contemplating their options, Darryl summoned them.

“Mom, Dad, would you help?” he asked.

Greg realized he was trying to help Justine down from the saddle and having trouble. He’d reached up to help her, but when she tipped to one side, she gasped and grabbed at her back. Marion dashed on ahead to help, arriving before Greg got there.

“My back hurts really bad,” Justine said.

Marion and Darryl grabbed her leg. Greg wasn’t sure what they intended to do, but as soon as they lifted her leg, Justine gasped and leaned forward, grabbing her knee.

“No, no, don’t do that,” she said. “My feet are so swollen. They hurt. Oh, God, this is the worst.” She brushed tears off her face and pulled her hood back up, tugging it forward to hide her face.

“Hang on, guys,” Greg said. “We’ll get her down from there.”

He walked back to the travois, which had been unhooked from the horses. He picked through the lashed supplies until he found a small step ladder, which he’d tucked in between two large crates. It took a moment to work it free without untying the ropes. He brought it back, unfolded it, and set it on the ground beside the horse. He started step up on the ladder, but Darryl brushed him back.

“Let me, Dad,” he said. “Please.”

Greg stepped back and motioned him ahead. It was his place, after all. He was quite proud of his son for always taking initiative to help Justine. He made a great partner for the girl, and he was going to be a great dad.

Better than I was, Greg thought. Better than Tuck. Maybe he’ll break the family curse.

Yet Greg had to remind himself that his time wasn’t over. He was still a husband and father, and he still bore tremendous responsibility. There was plenty of time to do right by them. Darryl climbed the foot ladder and slid his arms under Justine, lifting her from the saddle delicately. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his shoulder.

“Just lay me down somewhere soft,” she said. “I have to take these damned boots off.”

Darryl carried her over to a soft patch of grass to one side of the road, kicking a large fallen branch into place to act as a makeshift pillow. Then he gently laid her down, positioned her as comfortably as possible, and helped her rest her head on the branch.

“Thanks,” she said, in a breathless voice. “I guess I’m not cut out to be a cowgirl.”

“It was a long road,” Darryl replied, as he tugged off her boots one after the other.

Greg looked from Justine to Horace to Tabitha. His mother was huddled on a rock beside the river, dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief. He couldn’t decide which of the three looked more miserable.

“I think we’re going to be here for a little while,” he said to Marion, as she folded the foot ladder and returned it to the travois. “Our people need to rest as much as the animals.”

“That’s fine,” Marion replied. “Even if we have to camp here for the night, it’s fine. It’s better than pushing everyone to the breaking point.”

“Let’s give it an hour or so and see how they’re feeling then,” he said.

His daughter strolled up then. She had that look on her face—eyes narrowed, eyebrows knitted, lips pressed tightly together—that she got when she was deep in thought, dreaming up solutions.

“Dad, the rightward path leads into the woods,” she said. “I was thinking that maybe I could find some nettles or dandelions along the path. It might be too early in the season for them, but you never know. Nettle or dandelion tea would help bring down the swelling in Justine’s feet.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Marion said, giving her daughter a hug.

“That’s fine, but don’t go far,” Greg said. “If you don’t find anything within a couple hundred meters, turn around. Don’t keep going.”

She gave him a little salute and headed up the path, passing through the milling herd of cattle, which were furiously munching any plant in sight.

“I mean it,” Greg called after her. “No more than a hundred meters or so.”

She gave him a thumbs-up without looking back and continued up the rightward path. At least she wore a bright pink coat. That made her highly visible from a distance. Still, Greg did have a moment of doubt. Was it wise to let anyone go off alone, and, furthermore, could he trust Emma to not keep going? The last time she’d gone off alone, she’d been kidnapped by Eustace Simpson and his goons. Still, that was in their past, and they had no enemies here in the mountains.

“She’ll be okay,” Marion said, patting him on the chest. “She needs something useful to do right now. Let her go.”

He wasn’t going to fight the point. After all, maybe the tea would help. They could use any advantage right now. When he turned to check on his mother, he found Tabitha bent almost all the way forward, her face practically resting on her knees. She alternated between sipping water and dabbing her face. Her gray hair was soaking wet, as if she’d jumped in the river. He’d expected the trip to be hard on her, but she seemed a lot more drained than he’d expected, especially for someone who’d been sitting in a saddle all day.

“I think we should take the fastest route,” he said, turning to Marion. “This trip is a lot harder on some of our people than I anticipated.” He turned to check on Justine. Darryl was massaging her feet. Though she was wearing thick, wool socks, Greg thought that her feet did, indeed, look noticeably swollen. Justine was quietly crying.

“Maybe you’re right,” Marion replied. “I’m worried about the river. With the melting snow, it’s going to be unpredictable, and the water looks like it runs really close to the trail in some places. Then again, maybe I’m worried about nothing. What we can see of the leftward trail doesn’t look that bad.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “I trust your judgment.”

“No, no, don’t do that,” he said, pulling her hand away and holding it between both of his. “I want us to make this decision together.”

“Then go ask Tabitha,” Marion said. “If she agrees with you, then that’s what we’ll do.”

He nodded and went to his mother’s side. She screwed the cap onto her water bottle and tossed it onto the ground beside her. At that moment, she looked about a hundred years old, all shriveled up and melting. Feeling uneasy, Greg knelt beside her, but she only noticed him after a moment.

“I’m fine,” she said, clearly reading the look on his face. “Give me a few more minutes, and I’ll be ready to go. Don’t count me out.”

“I would never count you out, Mom,” he replied. “Level with me. Which way do you think we should go?” He pointed down the right path, then the left.”

“I’m fine with whatever you decide,” she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“So you don’t lean in either direction?” he asked. “Not even a little bit?”

She dabbed her forehead and cheeks again with the handkerchief. “Well, I suppose I’d prefer to get to the cabin sooner rather than later. There are plenty of rooms and plenty of beds there. The mattresses might be filthy, but after a little cleaning, I would love to just lie down for a while on a real bed.”

“I think our young mother might agree with you,” he said, gesturing at Justine. “It’s decided then. We take the quicker route and hope for the best.”

“If it all goes to hell, don’t blame me,” Tabitha said.

“Nope, we made the decision together,” he replied, “and we’ll accept responsibility for the outcome together.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Well, look at you. Mr. Team Player. That doesn’t run in our family, you know.”

“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know.”

7

Nettle tea didn’t smell all that appetizing, and Darryl was worried that Justine would refuse it. She had become very sensitive to strong smells and strange flavors, and it didn’t take much to get her puking like a fountain these days. He watched his sister brewing the tea on the little camp stove with a fair amount of trepidation, but when she finally poured the steaming, brown liquid into an enamelware cup and presented it, Justine received it with both hands.

“Smells better than that raspberry leaf tea,” she noted.

This comment caused Emma to wince. She’d served Justine plenty of red raspberry leaf tea over the winter. Justine held the cup in her hands for a moment, appearing to enjoy the warmth.

“Thanks, Emma,” she said, after a moment. “The red raspberry leaf tea wasn’t bad. Don’t get me wrong. It just smelled like dirt.”

“Oh, I know, it’s not the best aroma,” Emma replied. “I guess it’s more like medicine than a recreational beverage.”

“A recreational beverage,” Justine echoed, with a shake of her head. “Now you’re talking about something else altogether.” She raised the cup to her lips and sipped it.

“Well?” Emma asked. “You can be honest.”

“It’s decent,” Justine said. “I can drink this. Thanks.”

Beaming, Emma rose and went back to the camp stove to kill the flame. Darryl had helped Justine sit up, but she was leaning against him heavily. She’d cried from the pain in her back and feet, so her eyes were red and puffy.

“Pregnancy is a heck of a lot more uncomfortable than I expected,” she said, then took another sip of tea. “I want it to be over, but at the same time, I’m terrified of the birth. Next time, you carry the baby, okay?”

“I would if I could,” he said.

She gave him a dubious look. “That’s a bold claim.”

“One you have no way of refuting,” he joked. “But, on a serious note, it’s clearly not a good time to be dragging you over a mountain,” he said. “We should have waited a few more weeks.”

“A few more weeks? Then I’d likely be giving birth in that damp cave with all the spiders. No thanks. We made the right choice, and, hey, sometimes the right choice sucks. That’s all there is to it.” She took another sip, but he could tell she wasn’t enjoying the tea. She discreetly set the cup down, spilling a bit of it in the process.

“Well, you heard my dad,” Darryl said. “We’re taking the faster route, so we’ll get to the cabin soon.”

“Good,” she said. “Just roll me down the mountain, and I’ll meet you at the bottom.”

They rested for an hour, perhaps a little longer, then Greg finally called everyone to start packing up and getting ready to move out. It was early afternoon, and Tabitha seemed to think they might reach the cabin by nightfall if they didn’t encounter any problems. Darryl certainly hoped she was right.

Getting Justine back into the saddle was no easy effort. By the time they decided to set off again, the swelling in her feet had gone down considerably—though whether this was from the tea or the simple passage of time, Darryl didn’t know. However, she still couldn’t comfortably walk, so Darryl hoisted her off the ground. In truth, he kind of liked it. There was something protective about holding her in his arms this way that appealed to him. It wasn’t worth her suffering, of course.

“I hope you’re getting used to this,” Justine said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I see a lot of swollen feet in the near future.”

“Hey, whatever you need,” he replied. “I’ll carry you anytime.”

“Wow, lucky me,” she said. “I’ve got my very own porter to lug me around like the dead weight I am.”

Without having to be asked, Emma ran and got the foot ladder, setting it up beside Justine’s horse. The animal seemed well-rested. It had had plenty to drink, cropped some grass, and now had the twitchy energy of a horse that was prepared to hit the road. Darryl climbed the ladder one careful step at a time and delicately placed Justine in the saddle. She only grunted in pain once.

“How do you feel up there?” he asked her.

She reached back and pressed a gloved hand against the small of her back. “A little stiff and sore, but not too bad otherwise. My stomach is settled. I thought that tea would come right back up, but it didn’t.” At this, she turned and found Emma and gave her another thumbs-up.

Marion joined her in the saddle, settling herself carefully behind Justine to avoid jostling the baby. Then the others loaded up and prepared to leave. The lead cow was attached to its line, the travois were harnessed to the horses. Horace and Tabitha had gotten a bit of their strength back, but they both struggled to get in the saddle. Greg and Darryl had to help them. When they finally set off, there was some question if the herd would actually follow. Darryl looked back and saw some of the cows still wandering about. However, as they turned left and moved beyond the fork in the road, the herd began to slowly gather and move in their direction.

Darryl held the reins for Justine’s horse, guiding it down the path, but it didn’t need much coaxing. Ahead, the trail followed the river, cutting at an angle down the slope along rocky ground until it reached a bend far below and turned farther to the east into the trees. In the places where the river had eaten away at the edges they were forced to ride single file. Loose rocks littered the trail.

They’ve gone maybe two or three hundred meters down the trail when Greg, who was walking beside Tabitha and Marion, headed back to the herd.

“Where are you going?” Marion asked.

“We’re losing some of the cows,” he replied. “The slippery ground is unnerving them. I’ll try to coax them back. Keep going. Darryl and Emma have the lead.”

He was gone maybe half an hour when he returned, scowling darkly and knocking dirt and rocks off his sleeves.

“Have any luck?” Marion asked from the saddle.

“It’s too much for one person,” he said. He thrust his staff at Darryl. “You and Emma take over. Give me the reins. You guys go back and try to keep the cows in line, or we’re going to lose half the herd. They hate this trail. Two might be able to handle it.”

Darryl didn’t relish the idea of chasing down cows. Then again, he didn’t want to lose more of the herd. Justine would need the meat and milk. He handed his reins to his father, beckoned Emma, and headed back to the herd. It didn’t take long to see the problem. The herd was stretched out in a long line on the narrow trail, and some were getting distracted. He could see a few that had stopped in their tracks, as if confused or nervous. He began calling to them as he headed back up the trail. Emma moved around to the other side, sneaking around behind the ones that had stopped and coaxing them to move forward. It took a while, but eventually they got every cow moving again.

“These cows are smart when they want to be,” Emma noted, “and other times, they’re dumber than fence posts.”

“The only dumb animals around here are the people trying to herd cattle on foot,” Darryl replied. “If we make it to the cabin with three cows left, I’ll consider it a victory.”

“It didn’t seem so hard when we had the wagon,” Emma said.

“When we had the wagon, we weren’t trying to go over a mountain,” Darryl said. “There’s a reason why cowboys rode on horses.”

“Ancient humans herded cattle on foot for thousands of years,” Emma noted. “If they can do it, we can do it.”

“Is this about Denisovans again?” he said. “I don’t know why you and Justine find that so funny.”

“It’s our inside joke. You wouldn’t understand.”

They herded the cattle along until Darryl realized that the horses had come to a stop. As he worked his way back to the front of the caravan, he noted that a large barrel had come loose on the travois. He pushed it back into position and tightened its strap. As he did, Emma called his name. When he turned around, he saw that she was still way at the back of the herd, and she seemed to be staring into the trees on the side of the road across from the river. He started back to join her.

“Don’t tell me one of the cows managed to squeeze herself past the trees,” he said.

“No, look at this,” she called, pointing at something.

When he got close to her, he realized what she was pointing at. A swath of trees just beyond the road had toppled over. It looked like something had pushed them, lining them up neatly so they all fell in the same direction, tops pointed away from the road.

“That’s weird,” he said. They had been pushed in a wedge shape, almost like a bulldozer had driven into them.

“It looks deliberate,” she said. “Should we investigate?”

“What do you mean by investigate?” he asked.

“Go in closer and see if we can figure out what pushed them over.”

The caravan was still stopped. Up near the horses, Greg, Marion, and Tabitha were in deep discussion. Darryl felt torn between seeing what that was about and helping Emma.

“Okay, fine, let’s take a quick look,” Darryl said, heading to the edge of the trail.

“If the pass was snowed in all winter, no one could have reached this part of the trail to knock the trees over, could they?” Emma asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it was a lurking Denisovan.”

“Hey, that’s not your in-joke. No stealing.” His sister gave him a playful smack on the arm.

As soon as Darryl stepped off the road, his boot squished in thick mud. He dared a few steps before the mud became treacherous, and then he stopped. He thrust the hiking stick into the ground, and it became clear that the ground here was absolutely saturated with water. As for the trees, there was no sign of damage to the trunks, and the roots were mostly intact. Emma stepped up beside him, struggling to move through the mud. She squatted down beside the nearest roots. Reaching down, she pressed her gloved hand to the muddy ground beside the roots and water pooled up around her fingers.

“People didn’t do this,” she said.

“Maybe a storm?” he suggested. “A strong wind?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “With the ground this wet, I think the river flooded recently. The roots just lost their grip on the soil. That’s also why some of the trail is eaten away. I bet the river has been flooding periodically because of all the snow melt up on the peaks.”

Darryl felt a flutter of fear. He met his sister’s anxious gaze.

“Flash floods can hit really quick,” she said. “I’ve read about them. We’re practically trapped on this trail. If a surge comes down the mountain, we wouldn’t have anywhere to go. We could all be swept away in seconds.”

Suddenly a vivid image of precisely this filled Darryl’s mind. A great wall of water rushing down from the heights, sweeping over the trail, dragging away cows and horses, people and possessions, churning them violently against the rocks.

“We’d better warn the others,” he said. “Come on.”

He backed out of the soupy mud, returned to the trail, and headed to the front of the caravan, trying to drive the nightmare image out of his mind.

8

When Darryl reached the horses, he saw the reason for the holdup. Large rocks were piled up in the middle of the road. Though the whole trail had been rocky, these were practically boulders, and there was quite a bit of debris caught between them. More evidence of flooding. Greg was currently trying to move the rocks out of the way all by himself, but Darryl rushed to join him.

“Let me come down and help you,” Marion said. “Those are too big. You’re going to throw your back out.”

“I’m fine, I told you,” Greg said. “My big, strapping son is here to help.”

Working together, they hoisted a large rock that felt like it was at least fifty kilos. The underside was still wet, as if it had been tossed onto the road only recently, and there were bits of wood, sticks, and blobs of drying mud all over it. They had to coordinate their steps in order to move it off the trail without dropping it. Finally, they barely managed to heave it into the underbrush, where it crashed loudly.

“Did you tell him?” Emma said, running up behind them then. “Dad, we saw evidence of recent flooding back there.”

Greg rose and wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his coat. “You mean, like this?” He gestured at the edge of the trail, which was jagged and uneven. “It looks like the river occasionally rises and washes away the edge of the trail. We’ll have to be real careful not to step too close.”

He stooped down to pick up another rock. This one didn’t require Darryl’s help, so Darryl grabbed a large broken branch instead, tossing it aside.

“No, there’s some indication that the water has risen high enough to cover the entire trail,” Darryl said. “The ground is so saturated in some places, that the river current just pushed over the trees. At least, that’s what we think happened.”

Greg tossed the rock into the trees and turned to face his children. Darryl could tell he was troubled by this news. Indeed, it seemed as if their discovery had confirmed something he was already worried about. He chewed anxiously at his lower lip, then dragged his fingers through his blondish hair—classic signs that Greg Healy was afraid.

“Tabitha, do you know anything about the river flooding?” he asked.

Darryl was surprised to see Tabitha resting her face against Horace’s back. Their long ride together had certainly made them more comfortable with one another. Grandma still looked completely exhausted.

“I’ve never seen this river flood,” she said. “Of course, Tuck and I never came here at this time of year. I suppose if an ice dam broke somewhere upstream, it might cause a problem.”

Greg sighed deeply and glanced at his wife, shaking his head. “Should have gone with your first choice,” he said. “Safety over speed. Maybe I just shouldn’t have a vote from now on.”

“Oh, stop it,” Marion replied. “We made the decision together, and we all agreed to it. We can’t turn back now, so let’s just clear the road and keep going.”

Justine was grimacing and taking deep breaths, as she did when she was trying to settle her stomach. The awful image of raging floodwaters still lingered in Darryl’s mind. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. The mere possibility made him sick. He helped his father clear the trail with renewed vigor, and now Emma joined them. Moving fast, they dragged and tossed and pulled the debris off the trail. The largest of the rocks couldn’t be picked up, not even by the three of them working together. Finally, they decided to roll it into the river. It dropped over the jagged edge, taking a bit more of the trail with it, and hit the murky waters with a violent splash.

“That’s it,” Greg said. “We’re clear. Let’s pick up the pace. We’re not going to stop for every cow that wanders off. Too much is at stake.”

And with that, he picked up one set of reins and handed it to Darryl, trading him for the hiking stick. Emma grabbed the other reins before Greg could get them. Ahead, the trail hit a bend and the slope evened out, curving back to the right before heading into deep woods. After that, it disappeared behind a large outcropping of rock.

Horace spoke then. “Maybe we should leave the trail altogether.” The old guy hadn’t said much for the last few hours. Indeed, about an hour into the trip, he’d become listless and miserable, but he spoke forcefully now, as if screwing up his courage.

“How would we do that?” Greg asked. “We are essentially boxed in. Trees on the left, water on the right.”

“We could cut our way into the forest on the left,” Horace said, pointing at the dense line of trees and underbrush that grew up to the edge of the trail. “The land slopes upward in there. I know it’ll take time to carve a new trail, but it’ll put us higher above the water.”

“I doubt we have the tools to do that,” Greg said. “These big evergreens aren’t coming down without an axe, which we don’t have.”

Darryl was staring at the jagged edge where the big rock had rolled off into the water. He didn’t like how rough the water looked. It wasn’t a particularly broad river, but he could tell the current was strong. Indeed, he thought it had actually gotten a bit stronger over the last hour or so.

“Surely, we could find a way to get in there,” Horace said. “We’re a resourceful bunch. I just think it would be wise to reach higher ground.”

“Let’s just get moving,” Tabitha said. “We chose this trail because it’s faster, so let’s take advantage of that.”

“I think you’re right, Mom,” Greg said.

Darryl tugged on the reins, and Justine’s big draft horse began to move. However, he was still staring at the water. Yes, it had changed, and more than he’d first realized. The color of the water was darker, full of debris, even small bits of ice.

If not for their discovery earlier, he would have dismissed this out of hand. Now, however, it caused a surge of fear. No, it wasn’t just muddier. It was actually higher. He was sure of it. The water had crept up closer to the road. Darryl dropped the reins and stepped past Emma toward the edge of the road. He looked upstream and saw the churning water running down the slope. If it had risen, it wasn’t much. Looking back the way they’d come, he didn’t see anything particularly alarming.

Maybe I just imagined it, he thought. The river is fine.

“Darryl, we’re okay,” Greg said. “Take the reins. I’ll keep an eye on the water.”

Darryl walked back to his horse, trading a brief, troubled glance with Emma. Then he picked up the reins and tugged on them, getting the horse moving. His father took his place on the edge of trail, walking with the stick.

“Be careful the ground doesn’t collapse under your feet,” Marion said.

“I’ll be careful,” Greg said, glancing over his shoulder at the river.

Darryl felt a little better once they were moving again. They reached the place where the slope evened out, which made the trail a little easier to navigate. However, he noted that the spaces in between the trees here were absolutely choked with debris—another sign of flooding, perhaps? He traded another anxious look with Emma.

“I never thought I would miss that cave,” she said, quietly enough that only Darryl heard.

“You and me both,” he replied. “At least the cave never flooded.”

Emma started to say something else, but he didn’t hear the words. At first, he thought she’d just spoken too quietly. Then he realized the background noise had gotten louder. With this realization came an awareness of some faint tingling in the soles of his feet. The ground was shaking ever so slightly. Darryl tossed the reins down again and moved to join his father, ducking under Emma’s reins. His father had turned to look upstream.

“What is it?” Darryl asked.

“I don’t think it’s bad,” Greg said.

Looking upstream, Darryl saw a surge of water rushing down the slope, lapping at the edge of the road. They could see about fifty meters up the trail until it curved out of sight. Though it was definitely a surge, his dad was right. It didn’t seem bad—almost as if the river were mocking them for their fears.

“We’ll never get anywhere if we keep staring at the water,” Greg said, clapping Darryl on the shoulder. “Pick up the reins and keep moving. Let me worry about it.”

But something about this bothered him. He couldn’t put his finger on it at first. The rumble beneath his feet and the rising sound of rushing water didn’t match the minor surge that was flowing toward them.

“Dad…”

It was all he managed to get out before a great wall of water crashed around the bend above them. Foaming and fierce, it rolled over the landscape, splashing up onto the trail all the way to the trees on the far side. Darryl couldn’t believe how fast it was moving. Dark water pushing broken tree branches, chunks of ice, and rocks. He gasped and ran back to the horses, stooping down to grab the reins. As he did, he heard chaos all around him. Everyone began shouting, but the words were lost beneath the roar of water. Emma was holding the reins of Tabitha’s horse tightly and looking wildly back and forth, as if trying to spot an escape route.

The cows were lowing, the horses stamping anxiously. Darryl looked for Justine and saw that his mother had wrapped both arms around her. Tabitha was motioning wildly and saying something to Greg, but Darryl couldn’t make it out.

And then the water reached them. Cold and muddy, it swept over the trail. At first, it was only an inch high, then two, then three, but Darryl felt the ground beneath his feet sliding. He lost his footing and went down on his knees. As he did, he took the reins and wrapped them tightly around his left wrist.

His father appeared then, taking careful steps as he moved in front of the horses. Emma was bent over, struggling to remain standing, and he grabbed her and pulled her upright.

“I don’t think it’s going to get any deeper than this,” he said. “Let get around the bend and past the outcropping there. Come on. Go, go, go!”

He pointed into the distance, where the bent trail moved into the trees. The water now stretched from the trees all the way across the stream to the steep rocks on the other side. Darryl started moving forward, tugging on the reins, but he felt the horse slipping behind him. He heard a series of thuds. In his struggle to stay upright, he couldn’t look to see what was causing them, but he was fairly certain it was the sound of cows falling over.

Darryl managed to keep the horse moving, though it was very slow going as the animal had to fight for every step. The ground was almost like a treadmill moving sideways under his feet. Emma kept falling to her knees, but she finally copied Darryl’s trick of wrapping the reins around her wrist. They didn’t get far before Justine’s horse came to a dead stop. Darryl looked back and saw that the animal was still struggling, trying to move, but something seemed to be tugging at her.

“Dad, we’re stuck,” he shouted.

His father was standing between them now, jabbing the hiking stick into the ground to keep his balance.

“I think it’s the travois,” he called. “I’m guessing the current pushed it into the mud. I’ll try to free it.”

He started working his way past the horses. Marion reached down briefly and snagged the collar of his coat.

“You three need to get up out of the water,” she shouted. “Wait for the current to pass. It’s not safe.”

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “It’s not too deep. We have to keep the horses moving.”

Emma lost her footing again and went down on her knees, dangling by the reins around her left wrist. Darryl reached out to help her, but that only made him lose his own footing. The ground seemed slide right out from under him, and suddenly he was hanging by his right arm, tugging on the poor horse’s harness. He struggled to get back up, but the ground was becoming mushy and soft. He couldn’t seem to get any purchase on it. When his horse tried to lift her front hooves, he saw that she struggled to get them out of the mud.

Greg had reached the travois, and he braced himself against one of the barrels, reaching down into the water. As Darryl watched him, he realized the river had gotten even higher. Not much, maybe another inch, but it was enough to make the ground that much worse.

“Just cut the travois loose,” Marion shouted.

“We can’t afford to lose that much,” Greg replied. “With no cows, no supplies, and no tools, we won’t survive!”

Darryl was still dangling from the reins, and the horse finally had enough. She swung her head to one side, which cause him to flop on his side in the water. That, in turn, startled her, and she took a step back.

“Greg, please,” Marion screamed. “Cut the ropes! Just let the travois go!”

And then the horse beneath her slipped and went down. Darryl saw it as if it were in slow motion. First, it crashed down on its knees, then the water pushed it onto its side. Marion still had her arms around Justine, and she managed to heave her off the saddle before her legs got crushed. Then the current swept both of them toward the trees. Darryl tried to intercept them, but it was hopeless. He couldn’t fight the current, and he couldn’t get any purchase on the wet ground. Fortunately, Marion managed to drive them into a dense tangle of underbrush, and then she pushed them into the woods.

Greg was still on the travois, but it had been pulled off kilter when the horse went over. Pressed against a barrel, he finally reached inside his coat and produced a knife. With it, he began sawing at one of the ropes. However, Darryl saw two great shapes being swept toward him. Two full-grown heifers had fallen into the current.

“Dad, look out,” he cried.

At the sound of his voice, Greg turned and saw the cows bearing down on him. He pushed off the barrel, lunging for the other travois behind Tabitha’s horse in an effort to evade them. Just then, as Darryl watched with numb horror, a huge section of the river around Greg suddenly dropped down as the water washed away the trail. The travois dropped, tugging at the horse. The two cows, diverted by the current, sank into the new gap and quickly disappeared beneath the water.

For a couple of seconds, Greg remained. Tabitha was screaming his name. Darryl made a futile effort to move toward him, but he couldn’t get his feet under him. His father was holding the top end of one of the travois’s support posts, but then the water swept over his head. His hand held fast another second, and then he lost his grip. Darryl caught one last glimpse of his father, a mere shape, as he fell into the gap and disappeared beneath the water.

And then he was gone.

9

The next few minutes were mind-numbing chaos. Darryl could scarcely think. Somewhere, he heard his mother and grandmother screaming, but the roar of water dampened the sound of their voices. Greg and two cows had disappeared beneath the surface of the churning river. Darryl kept expecting them to pop back up again, but they didn’t

“Someone get him,” Emma cried. Like Darryl, she was hanging from the reins of her horse, helpless against the current. And now, the weight of the travois was pulling her horse slowly backward, as her two riders—Horace and Tabitha—stared helplessly down into the muddy water. “Someone throw a rope into the water. Get Dad! Hurry! He’s down there somewhere.”

Oh, God. Oh, God. It just kept repeating in Darryl’s head like a horrific mantra. His father wasn’t going to resurface. Long minutes were passing, and there was still no sign of him. It was as if the river had swallowed even the memory of his existence. Oh, God!

He turned his head to try to see where everyone was. Marion and Justine were in the trees. They managed to wriggle themselves high enough that they were out of the stream. The horse they’d been riding was on its side, struggling to get up, but held fast by the travois, which was driven deep into the mud.

“Darryl, can you see your father?” his mom called out. She had her arms around Justine, holding her tightly. “Do you see him anywhere? Did he come back up?”

Darryl twisted around and finally managed to get one foot beneath him. This, in turn, gave him leverage to push himself up, if only for a few seconds, so he could get a clear view of the flooded stream. He saw water choked with chunks of ice, broken tree branches and leaves, rocks, and mud. There was no sign of his father or the two cows.

Before he could say anything, the current pulled his foot out from under him again, and he went down face-firston his belly, freezing cold water filling his mouth and nostrils. Even beneath the water, he heard his mother and grandmother shouting, but Tabitha had no words—just gut-wrenching cries. When he finally managed to push himself above the water again, he realized that Horace and Tabitha were in trouble. Their horse was being slowly pulled backward by the weight of the travois.

Emma was still shouting at him. “Darryl! Do you see Dad? Did you see where he went?”

“He’s…gone,” Darryl replied, then coughed up a bunch of muddy water. “The river took him.”

His own words intensified the horror, but he forced himself to act. Crawling, clawing at the soft ground beneath him, he worked his way toward Tabitha and Horace. They were astride their horse, Tabitha tugging at the reins, as if it might help. Inch by inch, Darryl managed to approach their horse, and he reached up with his free hand, fumbling at the strap which held the travois harness against the big horse’s breast. However, working at the knot was futile with one hand, so he pulled his other hand out of the reins. This put him in a precarious position as the ground constantly shifted beneath him.

“He never came back up!” Tabitha had practically screamed herself horse. “Did anyone see him? Did anyone see him?”

He’s not coming back up, Darryl thought. Don’t you get it, Grandma? He’s gone! He didn’t want to say it out loud again. It was too horrible.

He tugged the knots apart, and suddenly the harness fell away, dragged by the weight of the travois down into the same whirlpool that had taken his father. As soon as it was gone, Darryl’s feet were swept out from under him, and he went down on his knees.

“Darryl, what are you doing?” That was his mother, shouting from the trees. “Grab onto something!”

He tried to grab the taut reins above him, but he fumbled and missed. As he slid past Emma, she grabbed at him. He felt her fingers clawing his shoulder, his arm, but then he was moving past her. Still, he managed to stay on his knees, well above the water, and as the current pulled him toward the bend in the trail, he reached out and snagged a low branch from a nearby tree. His momentum caused the branch to bend, but somehow it didn’t break. This swung him into the trees, where he wrapped his arm around a trunk. Then, with all his effort, he was able to pull himself away from the road, dragging his body up the slope.

As he ripped through the underbrush, he heard something huge thud against the trees behind him. Glancing back, he saw Marion’s horse. Somehow, the travois had pulled free of the mud, and the current had pushed both horse and travois into the trees. The desperate horse managed to work its way between two trunks, where it was held fast against the current, pinned by their gear.

If I’d thought to release the travois sooner, Dad wouldn’t have tried to save it, Darryl thought. Why did I just flop around in the current while he put his life at risk?

His guilty realization was like a knife in the guts, and tears blurred his vision as he pulled himself above the level of the flooded stream. He started making his way toward Marion and Justine. As he did, he looked down through the trees for Emma and the other horse. Freed from the travois, the big animal was picking its way carefully across the flooded trail toward the trees, as Emma clung desperately to the reins, barely managing to keep her head above water. Many of the cows had also managed to hold their ground against the water. Darryl saw them standing there, clearly confused.

“Hang on, Emma,” he shouted. His voice cracked. “You’re almost there.”

Once the horse reached the trees, Horace and Tabitha both grabbed sturdy branches. Emma was then able to climb the reins, get her feet under her, and pull herself into the woods. Using branches like rungs on a ladder, she dragged herself up the slope, ripping through underbrush with her head and shoulders, until she was above the water. Nearby, Marion frantically beckoned her.

Nobody was shouting for Greg now. The debris-choked river had taken him. That was clear. As Darryl picked his way through the dense woods toward his family, he felt guilt curdling into bitter sadness.

I should have warned him about the flooding sooner, he thought. I should have done something. Anything!

Marion still had her arms around Justine, holding her protectively, and Justine, in turn, had her arms wrapped around her own belly. By the time Darryl finally reached them, Emma was almost there, picking her way branch by branch. When Darryl turned to check on Tabitha, however, he saw something even more amazing. Somehow, Tabitha and Horace had pulled themselves out of the saddle and settled themselves in the crook of some big branches. Horace seemed to have lost one of his prosthetic legs, but the horse and travois were both beneath them, pressed against the tree and safe for the moment.

“Darryl, did you see what happened to him?” his mom asked. “Did you see where he went?” She was sobbing, and her eyes were red.

“The trail just collapsed beneath him, and the current pulled him into the river,” Darryl replied. “It all happened so fast. I should have stopped him from going back there. I should have done something.” And now his tears turned to weeping, and he buried his face in his hands.

“No, don’t start talking like that,” his mom said. “Don’t start blaming yourself.”

“Maybe was able to grab something downstream,” Emma suggested, then began coughing. “Maybe…” Her coughing turned into retching, and then she vomited up a large amount of muddy water.

Darryl felt someone grabbing at his arm, and he looked up into the face of Justine. She had an agonized expression on her face, teeth bared and forehead furrowed. Reaching for him, she managed to grab the sleeve of his coat, and she held fast. For some reason, this made him weep more bitterly, and now Emma wept as well, loudly, unleashing great heaving sobs.

“Oh, God…he’s dead, isn’t he? He’s dead,” Emma wailed. “We never should have taken this stupid trail! What are we going to do now?”

Marion drew her in close, and she collapsed against her mother’s side.

This is on me, Darryl thought, whether Mom wants me to admit it or not. I should have made him turn back right away. The trail had flood damage. I saw it with my own eyes, but I just wasn’t thinking clearly.

It was unbearable. He’d never felt such raw, uncontainable pain in his entire life, and he shut his eyes, covered his face, and just ached with it. Emma and Marion were both crying. He thought he heard Tabitha crying as well. But above it all, like an endless mockery of their pain, was the roar of the river. On and on it went, as if to prove its dominance, churning and splashing, debris cracking against tree trunks like drumbeats.

Darryl cried until his face hurt, and then he scrubbed furiously at his face and dared to open his eyes. In their grief, Marion and Emma had finally fallen into a kind of stupor, holding each other. Justine had moved closer to Darryl, and he embraced her now, pulling her close enough that he could lay his hands on her belly.

I can’t just sit here and grieve, he realized. They need me more than ever.

He turned to the river again and realized that much time had passed. It had felt like a few minutes, but considering all that had happened, he thought it was closer to an hour or more. The stream had begun to abate, leaving forest debris piled up where it receded into itself. The horses had held their ground against the trees, as had many of the cows. Only one travois remained, however. Of Greg, there was no sign, and as he watched the flooding subside, he saw the massive gap in the trail behind them, where the current had eaten away a section about ten meters long.

“We never should have left the cave,” Emma said, her voice hoarse from crying.

Darryl wanted to agree with her. There was something in him now that really wanted to plunge into despair, but he fought it, he fought it with everything in him. If he gave into the darkness, his family would never recover from this.

“We made a decision based on what we knew,” he told Emma, saying it loudly enough that the whole family would hear. Fortunately, the roar of the stream had also largely subsided. “Every decision is a gamble, but we did what seemed best.”

“But now Dad is gone, and we hardly have anything left,” Emma replied.

“I know,” Darryl said, picking himself up, “but he would want us to keep moving, so that’s what we’re going to do. We still have to reach the cabin, if we want to be safe, so let’s get away from this stream and off this mountain.”

Giving his face another good scrubbing, he picked himself up. He was still soaking wet. The river water had gotten into his boots, his backpack, his underwear. It had filled his pockets. He felt thoroughly saturated and uncomfortable, but he steeled himself for what he had to do.

“Mom.”

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, her damp hair stuck to her cheeks like a fright mask. Darryl beckoned her.

“We have to keep moving,” he said. “We’ll have plenty of time to grieve, but in the meantime, we still have people to protect.” He gestured down at Justine.

Marion lifted her face, and though she looked completely miserable and broken, she slowly extricated herself from Emma and rose on shaky legs.

“You’re right,” she said. She started to say something else, but her lower lip quivered. Finally, she forced it out, “I think I’d like to take a look along the riverbank first. I won’t get too close. I just have to see.” Tears sprang to her eyes again, as she added, “I know he’s gone. I feel it, but…” She shrugged. “Maybe he clung to something. Maybe. I just have to know for sure.”

“I know, Mom,” he replied. “Of course.”

10

In the end, they had little choice but to turn back. The flooding had eaten away at the trail, but more than that, it had dumped big pile broken branches, brush, leaves, rocks, and ice all over the place. Darryl would have gone back immediately. There was no guarantee that another flood wouldn’t hit soon, and if the next one was any bigger, they might find that they had to way to escape it.

Still, his family was too distraught to leave, so he felt compelled to make some concession to hope. Therefore, they spent the better part of the next hour looking and calling for Greg. They didn’t dare step onto the trail below the break, so Darryl and Emma climbed trees that overlooked the stream. Darryl found himself perched high in the swaying branches of a towering spruce, gazing down at the filthy water. Though the flood had receded, the water was still lapping at the jagged edge of the trail.

He was high enough now that he could see beyond the next bend, where the river and trail curved back to the south and passed through rocky ground. Debris from the flooding was pushed up against the banks on either side all along the way, filling in gaps between rocks, which slowed the current somewhat. The water was dark with mud, making it impossible to see beneath the surface. There was no sign of his father, the cows, or the other travois. It was as if the river had wholly devoured them.

It seemed unlikely that his father would have been able to pull himself out. Still, for his mother’s sake, he stood there and scanned for him, periodically calling his name, long after his heart had given up. Finally, it was more than he could bear, and he climbed down the tree. Tabitha and Horace had been patiently sitting astride their horse, gazing forlornly at the water. As he climbed down, Darryl met his grandmother’s gaze, and she gave him a sad nod.

Yes, it’s time to go, that look said.

Darryl went to his mother’s side and embraced her. She clung tightly, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her body shuddering as she fought another wave of sobbing.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said. “We have to think about the others now. It’s what Dad would have wanted. Let’s get back up the slope and take the other trail.”

She didn’t argue with him, and when he pulled away, she went to Emma’s side. Darryl helped Justine to her feet, but she struggled to rise. Once she was standing, she wobbled and fell against him, her hands pressed protectively to her belly.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Let’s just get out of here before another flood comes. That was awful.”

It was a prospect that was much easier said than done. Indeed, the next couple of hours were a miserable slog. First, they had to get the horses into the woods, which required ripping and tearing at the underbrush to create a path. Then they had to squeeze the horses between the trees, leading them in a broad arc back the way they’d come. Once they’d passed the gap in the trail, they moved back out of the trees, but dragging the travois made it all much slower.

When they reached the intact section of the trail above the gap, they found most the cows patiently waiting here. Darryl counted twelve. They’d lost three of them in the flood. The herd was dwindling. Still, since the alternative could have been losing everything, he didn’t lament the lost cows. How they would survive without his father, however, was another matter, and he couldn’t think too deeply on it. That sent him spiraling into misery. For now, he just had to keep his family moving in the right direction.

Darryl led Marion and Justine’s horse, trying to pick the easiest route. Emma followed with the other horse, but the travois kept cutting corners and digging into the underbrush. More than once, they had to stop, go back, and rip brush out of the ground by hand to free it. By the time they’d circled back around to the trail and left the woods, Darryl’s gloves were tattered from pulling at coarse branches. He still felt soaked, but now he was sweating and tired as well. None of this compared to the awful heaviness inside of him, however.

Unfortunately, there was a little more bad news. Once they’d circled around the collapsed part of the trail and started to gather the cows, he realized that they’d lost the lead cow. She’d gone down with Greg. The lead line had been attached to the same rope as the travois, so it was gone too. This forced them to put one horse in the lead, and the other at the back of the herd. It was the only way to keep the cattle together. Darryl took the lead, leading Justine and Marion’s horse.

Hardly a word was exchanged between anyone, except when absolutely necessary. Darryl could see gloomy looks on every face. Tabitha was leaning against Horace’s back, her cheek resting between his shoulder blades. She’d now lost both her husband and her son. Somehow, that made Darryl feel even worse about the whole situation—not just the loss of his father, but what the loss meant to the rest of his family.

He managed to do the work, to keep everyone moving, to put one foot in front of the other, but he moved in a fog. As he trudged back up the trail, the swollen river still lapping at the edges just to his left, he became aware of a single voice constantly breaking through the fog. She wasn’t saying anything, just making occasional sounds of discomfort. Finally, he realized it was Justine, and he looked back over his shoulder. She was leaning back in the saddle, holding her belly and being cradled by Marion.

“Are you okay back there?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, though her face was all scrunched up. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure?”

She opened one eye and looked down at him. “Yes, I just feel like crap, and I’m so uncomfortable I want to discard my whole body, but that goes with the territory, doesn’t it?”

“Do you need to come down from the saddle for a while?” he asked.

“And do what? Walking wouldn’t be any better,” she said.

Darryl racked his brain, trying to think of an alternative. “Maybe you could ride on the travois. I could reposition the boxes into a little seat, maybe a bed, whichever you prefer.”

“That sounds worse than riding on a saddle,” she said, shutting her eyes and pulling her hood forward to hide her face. “That thing is being dragged on the ground. No, I’m fine. Thank you, but don’t worry about me right now.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

He turned back around. Indeed, he could see the ruts they had carved into the trail on the way down, the travois leaving four distinct grooves in the path all along the way. He thought of those tracks leading all the way back to the cave, and he felt an ache. The winter camp hadn’t been so bad. Yes, everyone had been uncomfortable, but they’d all been together.

I should have argued against leaving, he thought. I didn’t want the baby to be born in a cave. And now look what’s happened. The whole family has been torn apart.

Gradually, the fork in the trail came into view, the flat open space where they’d taken a break earlier in the day. It was edging toward late afternoon now, and he didn’t like the way the light was changing. Where would they spend the night? Another thing to worry about. It was all too much.

Keep it together, he scolded himself. Quit moping. Your family needs you.

He managed to find a reserve of steely determination, and he used it to push down the grief and despair. It wasn’t hopeless, and the family wasn’t torn apart. He still had people depending on him, now more than ever.

“We’ve made it back to the fork,” he called over his shoulder, pointing ahead. “We’ll take the safer path from here.”

He looked back to make sure everyone was still together. Twelve cows moving listlessly. They all needed to take a break, and they probably needed to eat, but Darryl didn’t want to stop yet. He saw Emma way in the back, holding the reins of Tabitha and Horace’s mount. She had her head down as she walked, her wet tangles of blondish hair hanging in her face.

The safer road went up a slight slope and bent to the right. Unlike the faster trail, it didn’t follow right along the bank but weaved through the woods a few meters from the water. It was evident that the flooding had hit this area as well, but because of its relative distance from the river, the upper trail remained fully intact. Trees grew close on either side, however, casting the trail into shadow. However, as Darryl led Justine’s horse into the woods, the shadows made him feel safer somehow—a reminder that the water was not yawning below, mere centimeters from his left foot. He couldn’t stand the thought of looking at that damned stream for the rest of the trip.

They’d gone maybe a hundred meters along the upper trail, and he was already enjoying the broader, firmer ground. Yes, even if it took much longer, it was far better. But suddenly, he heard a rustle and thump, as of someone thrashing around behind him. Then the reins in his hand pulled taut, as the horse moved its head to one side.

“Oh, no. Oh, God, no, no. Is this…? Is it…? Not now. It can’t be.”

Justine’s voice. Darryl stopped in his tracks, heart racing, and turned around. Justine was rocking from side to side in the saddle, wide-eyed and gasping for breath. She might had fallen right out of the saddle if not for Marion’s firm grip on her shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Darryl asked.

“No, no, something’s wrong,” Justine said. “It can’t be! No, no!”

Marion leaned to one side to catch Darryl’s eyes. “Son, get over here. I was afraid this might be happening. She’s been experiencing waves of pain for the last hour or so.”

Still holding the reins, Darryl rushed toward them. “Did something happen?” he asked.

“She’s having contractions,” Marion replied. “I think she’s going into labor!”

“No, not out here,” he said. He came up beside the saddle and handed the reins to his mother. “This isn’t the right time or place. What do we do? Can we delay them somehow? We have to get to the cabin.”

“You don’t get to choose,” Marion replied. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“That stupid flood scared…the baby,” Justine said through clenched teeth. “Oh, God, this hurts. This is worse than I thought it would be. Someone put me out of my misery.” And then she groaned, her face twisted in pain.

“Get her down from here,” Marion said. “We have to find a soft place to lay her down.”

Getting her down proved a challenge, since he no longer had the ladder he’d used before—it had gone down with the other travois. Reaching up, he managed to slide an arm behind her, but he wasn’t sure what to do next. Finally, Marion had to carefully lean her to one side in the saddle, so Darryl could get both arms around her. The horse had turned back to watch all of this, clearly troubled by the strange grunts and groans coming from Justine.

“This sucks,” Justine cried, leaning precariously to one side in the saddle, as Darryl tried to think of the best way to pull her off. The flooding had already left him sore, so he didn’t entirely trust his strength. “Darryl, I’m about to fall off. You’d better be ready to catch me.”

“Go for it,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

He tried to sound like he meant it. Justine leaned farther to one side and finally slid off the saddle and out of Marion’s grasp. Darryl was positioned beneath her and caught her against his shoulder, wrapping his arms just under her armpits. She screamed in pain, but he managed to move one of his arms and position it under her legs. Then he lifted her in his arms and stepped back from the horse.

It was the worst possible timing. He could scarcely believe it was happening now! Back at the cave would have been so much better than this. Fighting panic, he carried Justine across the trail. The only comfortable spot he saw was a small patch of grass between two pine trees. It would have to do.

“I’m not ready for this,” Justine said. “Can we reschedule?”

“I’m sorry,” he replied. And why was he apologizing? He wasn’t sure. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“That’s what you always say, and it’s…it’s…” Her words trailed off into a long, agonized moan.

He laid her down gently on the ground, swiping away some lingering mounds of snow and a few desiccated pinecones. Then he pushed together a bunch of pine needles to create a crude pillow and laid her head on it. She took a deep, shuddering breathing and reached up, grabbing the collar of his coat with both hands.

“I’m not ready,” she said. “Do you hear me, Darryl Healy! I’m not ready.”

Darryl heard footsteps, and he looked up to see Emma running toward him full out, dodging cows as she came. She had her backpack on her shoulders, a book in one hand, a big canvas bag in the other. Marion moved to join her, and Tabitha seemed to be making her way toward them as well, leaving poor Horace all the way at the back of the group.

When Darryl pushed Justine’s hood back, he saw that she was sweating and flushed, grinding her teeth from the pain. The temperature was above freezing, still cold, but she seemed like she was burning up. Suddenly, Darryl felt hands grabbing at him, pulling him to his feet. He glanced up and saw his mother and Emma. They had each taken hold of him and were frantically trying to drag him away.

“Let us handle it,” Emma said. “We know what to do.” As if to prove her point, his sister held up the book in her hand. He only saw part of the title—Guide to Pregnancy and Natural Childbirth—before he was pulled back. “You just stay out of the way for a while, okay? We’ve got this.”

Darryl wasn’t about to fight them, so he moved back a few feet. “You’re going to be okay, Justine,” he said, wanting somehow to comfort.

“There…you go…again,” she snarled.

Marion unfolded a blanket, and Emma began pulling things out of the canvas bag. Just then, Justine screamed loud enough to pierce the sky. Darryl winced and backed farther away. As he did, he felt his grandmother brush past him. She seemed unsteady on her feet, but she was carrying the wooden box of medicine.

“I’ll get that for you,” he offered.

“No, you keep an eye on our things,” she replied. “Give us space here. We’ve been preparing for this.”

Despite everything, he was relieved to see the medicine box. It had survived the flood. That, at least, was some comfort on what was otherwise turning out to be a nightmare day. Without the medicine, they might lose Tabitha as well. He walked back to the horse, picked up the reins, and stood there beside the towering animal. As he stood there, feeling useless and utterly conflicted, he listened to Justine’s cries.

“Justine, listen to me, you have to squat,” Emma said. “That’s the best way to deliver a baby naturally. The only reason they make women lie down in the hospital is because of the medication. And also, it’s easier for the doctor.”

“Squat?” Justine replied. “Are you serious? I’m giving birth, not taking a dump.”

“Well, it’s going to feel very similar,” Emma said. “In fact, you might do both at the same time, so just push. I’ve been preparing for the birth of your child since I first learned you were pregnant, and we’ve talked about this. You’re in good hands.”

“God, I hope so. I can’t…I can’t believe I’m giving birth in the woods like a wild animal.”

Emma, Marion, and Tabitha were like a wall of strong backs. Darryl saw them moving around, but he couldn’t tell exactly what was happening. They had Justine up on her feet now, moving her into position. It just didn’t look right to Darryl. Squatting to give birth? Still, he didn’t dare intrude.

“Darryl,” Tabitha said suddenly. “I need you to set up camp. We won’t be moving on from here any time soon. Set up windscreens, start a nice fire in a safe location. Heat some water and prepare some warm compresses. Hurry up!”

He rushed back toward the travois, navigating the rather confused cows. Some of the animals were busily feeding on plants. At some point, he needed to make sure they weren’t injured from the flooding, but he just couldn’t think about that now. When he reached the end of the caravan, he saw Horace sitting sidewise on his saddle, gazing down at the ground as if trying to think of some way to get down on his own.

“Are we having a baby?” he asked, as Darryl approached.

“Yes, sir,” Darryl replied. “We have to set up camp and get ready. We’re not going any farther tonight. Come on.”

He approached the horse and reached up. Helping the old man get down from the saddle was going to be awkward, but it couldn’t be helped. Horace gave him an embarrassed smile and leaned forward. He slid out of the saddle and dropped right into Darryl’s arms. Darryl had braced himself for the weight, but the old man weighed a lot less than he’d expected. He felt like skin and bones.

Darryl set him down on the ground then retrieved his crutch from the travois.

“At least I only lost one of my prosthetics,” Horace said, using the crutch to leverage himself up off the ground. “I can still get around like this.”

Darryl just didn’t feel like chatting with him, so he didn’t bother to reply. Rooting through their remaining supplies, he located a couple of folded tarps, some nylon rope, a stack of blankets, and a small box with some tools—including fire-starting sticks and matches. He bundled this all up in a heap in his arms and carried them back to the others, as Horace came hobbling along behind him.

“Hey, kid.”

Horace’s voice choked with emotion. Darryl at him over his shoulder. He was tempted to say, “Can you save it until later? I’m barely keeping it together right now.” But it was just too rude.

“You’ve been through so much,” Horace said, “but you’ve really shown your mettle. I’m proud of you, kid.”

It touched him, though the feeling was muted by all of the anxiety and grief. Nevertheless, Darryl nodded and said, “Thanks, sir.”

Justine began making some truly unpleasant noises—yelling, snarling, cursing—as Tabitha, Marion, and Emma spoke to her in soothing tones.

“Hang in there, Justine,” Darryl said lamely. He felt compelled to offer some kind of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say. Shouldn’t he be at her side, holding her hand? What was he supposed to do in this situation?

“Hang in there, he says,” Justine replied, in a deep, growling voice that decimated his resolve. “Like I have a choice!”

Emma glanced at Darryl over her shoulder and gave him a disappointed shake of the head. He shuffled his feet awkwardly then decided to stay busy. First, he began setting up a small campfire, digging a groove in the middle of the road and filling it with kindling and small pieces of wood—though finding dry wood was tricky. Once the fire was going, he set a small pot beside it and filled it with water from one of their surviving water barrels. Then he used nylon ropes to drape tarps from tree to tree, creating a barrier across the road that blocked the cold wind.

As he was doing that, he noticed Horace tending to the small fire. It was evening now, and darkness was settling in, but the small fire produced a good amount of light inside the tarped area. Through it all, Justine’s grunting and groaning just went on and on. Tabitha, Marion, and Emma’s voices were like a constant chorus in the background, and Darryl felt his anxiety building. Just how long was this going to take? Was the baby ever going to come out?

Finally, with little else to do, he began pacing from tarp to tarp. Horace prepared the warm compresses, soaking rags in hot water and passing them to Tabitha.

“What’s wrong with this baby?” Justine cried, at one point. “Doesn’t he ever want to come out?”

Darryl turned away, arms crossed, feeling suddenly so overwhelmed that he could scarcely think.

“The baby is crowning right now,” Tabitha said. “One more big push, Justine. Come one, honey. You can do it!”

“You’re amazing,” Emma said. “You’re doing so great!”

Justine gave a throat-scratching cry, and then the women began to cheer. He heard Emma burst into tears, and he dared to turn around just in time to hear a little whimpering cry.

“Dear Lord,” Marion said, choked with emotion. “It’s a boy. Justine, Darryl, you have a baby boy!”

11

The emotion started somewhere deep in his chest and slowly welled up until it came out of his mouth in a kind of shuddering moan. He would have wiped away the endless tears, but he didn’t have any free hands. They’d swaddled the baby in one of the blankets and placed the little bundle in his arms. He was so small, Darryl scarcely felt the weight of him, but he saw that tiny face, scrunched up and whimpering, and he could scarcely believe it.

The baby had a little poof of black hair on top of his head and big cheeks—both reminded him of Justine. Darryl finally dabbed his tears on his sleeve so he could see his son clearly. It didn’t seem real. Behind him, he heard Justine breathing heavily, as Emma tended to her. They’d unrolled some blankets and made a pallet for her, and Emma was holding a warm compress to her forehead.

“You’re amazing, Sis,” Emma said. “You’re a beast. I’m so impressed right now.”

“Thanks,” Justine replied softly. “I feel like I was turned inside out. That was hell. Darryl, don’t break him, okay? I didn’t go through all of that pain for nothing.”

“I’ll never let anything bad happen to him,” Darryl replied, his voice choked with emotion.

“How does he look? My vision was a little blurry when I held him.”

Darryl was staring at that little scrunched-up face. “Perfect,” he said. “He’s perfect.”

It was full-on dark now. The only light came from the glowing embers of the fire and a couple of small oil lamps that they’d set on a box. It was strangely cozy inside the tarped area. In the background, he heard cows lowing in the night. Horace was out there, taking care of the animals, doing what he could to give Darryl time with his son.

At some point, I need to tell him how grateful I am, he thought. I was abrupt with him earlier.

Emma and Marion finally left Justine to rest and went to work preparing a meal. As for Darryl, he just stood there in the warm glow of the fire, holding his son and staring down at that incredible little face.

On the day I lost my father, I became a father. That thought made him start crying again, but he managed to do it silently this time. Finally, the baby began to whimper.

“Okay, you’d better give him back to me,” Justine said. “Dad’s not as cool as Mom, I guess.” She laughed at her own sarcasm, then grunted in discomfort.

The baby felt so fragile in his arms that Darryl was afraid to even bend down with him, so he slowly, carefully, lowered himself to his knees beside Justine’s pallet. In the warm light, it was easy to forget that she was basically just lying on the ground between trees. They’d propped her up a bit on a stack of folded blankets, but she adjusted herself a bit as he lowered the baby onto her chest.

“We need to give him a name,” she said, holding the crying newborn. “You have any ideas? Despite our earlier conversation, I don’t actually want to go with Pinecone or Spider.”

“Ooh, I want to help with names,” Emma said. She left the campfire, where she’d been helping boil something over the coals. She shuffled over and squatted down beside Darryl.

How can she be so chipper after everything that happened today? Darryl wondered. Maybe it was her way of coping with loss.

As for Darryl, he couldn’t even begin to think about a name. It was too much. He was just barely holding it together as it was. How could he be a father? How could he protect and care for this tiny, fragile life when they were surrounded by such hostile conditions? He felt woefully ill-prepared. Somehow, despite all of his efforts, his son had been born in the worst possible situation. With so much to worry about, he didn’t have any room in his brain for thinking about names.

“What do you think about John?” Justine said. “John Healy?”

“Too plain,” Emma replied.

“You think so?” Justine said. “Hey, Dad, what do you say? We need your input. John Healy?”

“I don’t…I’m not…” Darryl stood up, gripping his forehead in his hand. “Let’s me think about it for a little bit.”

“Okay, but don’t think about it too long,” Justine said. “We can’t just keep calling him baby. That’s kind of weird.”

Darryl stepped back and turned, staring at nothing in particular. He saw one of the tarps rippling slightly in the breeze, heard the crackle of the material, and the distant sounds of the animals. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his back, and then his mother was there, pulling him into an embrace. She held him a moment, as he fought a furious battle with tears. He was exhausted from crying.

“Don’t worry,” she said, speaking softly into his ear, as Emma and Justine continued to talk about baby names. “Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see. That baby has a great father, a loving family, and he’s going to have a good life.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he replied. He received her words. She’d raised two kids of her own, after all. This was old hat to her. Still, his family had a somewhat tricky history with fathers. Would he be able to overcome some of the worst tendencies of Tuck and Greg?

I don’t even have my father here to give me advice, he thought. Somehow, I have to figure it out all by myself.

Suddenly, he just wanted to be alone for a while, to struggle with his own thoughts and feelings without family members feeling sorry for him. He gently extracted himself from his mother’s embrace, as he tried to find some excuse to get away. His gaze happened to fall on Emma’s backpack, which was propped against a tree. He saw the corners of some of her books poking out of the big pocket.

“Hey, Emma, isn’t there some kind of root that helps prevent infections after childbirth?” he asked. “You said something about it when we were back in the cave. Remind me.”

“Maybe you’re thinking of black cohosh root,” she said, a glint in her eye. She seemed especially pleased that he’d brought up something she’d talked about. “First Nations people sometimes brew a tea out of it. Actually, it would be good to gather some, since we don’t have antibiotics.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Darryl said. He went to the toolbox and bent down, opening the lid. He dug out a small flashlight and tested to make sure the battery was still good. “I think I’ll go look for some. You said it grows in the woods around these parts. I was going to hunt for it when we got to the cabin, but things didn’t work out that way.” He rose and headed for the tarp, catching his mother’s eye along the way. She gave him an encouraging nod. Yes, she could see his real purpose.

“You don’t even know what it looks like,” Emma said. “I’d better come with you.”

“No, you don’t need to do that,” he said, grabbing the edge of the tarp and pulling it aside. And then, even though he knew it was a ridiculous lie that no one would believe, he added, “I remember what black cohosh looks like from a picture in the book.”

Emma gave him a sad, sympathetic frown and came toward him. She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “Hey, that’s not the way things work in this family, remember?”

“I seem to recall you going off by yourself to gather herbs earlier today,” he replied.

“That was different,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to emotionally isolate myself from my loved ones. We dropped that bad habit back in Glenvell, if you’ll recall.”

Darryl met his sister’s gaze, felt another twinge of grief, and looked away. Hadn’t Greg taught them anything? Yet here he was falling into the same old bad habits that had caused his family so much trouble. He sighed.

“You’re right, of course,” he said. “Why don’t you grab the book that has pictures of all of those plants.”

“Nope, it’s right here,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “I know you, Darryl Healy. You’ll just run off while I’m getting the book. Black cohosh has repeating sets of three leaflets and a sweet smell. My mind is an encyclopedia now. Let’s go.”

She swept her hands at him, motioning him out of the camp. Darryl was almost touched by her insistence in sticking with him. He turned and stepped past the tarp into the dark, moonlit night.

12

Darryl clicked on the flashlight and shone it down the path. He saw the cows spread out along the trail, most of them sleeping. The horses had been tied at the back of the caravan, their long lines wrapped around sturdy tree branches. As he swept the flashlight beam across the path, he spotted Horace sitting on a fallen log on one side of the trail, the crutch laid across his knees. He had the Remington rifle propped on the log within easy reach.

“Horace, they’re making dinner,” Darryl said. “Some kind of soup, I think. I didn’t look.”

Horace scratched at his scraggly beard and lifted his weary gaze. “I’ll head that way in a little bit,” he said. “I’m just sort of clearing my head out here beneath the stars. How’s the little one?”

“The baby is just fine,” Darryl said. “No complications or anything, as far as we can tell.”

“Well, congratulation, Dad,” Horace said. “When this kid grows up, you’ll have quite a story to tell him about the night he was born. Are you headed somewhere?”

Darryl gestured to the woods west of the trail. “We’re going to hunt for some herbs. We won’t be gone long.”

Horace nodded and picked up the Remington. “Take this with you. I doubt you’ll run into any trouble, but we do get the occasional bear, mountain lion, or coyote out here.”

Darryl approached and took the rifle from him. It had been his father’s rifle, and this fact didn’t escape him. He held it for a moment. He could feel Greg Healy in it, somehow, in the weight and shape of it. It almost felt like a holy relic. Nodding gravely, Darryl slung the strap over his shoulder.

“Thanks.”

“And this too,” Horace added, reaching down behind the log. He grabbed something and lifted it. “Found this in a box in the travois. It’s a good thing we didn’t lose it.”

Only when Darryl reached for it did he realize it was a pair of binoculars.

“You think this will be any use at night?” he said.

“It’s almost a full moon,” Horace noted, pointing at the cloudless sky overhead, where the sharp whiteness of a nearly full moon was resting just above the trees. “Anyway, you never know. You might want to get a lay of the land.”

Darryl put the strap of the binoculars around his neck. “Maybe you’re right. Thanks.”

Horace tipped him a little salute. “Don’t stay gone too long.”

As Darryl stepped off the trail into the woods, Emma moved up alongside him. He heard a click, and a second flashlight beam joined his, lighting up the woods before them brightly.

“I always carry a pocket knife and a flashlight,” his sister noted. “Always! Essential tools for almost any situation, right?” She held up her other hand and revealed a small plastic bag. “We can put the herbs in here. See, you didn’t even think about that. Were you just going to stuff them in your pockets?”

“I guess so. Honestly, I hadn’t gotten that far in my planning.”

“Well, this is another reason why you don’t go off alone. We have to cover the gaps in each other’s planning.”

He looked at his sister in the backwash of the light, and suddenly the features she shared with her father were more apparent than ever. Same jawline, same straight nose, similar small mouth. She seemed to be coping better with the day’s event than just about anyone else. Indeed, he was impressed with how focused she was on the task at hand.

I guess I could learn a thing or two from her, he thought.

Still, he mostly regretted that she’d come. He desperately wanted to be alone, to chew on his own thoughts without any threat of conversation. It was almost a primal need in him at the moment, and he had to fight not to express his discontent.

“We’ll probably need to get a little farther from the road,” Emma said. “Did you know some native peoples call black cohosh rattleweed?”

“Do they?” he said, struggling to feign interest.

“Oh, yeah, they used it for all kinds of things, like fevers and colds and pneumonia. It’s really versatile. I’m glad you made me think of it. We definitely need to keep a stash of it on hand.”

“That’s good, then,” he replied. It was about the most he could bring himself to say, but he wasn’t going to give her the silent treatment.

They picked their way along the clearest path, avoiding the dense underbrush and the tangles of desiccated vines that were still strewn between tree trunks in places. Patches of snow and ice remained here and there, and he slipped a few times, catching himself against trees. This was still a hostile landscape, and it took pains to remind him of that.

“We’ll make a tea out of it, I think,” Emma continued, her footsteps crunching along beside him. “I think they used to dry it first and use the powder, but we probably don’t have time for that. We can just steep the roots in hot water or something. I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure you will,” he replied.

He kept his flashlight beam aimed directly in front of him, but she was sweeping hers from side to side, pausing now and again when she spotted an interesting plant.

“There are just so many useful plants around us all the time,” Emma said. “People have no idea when they walk through nature that they are walking through a veritable apothecary.”

“Apothecary, eh?” he replied. Did she really expect to have a fun, friendly conversation after everything that had happened that day? Even the few words that he did manage to get out made him feel worse. “Isn’t that like a pharmacy?”

“Technically, an apothecary is a person who prepares medicine,” she explained. “I was sort of making a pun, because of how nature creates all of this natural medicine for us. Get it?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“There are plants to treat just about any malady,” Emma continued. “All you have to do is look around. Of course, some are poison, so if you don’t know what you’re looking for, it probably isn’t safe.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

He glanced at her and saw that she was staring fixedly at him. He watched her visage collapse as she read the emotion on his face. The eager little half-grin evaporated, and her eyebrows dropped. She finally got the point and fell into a sullen silence. Darryl felt bad, but he was also grateful for it. They continued to hike through the woods, moving in a widening arc, back and forth, as Emma fixed her gaze on the ground before her.

Darryl had never felt so conflicted or so thoroughly miserable in his life. Though he tried mightily not to resent Emma for her presence, he found himself entertaining thoughts of somehow slipping away. He spent not a single second looking for black cohosh or anything else. His gaze just roamed the shifting shadows before him, seeing nothing, focusing on nothing.

Suddenly, Emma gasped and came to a stop. When Darryl continued another couple of steps, she grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Right there,” she said, pointing off to the left. “I’m pretty sure that’s black cohosh right there. A bunch of it.”

In the big tangle of plants, nothing stood out to him, so he had no idea what she was pointing at. However, she walked over and squatted down and grabbed a leaf between her thumb and forefinger.

“This right here,” she said. “Isn’t this what you were looking for?”

Darryl shrugged. It was just one of many leafy green plants, flecks of frost still stuck to the leaves. There was some kind of long twisted stems poking out of the top, withered by the cold. They looked like they might flower once warmer weather arrived. However, Darryl had no idea what this plant was.

“Let’s get as much as we can,” Emma said. She shook the plastic bag open and slid the handle around her wrist. When Darryl didn’t immediately join her, she snapped her fingers at him and pointed at a spot beside her. “Come on. This was your idea, remember?”

He nodded and approached, kneeling down just a little farther from her than she’d indicated. He started to pick the leaves, but then he noticed that Emma was digging up entire plants, carefully preserving the roots. He put his flashlight between his teeth and began copying her, but his vision clouded suddenly. Before he could stop himself, he was crying again, turned slightly so his sister wouldn’t see.

I just miss my dad, he realized. There’s so much he could tell me right now about being a new father. He could at least tell me if what I’m feeling is normal. Is it okay to want so desperately to be alone? Now, he will never meet his grandson. How could I lose my father and gain my son on the same day?

It was a cruel twist of fate. He let the tears fall, trying to focus on the task at hand. Emma was humming under her breath, which he found remarkable. How was she capable of so much joy? Had she forgotten the flood? He wanted to scold her, or at least tell her to stop it, but he bit his tongue and continued to work. Slowly, meticulously, he dug up the roots of a large black cohosh plant, shook off some of the excess dirt, and carefully folded the whole thing. Then he reached back and placed it in Emma’s plastic bag.

He was grateful, at least, for the quiet. He managed to dab away the tears as he reached for a second plant and began to dig up the roots. His crying finally subsided.

“You know what?” Emma said suddenly. “I’m going to be a great aunt. And you’re going to be a great dad. That kid doesn’t know how good he’s gonna have it.”

No, Darryl wasn’t feeling that sentiment at all. How good he’s going to have it? The poor kid couldn’t possibly have it worse. He’d been born in the middle of the wilderness by the side of the road, just hours after losing his grandfather and half of the family’s possessions. He might have thought Emma was being sarcastic if he didn’t know her better. Fortunately, having a flashlight stuck between his teeth prevented him from speaking, so he just ignored the comment and kept digging. When he finally got the roots of another plant free, he shoved the whole bunch into the bag, which was quickly getting too full.

He plucked the flashlight out of his mouth and said, “Should we gather more, or do you think that’s enough? We’re running out of room.”

“Let’s each get one more,” she replied. “I’ll make more room in the bag.”

Darryl ducked deeper into the bushes, stepping over the rough ground where he’d dug up the other plants. He saw one more small cohosh bush growing between the roots of a large evergreen tree, and he reached for it. Just beyond the plant, there was a small open space between trees, where no plants were growing. His flashlight beam happened to pass over this spot, and he realized that there was some kind of strange depression in the soft ground there. He shuffled forward a bit more and aimed the flashlight at it.

Some kind of large animal track. That was his first thought. Then he leaned closer and realized he could see a strange pattern pressed into the mud, like the sole of a boot. There was a second identical impression behind it. As he moved the flashlight, he saw a third and a fourth. Someone had been walking here, and the tracks were very fresh.

13

He stared at the tracks for a while, studying them to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. However, he only became more certain that he was seeing fresh boot prints moving through the woods. Had one of the family members come out here when he wasn’t paying attention? He entertained the notion that Horace had been out here while the baby was being born. Maybe he’d wanted to patrol the area for dangerous animals.

But that possibility didn’t hold up to scrutiny. This person was clearly walking on two feet, and anyway, the shoes on Horace’s prosthetic feet had flat soles. These had a pronounced heel and a deep pattern, like hiking boots made for walking on slippery ground. Emma continued to dig at the black cohosh plant for a while, but eventually she noticed that Darryl had stopped. He felt her tap his shoulder.

“Hey, bro, what are you doing over there?” she asked. “The plant’s not going to uproot itself. Are you trying to stare it to death?”

“Someone’s been here,” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Someone walked through this area recently,” he said. “Look for yourself.”

She shuffled forward, sweeping plants aside, and he pointed out the first boot print. Emma gasped.

“Hiking boots,” she noted. “That’s what it looks like. But, of course, other people would have been in this area before, right? It’s a public trail. It’s not our private property.”

“Of course,” he said, “but these tracks can’t be more than a day old. Maybe they’ve camped near here. We should make sure.”

“Should we?” she asked. “They have as much right to the mountain as we do.”

“If someone is camped near us, I want to know who it is,” she said, rising. “Let’s not forget the kind of world we live in.”

He rose, pulled the Remington off his shoulder, and held it in the crook of his right arm.

“Well, you’re not just going to burst into their camp and point a gun at them,” Emma said. “That’s a hostile act. For all we know, they’re trying to survive the same as us.”

“I’m not planning on pointing a gun at anyone,” he said. “I just want to keep it handy. You never know what could happen.”

Whoever had left the prints had also cut and slashed their way through the woods. He could see places where a blade had slashed through the underbrush, chopping branches out of the way. This made it easier to follow the path.

“Let me tell you something, Emma,” he said. “Signs of a person are never a good thing. Even if they’re not overtly hostile, other people in the area become competition for resources, okay? You should know that. Surely, they mentioned it in one of your books. Heck, our whole reason for going to the cabin is to get away from people so we can stabilize. Got it?”

“I just don’t understand why we have to provoke a conflict,” she said. She was following him, but he could tell she was reluctant, dragging her feet. “Nobody’s bothering us, and we have a job to do right now.”

“A more pressing job has presented itself,” he said. “I’m going to make sure we’re safe before we go back to our camp. It’s what Dad would have done.”

Emma sighed. “Well, yeah, I’m sure you’re right about that.”

The prints seemed to follow the natural folds of the terrain, opting for the flattest ground as they worked their way roughly west from the trail. However, the farther they went, the more they began to fade into heavier brush and firmer ground. Eventually, they topped a small rise dominated by massive spruce trees, and here the boot prints disappeared completely on rocky ground.

“See? They didn’t lead anywhere,” Emma said. “Whoever it was, they were hiking out of the area, so it doesn’t matter. Can we go back now?”

But Darryl knew he couldn’t let it go. If there was a chance that someone else was in the area, he had to know who they were and what they were up to. He wouldn’t be able to rest until he did. Any possible threat, no matter how small, to Justine or the baby was too much. He glanced around, trying to figure out what to do next. He was tempted to keep walking west, even if he could no longer see the prints, but he knew that was risky, and probably a waste of time.

“Darryl, what are you doing?” Emma said, sounding exasperated. “Can we go back now and finish gathering the herbs?” As if to remind him, she shook the plastic bag full of black cohosh plants.

“Not quite yet,” he said. “Remind me to thank Horace later.”

“What does that mean?”

He approached the nearest spruce tree, slinging the rifle back over his shoulder. It was a towering tree, at least fifty meters tall, with a huge trunk, but it had numerous low branches. He figured it would be fairly easy to climb, as long as he didn’t snap a branch and fall.

“I’m going to climb up and take a look around,” he said. “If there’s another camp in our area, I should be able to see it, especially if they’ve got a fire going. Want to join me?” He gestured at the tree.

Emma stared at him flatly for a second, but apparently climbing a towering tree was just too exciting to turn down, even if she didn’t support his current mission. She tied the handles of the plastic bag and set it down on the ground at the base of the tree.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “This won’t be the first time I’ve climbed a huge tree to survey the land. Heck, I climbed a tree bigger than this one when I was lost in the wilderness with Dad.”

“Good,” he said. “Then this should be a piece of cake for you. Come on.”

He turned off the flashlight, tucked it between his teeth again and reached up, grabbing a low branch and pulling himself up. It didn’t take long to realize that climbing the big spruce looked a lot easier than it was. As it turned out, the branches were very close together, and needles were everywhere. It wasn’t like mounting a ladder. Rather, it was more like dragging himself through dense, unyielding bushes, the needles and branches dragging at him all the way.

He was so deep in the tree that he had little idea how fast he was climbing or how high. Emma was making all kinds of noise on the other side of the tree, grunting and cursing and tearing through the branches.

He paused and plucked the flashlight out of his mouth. “Are you okay over there? This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”

“I’m an old pro at this sort of thing,” she said. “Just be careful which branches you step on. Some of them are brittle.”

“I can barely see where I’m going,” he whispered, looking around at the big bundles of spruce needles all around him. A big cone, still mostly green, hung inches from his right eye. He felt around with his right foot, setting the heel on what seemed like a thick branch. As soon as he started to put his weight on it, the branch cracked and broke. Fortunately, he was still holding tightly to other branches, so he didn’t fall.

“I just told you to be careful where you step,” Emma said quietly.

“I prefer to figure things out the hard way,” he replied.

Emma sighed. “You think you’re joking, but that’s just about the truest thing you’ve ever said.”

He continued to climb, feeling his way from branch to branch more carefully now. Eventually, it was as if the branches fell away from him. The trunk of the tree had gotten considerably smaller, and he felt the whole thing swaying slightly. When he looked around, he saw Emma’s face pop out into the open on the other side of the trunk.

“We’re really high,” she noted, the wind blowing her hair in her face.

Darryl tightened his grip on the trunk and looked around. Immediately, he felt like his stomach dropped right out of his body. Indeed, they were at least forty meters off the forest floor, higher than most of the trees. Though it was evening, and the light was almost entirely gone, he could see the forest and mountains stretching away on all sides. The river cut a meandering silver line through the trees. It looked so innocuous and peaceful from up here, not the place of sudden death than it had proved to be. With his free hand, Darryl pulled the flashlight out of his mouth and shone it around, but, of course, it was largely useless from this height. The light barely reached the ground beneath him.

“Use the binoculars,” Emma said.

“Yeah, that was the idea,” he replied. He slid the flashlight into his coat pocket. Then he grabbed the binoculars and lifted them to his eyes. However, in that moment, a gust of wind caused the tree to sway to one side, and he felt a shiver of paralyzing fear. But Emma gave an excited cry, as if she were on a carnival ride. “Don’t cheer. This isn’t fun, you know,” he said.

“It just surprised me,” she said. “That’s all.”

Looking through the binoculars while the tree swayed beneath him created a strong sense of vertigo. Darryl pressed himself firmly against the trunk of the tree and steadied his hand as best he could, as he scanned their surroundings. First, he saw light coming from their camp, the flicker of the fire dancing through gaps between the tarps. Distantly, he heard the baby give a loud whimper, though he couldn’t see him. Horace was still seated on a log near the horses, the crutch across his knees.

Darryl moved the binoculars beyond the camp, past the huddled shapes of horses and cattle, across the dark trees, to curve of the river. Finally, he saw another light in the distance, an amorphous glow far away. It took a moment to make sense of what it was. Some kind of lamp or lantern moving down the trail back the way they’d come, not far from where the flood had damaged some of the trail. The small figure of a woman moved in the lamplight. She seemed to be pacing back and forth, as if looking for something or someone.

“What do you see?” Emma asked. “Anything out there? Did you find out mysterious hiker?”

“Yeah, hang on,” Darryl replied. “There’s someone on the other trail. I don’t know what she’s up to.”

The woman finally stopped at the river’s edge, shining her light out over the water. After a moment, another figure stepped out of the woods onto the trail and moved up beside her, someone much larger, probably a man. They stood together there for a bit, heads close as if they were speaking.

“Darryl, tell me what’s happening,” Emma said. “I can’t see anything. Either describe it or give me the binoculars so I can look.”

“Wait, Emma. Just wait.”

Two people at the river’s edge. What were they doing? What could they be discussing? The distance was too great to make out any details. Still, what danger could two hikers pose? Darryl’s family had them outnumbered.

“There’s two of them,” he noted. “Maybe looking for a way to pass the old trail. Not sure.”

But then others came out of the forest, shapes emerging into the circle of orange lamplight. Two, then three, then four, then six. They huddled together at the river’s edge. Darryl felt a mounting dread as the number of them grew. He realized now that most of them were armed. He saw what appeared to be the barrels of long rifles rising above many shoulders.

One of the men strode to the middle of the trail and began gesturing at the ground, drawing what seemed to be a long line in the air. The others gathered around him. Then others began pointing, some farther down the old trail, others back toward the fork in the road. Suddenly, he realized what they were doing, and in that moment, the group seemed to reach a decision. The woman who had first appeared on the trail, strode ahead of the group, pointing back toward the fork, and the others fell in behind her as they started to move in that direction.

“Oh, no,” Darryl whispered numbly. He lowered the binoculars. “We have to get back to camp.”

“What?” Emma said in a little squeak. “What is it?”

“I think they spotted our tracks,” he said, as he started back down the tree. “Probably the grooves dug by the travois. If I had to guess, they were trying to figure out which way we went.”

He moved fast, sliding from branch to branch, the needles dragging and scratching at him. His grip felt precarious, as if he were doing little more than a controlled fall, but the dread had turned to white-hot panic now. Emma was above him, making her way down more carefully, but he heard her little anxious noises.

“Are they bad? How do we know they mean us harm?” she said.

“Armed strangers following our tracks?” Darryl said. “I’m going to assume they’re hostile until they prove otherwise. And even then, I won’t be sure.” A branch snapped under his foot, and he dropped. Thrusting both arms out to either side, he managed to arrest his fall, but in the process, branches snapped hard on the undersides of both arms. He cried out in pain, but he dared not stop.

“But they could be friendly people trying to help us,” Emma said. “Maybe they saw the flood. Maybe they found some of our stuff that got washed down the river, and they’re returning it to us.”

“These people are moving around the mountains with rifles at night,” Darryl said, resuming his wild descent. “Following the tracks of other travelers. That doesn’t sound friendly to me. Do you remember what kind of a world we live in, Emma?”

“Yes, of course,” she said softly.

Another branch broke beneath him, and this time Darryl didn’t react quickly enough. He fell, broke through some more branches and tumbled out into the open. Fortunately, he was only about two meters above the ground by that point. He landed in a large bush, which softened his fall, then gently rolled onto the ground.

“Wait for me,” Emma said. She was still ten meters up the tree, picking her way down branch by branch.

“Hurry up,” Darryl said. “They’re headed this way right now. We have to pack up and go.”

He rose, swiping branches and clusters of spruce needles off his shoulders. As Emma continued making her way down, he pulled the flashlight out of his pocket and turned it on, aiming it back toward camp. He couldn’t wait for his sister. The fear had turned to a trembling desperation.

“You’re taking too long,” he said. “I’m going on ahead. Just hurry and catch up to me.”

“Give me a few seconds, please,” she replied.

But Darryl started back toward camp, pulling the rifle off his shoulder as he went. He followed his own clumsy footprints back through the forest, stepping over the spot where they’d dug up the cohosh bushes. Far in the distance, as if to punctuate this sudden turn of events, he heard a deep rumbling sound that went on and on.

Thunder, he realized.

14

The sensation was similar to being blindfolded and beaten by baseball bats from every direction. He flailed wildly with arms and legs, but every solid object he grabbed hold of slipped out of his grasp. Meanwhile, he kept getting slammed hard in the back, the sides, on the arms and legs, the face and head. Something slammed into his face and busted his lips, but when he opened his mouth, muddy water flooded in. At the same time, he was spinning wildly, so he couldn’t tell which direction he was facing at any particular moment.

This is how it ends, he thought. Tossed about as if I were in a washing machine full of crowbars.

He managed to hold his breath, even when he got a mouthful of water, but after interminable tossing and tumbling, he felt the burning need for air. It was growing, his mind filling with a kind of buzzing desperation. On top of it all, the water was brutally cold, just above freezing, so it felt like he’d been plunged into ice.

At one point, some enormous shape brushed past him. He managed to grab at it with his right hand, and he felt a soft, yielding body, like the underside of a cow. He kicked out with both legs, and his feet hit a solid surface, possibly rocks. Then he was thrust upward, and he slammed into another hard surface. This time, however, the current kept pushing him upward. He fumbled along the hard surface and realized it was a crude wall comprised of branches. Using them as a ladder, he kept climbing up, strengthened by the current.

Suddenly, he broke the surface of the river and felt a cold blast of air against his face. Greg Healy took a great heaving gasp of fresh air, but that drew water into his lungs. He began coughing violently, uncontrollably, until he vomited. He was pressed against a makeshift wall of debris that had formed in a narrow gap between large rocks. His entire body was wracked with pain, but he managed to get both of his arms on top of the makeshift wall. Then he leveraged himself farther out of the water.

Just beyond the gap, he saw that the stream widened, sheer sides rising up on either side. One of the cows was floating there on its side, lifeless eyes staring at the darkening sky. Greg kept pulling himself up, but then the makeshift wall collapsed. Suddenly, he was back in the river, being pushed through the gap. On the other side, however, the current slowed, and he was able to paddle toward the nearest bank.

A narrow lip of rock ran along the river’s edge at the base of a sheer cliff. Greg finally got close enough to grab the rock, and he dragged himself into shallow water. Rising, his body cried out from a dozen different places.

I’m going to be covered in bruises, he realized.

He heaved again, bent double, and vomited a large amount of river water onto the rocks at his feet. Then he took another couple of steps away from the river, leaned his shoulder against the sheer rock wall, and slid down onto the ground. He was shivering violently now from the cold, his arms as sore as if he’d been lifting weights for hours. More than that, his mind was still fuzzy, struggling to regain clarity after nearly drowning.

He looked around, but he was in alien territory. There was no sign of the trail, no sign of his family. He saw the river meandering back up the slope and disappearing into the trees. He cleared his throat and tried to call to his loved ones, but he only managed a weird, wordless squawk. Even that effort made him swoon, as a blackness entered his vision. Coughing, he rubbed his eyes, and tried to stand up. When he did, the blackness become absolute, and his last sensation was slamming into his chest on the ground as he collapsed.

It wasn’t sleep. No, that would have been comforting. This was mere animal unconsciousness, and when he finally started to claw his way out of it, it had brought no rest whatsoever. He was all pain and discomfort, his skull pounding with the worst headache of his life. When he opened his eyes, he realized he was lying flat on his stomach, his arms caught beneath him. He tried to push himself to his hands and knees, but he didn’t have the strength.

“Marion…” He just managed to croak her name, but it made him start coughing again.

He’d never felt such bone-aching cold before. The shivering was violent, rattling him all the way to the core of his being. Greg looked around and saw a stand of trees a few meters ahead of him on a grassy slope where the high cliff curved away from the water. He began crawling toward it. Fortunately, he still had his heavy winter coat, and he knew there were some small supplies in the many pockets. Enough to survive? That he did not know, but if he stayed out here in the bitter cold, it wouldn’t matter because he was going to freeze solid in no time.

As he crawled, he noted a large rip in the back of his left glove, another on his right sleeve. By the time he reached the trees, his extremities had started to go numb, but he finally managed to get to his hands and knees. He crawled into the trees, where at least the wind was diminished. He rose on shaky legs, using a tree trunk for leverage. Then he began to root through the coat’s many pockets. His clothes were sodden, but he found a couple of lighters in one pocket and a bundle of fire starter sticks, still in their waterproof wrapper, in another. The Walther PPK was gone from the inner pocket. That was a regrettable loss, but he decided to lament it later.

Dropping to his knees, he tried to dig a firepit, but his numb fingers were clumsy. He just managed to clear a space about half a meter across, and he surrounded it with a crude ring of stones. Then he began creating a small pile of pine boughs, a simple act that took absolute concentration and sheer willpower. His aching arms and numb hands could barely move. Still, he finally created a small, crude pile, and he used his teeth to remove one of the fire starters, which he slid into the base of the pile.

If this doesn’t work, I will die out here, he realized, as he thrust the lighter at the fire starter. How pathetic to survive the drowning and then freeze to death in the woods.

He struggled to flick the lighter. His damned thumb didn’t want to work right. Finally, he took the lighter in both hands and used both of his thumbs. He managed to flick the lighter this time, and the tiny flame that burst to life was like a spark of hope. He felt a burst of elation cutting through the pain, exhaustion, and despair. The fire starter caught then and quickly began to burn with a brilliant red flame. Greg felt the heat against his face, and he uttered a hoarse cry of relief.

He began rooting around for more dry sticks to add to the fire, but the dampness was everywhere. The moist wood made the fire especially smokey, and soon the smoke was gathering beneath the boughs. Still, the fire seemed relatively stable, so Greg unzipped his coat and pulled it off. It was clear now that he’d wrenched both shoulders somewhere along the way, and he didn’t have full motion of either arm as a result. This made the simple act of removing his coat grueling, but he fought through the pain and finally peeled it off. It was absolutely saturated with cold, muddy water.

Still, the fire provided enough warmth now that when he removed the coat, he actually felt less cold. He hung the coat on a nearby tree branch, hoping it would dry. Then he went to work fumbling at the buttons on his shirt. Finally, he stripped down to his underwear and stood as close to the fire as he dared, still shivering but feeling the warmth now gradually working its way into his flesh. It was getting dark out now.

How long was I out? he wondered. All afternoon? All day and night and into the next evening? He couldn’t tell. Indeed, he’d lost all sense of time. He worried about his family. They hadn’t come for him, so either they couldn’t get this far down the river or, more likely, they assumed he was dead. Or perhaps they’d all been washed away by the flood. No, that was a scenario he didn’t want to consider. Surely, if the entire caravan had been swept away, he would have seen the river choked with cattle and horses.

No. I am going to assume they’re fine, unless I’m presented with evidence otherwise, he told himself.

As he stood there in nothing but his boxer shorts and a pair of damp socks, he examined his wounds. The fire was roaring now, producing more than enough heat to drive out the cold, and it was also bright. Greg delicately probed the areas of sharpest pain. He had ugly bruises forming all over. The biggest of them was a long purple welt on the left side of his chest. When he pressed it with his fingers, he felt a deep, grinding pain that instantly made him sick to his stomach.

Broken rib, perhaps, he thought. At least he could breathe normally, which meant he didn’t have a punctured lung.

His hands were sore, and he scarcely had any grip left. The back of his right hand had a long, ugly scratch, and most of his left forearm was bruised from wrist to elbow. He had another large bruise across his stomach, and he felt a welt on the side of his head. His upper lip was busted open, as well.

It could’ve been worse, he reminded himself. You can stand. You can walk. You can breathe. Count your blessings.

However, just as he thought it, he heard a deep rumble off in the distance. It went on for five or six seconds and ended with a final ominous crash. Greg dared to step toward the edge of the small stand of pine trees, feeling the bitterness of the wind beyond. He saw the broad, brown expanse of the river, a single dead cow still floating lazily downstream. However, his gaze was drawn upward, to the darkening evening sky. Clouds had gathered to the west, rising up above the jagged peak there. As he stared at them, he saw a brief flash of lightning from deep inside.

Storm coming, he thought, and his heart sank. That’s not what I need right now.

He moved back under the trees, leaning against a branch and letting the heat of the fire sweep over him. The smoke made him cough, but it was the least of his concerns. Greg considered his predicament. The stream would lead him down into the valley, and he was fairly confident he could find his way to his father’s old hunting cabin from there. However, he had no idea where the rest of his family had gone. Would they continue trying to make their way down the treacherous path, or would they turn back for the safer road? Maybe they wouldn’t do anything. Maybe they would park themselves right there beside the flooded stream and wait for Greg to return.

No, Darryl would insist that they press on, he thought, for Justine’s sake and for the baby.

Assuming they survived, his best bet was to make for the cabin and meet them there. Maybe they would catch up to him along the way, unless they’d turned back for the other road. Either way, he knew what he had to do, no matter how bruised and broken he felt. To test himself, he began walking circles around the fire. His legs were stiff, and he had bruises all up and down both legs. Walking would be an ordeal, but he could bear his weight just fine.

If only that damned storm would pass me by, he thought, as he heard another rumble in the distance.

15

Sasha Burke narrowed the aperture on the battery-powered lamp and aimed the light at the trail directly in front of her. The ground was still absolutely soaked with water from the flooding, and she could feel icy cold pouring off the river. She liked it. The bitter chill was advantage in this situation. Indeed, as she noted clouds along the western horizon, she realized that a possible storm was to her advantage as well. Let it come. Let an ice-cold, relentless rain crash down and slow every other traveler.

Even with the damage caused by the flooding, she could see the deep ruts carved in the trail, two grooves running parallel. She reached out with her free hand, gloves fingers probing the edge of one of the grooves. She had no fear of the damp and cold because her coat, pants, and boots had been Gore-Texed like mad. Though her money was no good now, it had served her well before the end of civilization. Splurging on an expensive Canada Goose Langford Parka, some nice Rossignol Tommy Hilfiger ski pants, and—the coup de grace—Fendi FF Shearling snow boots had paid off. She couldn’t have been warmer or drier, despite the dampness.

Still, all of that corporate money had ceased to mean much when the economy had collapsed like a stomped eggshell. All that mattered now were territory and resources. She had plenty of the former, never enough of the latter, and it looked like a few intruders were horning in on her land.

“Do you think they lost anything in the flood?” The voice came from over her shoulder. Daniel, her former assistant, now her lover, stepped out of the woods and joined her on the trail. The wild, mountain man lifestyle suited him, she thought, at least in appearance. He had a rugged beard that complemented his jawline, and his hair had grown out in a nice way. She’d never liked the short, gelled corporate hairdo anyway.

“Yeah, seems like they might have lost a bit,” Sasha replied.

“How can you tell?” Daniel asked, stepping up to river’s edge, as if he might peer down into the water and see what had been lost.

Sasha grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. “Look at the ruts in the trail here,” she said. “We’ve got two sets of parallel lines cut into the trail. Drag marks. I think they were pulling supplies on sledges or travois, and from the depth of the grooves, they were heavy as hell. That means they had a lot of supplies.”

“I see three sets of parallel lines,” Daniel replied, pointing at the third set, which ran closer to the trees than the others.

“Yeah, but the third set comes out of the woods down there,” she noted, pointing to a spot where it seemed the other group had cut and slashed their way out of the woods. “Here’s what I think happened. I think they were pulling two sledges full of supplies down the trail, then the flood hit. One of their sledges got swept into the river, but somehow the other survived. After the flooding subsided, they headed back the way they came, dragging their one remaining sledge.”

Daniel nodded, stroking his beard with his gloved hand. “I think you’re right, Sasha. You figured all of that out just by looking at tracks on the ground. You’re brilliant.”

The compliment annoyed her, and she smacked him hard on the chest with the back of her hand. Unfortunately, his padded coat and her nice Moncler Tech ski gloves softened the blow. “I didn’t say it to impress you. I couldn’t care less about that.”

“I didn’t mean to patronize you,” Daniel said, in a wounded voice.

“We have to figure out who these people are,” she said. “Are they armed? I assume so, but how dangerous are they? This is what I want to know.”

Others came out of the trees then. She’d left them at the camp to gather supplies. Harry and Jen appeared first, a rough pair of former hippies wearing handmade leather coats and pants, fur-lined moccasins, and strange tribal hats. Harry’s long, gray beard was separated into three beaded braids. It looked ridiculous. Sasha couldn’t have hated it more if she’d tried, but the old man was useful. He’d lived off the land for years. Plus, he could be brutal when he had to be, and she appreciated that about him. An enormous leather backpack on a wooden frame hung from his shoulders, the handle of an enormous machete rising from the top.

“Did we find them?” he said.

“I think we’re pointed in the right direction,” Sasha replied, gesturing at the drag marks on the trail. “The flood came on fast and hard, but most of them seem to have survived. I think they lost some stuff in the river. We might be able to find it washed up on the riverbank downstream.”

The others came now. The people in her crew were mostly pairs—couples of one kind or another. That had been intentional on Sasha’s part. She figured they would fight harder if they had some personal stake in the group’s survival, something other than mere animal existence. So far, it had worked. But she’d known it would. Sasha had spent years reading employees, moving them around, manipulating them as needed. The corporate world had been her kingdom, employees the chess pieces of her board.

“Which way do we go, then?” Jen asked. She was clutching a fold of Harry’s sleeve. Jen was permanently sunburned, and she always sounded hoarse. Her fair skin had never fully adjusted to the relentless sun, and she was neglectful about using sunscreen. Indeed, she was neglectful about many things, but she kept Harry’s wilder tendencies in check. “Do we track down the group, or do we head downstream and see if anything washed up?”

“Best stuff will still be with the group,” Harry said. “We should focus on them.”

Sasha had to restrain a sudden surge of anger. She turned to Harry and met his gaze with full, fiery intensity. Though she was smaller than him, she knew the power of her gaze. Fixing her jaw and lowering her eyebrows, she gave him her meanest look, and he visibly wilted before her. Shuffling his feet, he finally ducked his head.

“It’s up to you, of course,” he added.

“There’s a reason why I make the decisions here and not you,” she said, letting the threat sharpen the edges of every word. “One-dimensional thinking isn’t helpful, not now, not ever.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Harry mumbled. Most of the crew was glaring at him now, and even Daniel had taken a step toward him.

Sasha let the discomfort linger in the air for a few seconds, then she turned to look at the rest of her people. “We don’t have to choose. It’s not either-or. We’ll send one group downstream to recover anything that washed up on the riverbank. Judging by the tracks here, whatever they were pulling was big and heavy. It shouldn’t be hard to spot, even if it broke apart.” Harry was still moping, so she decided to throw him a bone. A bit of mercy after a scolding was always effective. “Harry and Jen, I’m putting you in charge of that task. I don’t expect you to be able to carry any heavy boxes or barrels, so whatever you find, just pull it away from the river and set it on the trail. We’ll come along later and collect it all. Got it?”

Harry raised his head then, looked at Jen, and smiled enthusiastically. “You can count on us.”

“We’ll make sure to collect it all and mark it for retrieval,” Jen added.

“Good,” Sasha said. “I know you’ll be thorough. Go on ahead. Get started. Watch out for any washed-out portions of the trail.”

Harry and Jen bowed their heads, then turned and headed off down the dark trail. Despite their personal quirks, they were well-acclimated to the wilderness, so they could move lightly and fast, even in the dark. Sasha watched as they faded into the gloom, bent low like dogs sniffing animal tracks.

“Okay, as for the rest of you,” Sasha said, once they were out of sight. She signaled for the group to bunch up. They packed in together before her, seven people representing a variety of skills, experience, and personality types. She’d refined the group, trimmed off the fat and the useless elements. Every person that remained had something unique to contribute. “We’ve scored big this time, team, real big. I feel it in my gut, and you know my gut is never wrong.”

This caused the group to burst into giggles, like happy little schoolkids during recess. Sasha tolerated it for a few seconds because it was good for them. Then she held up both hands and motioned them to silence. The giggles ended suddenly, unnaturally, like someone had unplugged the speakers on a stereo.

“We can’t rush in there laughing,” she said. “This is a stealth mission. First, we have to deal with the people. Then, we can round up the cattle and supplies. Follow my lead and do exactly what you’re told at all times. Is that clear?”

She got a chorus of affirmations, but they were extra quiet this time. Sasha turned and scanned the sky around them. The storm clouds gathering in the west were impressive, but she was unconcerned. They were more suited to fighting in a storm than these outsiders.

Something drew her attention away from the dark clouds. Off to her left, far downstream, a thin trail of smoke rose into the sky, lit from the bottom by distant firelight. She studied it for a second. Daniel turned to see what she was looking at, pushing his hood back, as if that somehow gave him a better view.

“Well, now, that’s interesting,” she said.

“A campfire, perhaps,” Daniel suggested meekly.

“Of course, it’s a campfire. What else would it be? If I had to guess, I’d say at least one person from their party got swept downstream, and they are stuck way down there now, settling in for the night. The hapless loser must be drenched and freezing after that harrowing ride in the river.” She grabbed Daniel by the shoulder. “I want you to head down there and check it out. If you pass Harry and Jen, tell them to focus on the supplies. You find out who started that campfire. If you can, bring him to us alive, so we can question him. Break him first, so he’s not a threat. And if you can’t bring him back alive, so be it. Meet me back on the trail once you’re done.”

“You’ve got it,” he replied.

He started to leave, but she clamped his arm down tight, pulling him back. He glanced back at her. Didn’t he know better by now? She hated when she had to remind him to show affection in front of the others. It was important for the lead couple to set the example.

“Be safe,” she said, “but deal with it swiftly. We’re not hiring this guy. We have no job openings. I’d like to know where he’s headed, but it’s not that important. Don’t risk your life over it. Is that clear?”

“Of course,” he replied, and then he kissed her.

She let the kiss linger for roughly two seconds, and then she pushed him away. Just enough PDA to set the example, but not so much that it made the others squirm. Daniel stepped back, gave her a little bow of the head, then set off downstream. As he went, she saw him unzip his coat and reach inside. A moment later, he produced the antique single-action revolver that had become his own personal treasure. It gleamed darkly in the lamplight. They’d lifted it from some wannabe outdoorsman they’d found hiking in the mountains weeks earlier.

“The rest of you, fall in behind me,” she said, gesturing with her hands. “We’ll follow them until the moment’s right. Then we’ll strike fast and hard, so they hardly know what hit them. I don’t intend to lose any of you on this raid, got it?”

They seemed to like this, judging by the murmurs that went through the group. Yes, Sasha could be hard on them, but she was also aggressive about keeping them alive. She didn’t cut them much slack, bossed them around constantly, but they were all well cared for and in relatively good health. Some of them were former coworkers from her big-time, multi-level-marketing company, so they’d already learned to trust her long before the world changed. Others were useful people she’d found along the way and recruited. But all of them were a united team now, always at the beck and call of their fearless leader.

“Let’s get this done,” Sasha said. “We hit the jackpot tonight. I see a royal feast in your future, friends. Come on.”

And with that, she turned and started back up the trail, reaching back to grab her beloved X-Bolt Hell’s Canyon rifle out of a loop on the side of her backpack. As if to announce the coming violence, the storm gave another low rumble, and lights flashed deep in the clouds.

16

Greg had managed to create a nice little sweatbox there inside the small stand of trees, with his crackling fire feeding hungrily on the endless pine boughs. The world beyond his camp was dark and still; this part of the river was slow and quiet. Though he had no way to know the time, he felt like morning was drawing near. He felt his clothes, which were hanging in the trees near the heat, to test their dryness. His shirt, pants, and socks were mostly dry. The coat still had a bit of squishiness to it, but it would have to do.

He didn’t want to linger much longer. His family was out there somewhere. Hopefully, they’d reached the cabin by now. Either way, they were probably grieving his death.

Time to go, Greg told himself.

He pulled on his shirt. A difficult prospect, under the circumstances. His sore shoulders were stiffening up, but he persisted. Getting the buttons done took a long time, and when he was mostly done, he realized they were misaligned. Somehow, he just couldn’t bring himself to care. He pulled on his sturdy winter pants, which was a bit easier to do, and clipped the latch that served as a belt. Then he spent several agonizing minutes pulling on his socks and boots. To do this, he finally had to sit down—a thing he’d avoided thus far for fear he might never get up again. Once the boots were on, tying the laces became another ordeal, and he just couldn’t pull the knots tight.

Finally, he dragged his coat off its branch and pulled it on. The poor thing was ripped in a number of places, but there was nothing he could do about that. He zipped it up and pulled up his hood. Despite his many injuries, he intended to get to the cabin as soon as possible. He kicked dirt and rocks onto the fire until the flames went out, then he stomped on the embers until there was no more glow.

Only then did he finally turn and step out of the stand of trees. The languid river spread out before him, taunting him with its lazy water. Greg reached into an inner pocket of his coat and found the small pocket flashlight he kept there.

Please work, he thought. I’d rather not hike in the darkness.

He clicked on the flashlight, and a small beam of bright white light shone on the rocks at his feet. Using the light to guide him, he followed the riverbank, heading downstream across rocky ground. It was slow going. Every step required caution because of the growing stiffness in his body. Still, with the water to guide him, at least he didn’t have to worry about getting lost.

And what if you don’t find them at the cabin? he wondered. What if there is no sign of them anywhere? What if the river took them as well?

A horrible thought. Fortunately, he was so sore and stiff that his emotions seemed diminished. His mind was foggy as well. Periodically, his vision seemed to go blank, his mind half-conscious, while still walking. He looked up at one point while trudging up a rocky slope, and the river was far to his left. It took a moment to clear his head, and then he headed back toward the water’s edge.

Eventually, the river, which was more of a shallow stream here, bent into the deep woods again, and he found himself pushing through heavy underbrush. Branches kept dragging at his coat, like grasping hands trying to stop him. He pressed on, and time seemed to blur again. The great trunks of pine, aspen, and spruce passed through the flashlight beam like a thousand mighty sentinels.

He’d lost sight the river, and he felt a moment of panic. It wouldn’t take much to get completely turned around in the wilderness without something to guide him. Then he realized he could still hear its roar to his left, so he headed in that direction until he caught sight of the churning water. He also spotted something else, something even better—the trail. There it was, a flat, gray path winding down the slope on the far side of the river. He was definitely headed in the right direction.

As he stared across the water at the trail, he thought he saw the broken remnants of a crude bridge. Perhaps it had been pulled down by the flood. And then his stomach lurched as he realized what he was actually looking at: broken pieces of the travois. The tarps had gotten stuck on large rocks, and the support poles were now bobbing in the water. A broken end of a barrel and other pieces were scattered nearby. A few boxes, however, were still intact, and the current had pushed them up onto the bank. Greg made his way toward them.

When he squatted down beside the river’s edge, the pain in every limb and joint made him cry out. The echo of that cry took a long time to die as it bounced out over the river. Greg began working the lids off the boxes. Inside the first one, he found blankets, towels, and toiletries. Inside the second, he found some of Justine’s clothes—all wadded up and smashed down into a disorganized pile. Finally, in the third box, he peeled back a plastic sheet to find his and Marion’s clothes, neatly folded and set side-by-side. He dug through the box, pulling out a clean pair of pants, a shirt, some clean socks. He found an old pair of winter boots at the bottom. They weren’t in great shape, but they hadn’t been battered to hell by flood debris like the ones he was currently wearing. Greg didn’t bother looking around to make sure he was alone, but immediately went to work changing clothes.

He then returned to the damaged travois and unfolded it, revealing more items trapped inside. Among them was an MRE that had been torn open, but some of the pouches were intact, and he shoved those in his pocket. However, the real jackpot was caught between the tarp and the crossbeam: the Winchester rifle! He carefully picked it up. The stock was dinged up pretty badly, so he gave it a quick inspection. It seemed to be in good shape. Still, he took aim at a distant tree, undid the safety, and pulled the trigger.

It was a mistake. When it fired, the butt of the rifle slammed against his shoulder, causing a sharp burst of pain. At least the gun worked. He slipped the strap over his shoulder, zipped up his coat, and resumed his hike downstream.

At least I can hunt for game, if I have to, he thought. Or protect myself from predator animals.

He went through every square inch of their scattered supplies. In the process, he found more toiletries, clothes, enamelware cups and bowls, even a few books. Most of this was dead weight to him now, but then he happened upon a few boxes of ammunition. He took one box of .270 bullets for the Winchester, sliding it into his jacket pocket. By then, he was carrying about as much as he could stand, so he left the rest of their stuff sitting there on the damp rocks.

I’ll come back for it someday, he thought.

Now that he was walking alone in the wilderness, he knew he would be more of a target for bears and mountain lions. And his uneven gait probably made him look like wounded prey.

The stream took Greg back into the woods and down an endless slope. At some point, it began to rain. He scarcely noticed the first drops, but it soon became a nagging drizzle, reaching him through the evergreen branches. By the time the first light of morning was winking through the trees, the rain had become insistent. The clouds were now a full curtain overhead, turning whole sky an ominous dark gray.

After another hour or so, he reached a large bend in the stream. Here it took a sweeping turn to the left, following the steepest part of the slope. As Greg approached the bend, he saw blood on the rocks. As he drew closer, he realized he was looking at bloody bones—the great curve of bovine ribs.

One of the cows had washed ashore here, but there wasn’t much left of it. From a distance, it looked like a pack of wolves had stripped it clean. However, as he drew closer, he realized it probably wasn’t the work of animals. The bones remained intact, along with the cow’s head and legs. A big pile of offal was piled to one side, already swarming with flies. The skin and meat, on the other hand, were completely gone.

Predator animals would have gone for the guts, he realized. And they definitely wouldn’t have dragged away the entire skin. This was the work of a person—or people.

He pulled the Winchester off his shoulder as he approached the carcass. The ground here was rocky, but in many places, large patches of mud revealed footprints all over the place. The soles of hiking boots, mostly. Yes, multiple people had been here, and the activity centered around the carcass. More than that, the tracks were relatively fresh, as the mud was still wet. And when he bent down closer to the carcass, he saw clear evidence of blade marks on the bones.

My family would not have been so thorough, he realized. This was the work of determined people. They took every bit of meat they could get.

He looked around, but he was clearly alone at the moment. Greg continued around the bend in the river, still clutching the Winchester. However, as he descended a steeper slope, he spotted a crude rope bridge stretched over the river. Here, the trail crossed over to the near bank and met up with another trail, before continuing into the woods.

The combination of human scavengers and the merging trails gave him a renewed burst of energy, the product of both fear and elation, and he managed a kind of stumbling jog down the trail. The rocky ground gave way to mud and patches of mountain grass, and he began to see boot prints again. The scavengers had headed down the trail after cleaning the carcass. Indeed, he saw drying splatters of blood along the way, even a few scraps of meat, as if they’d barely been able to carry it all.

Who the hell are these people? he wondered. In his mind, he envisioned wild mountain men, cut off from society for years, perhaps no longer recognizable as fully human, but of course, that was silly. They had the soles of modern hiking boots. Indeed, once they were headed down the trail, they seemed to move in a regular formation. Clearly, this was a well-ordered group.

Greg realized he would have preferred a group of wild mountain men. Gripping the Winchester tightly, he made his way to the point where the trails merged. As he drew near, he saw something that made his heart leap—grooves in the trail, parallel lines dug into the mud. A travois!

His family had come this way. Greg felt the first sting of tears, and he quickly brushed them away. Now, he could see the tracks of cows and horses as well. The herd was intact! Thank God. But his family wasn’t alone on the merged trail. The orderly boot prints of the strangers turned onto the trail as well, right over the travois lines. The boot prints seemed newer to him—they ran over the tracks left by his family. And this brought him to a sickening realization.

My family is being stalked.

17

Greg wanted to believe he’d misread the tracks. Maybe his family had split into two groups, one staying with the herd, the other taking the shorter trail to look for him. Maybe they were the ones who had come across the dead cow and carved away the meat to make some use of it. But his gut told him these were not his family’s boot prints.

If the strangers were so desperate for meat that they would carve a flood-bloated carcass down to the bones, then a whole herd of cattle would be an irresistible prize. Unfortunately, the merged trail was clearly designed to be safe, as it followed the course of least resistance, taking numerous twists and turns. That meant he couldn’t see far ahead, and he wasn’t good enough at reading the tracks to tell how old they were. For all he knew the strangers had already overtaken his family. Maybe it was too late for them.

You can’t assume that, he told himself. Your family isn’t helpless. They know how to defend themselves. You have to catch up to them as quickly as possible.

His family would still be going fairly slow, especially with all of the cows, their remaining supplies, and at least two of them on foot. The persistent drizzle would only add to the misery. Plus, Justine was very pregnant. She might need to stop from time to time. Greg knew he could catch them if he ran, but the prospect alone made him groan. He stopped and massaged his thighs and calves, hoping to work some of the stiffness out of them. However, he had so many bruises that the massage just caused more pain.

Finally, taking a deep breath, he attempted to run. He managed three long strides before his right leg buckled, and he fell. Slamming into the trail, he did an awkward somersault and wound up on his back, the Winchester clattering off toward the trees.

Idiot, you’re going to break a leg, and maybe break the rifle, he chided himself. Then what are you going to do? You know what happens to wild animals that break their legs. They hobble around until they either die of infection or become food.

Drowning in the flooded river seemed a better fate than being eaten alive. Greg thought of Horace’s crutch and wished desperately that he had something like it. Even a crude hiking stick might help—he’d lost his own in the flood—but he hadn’t seen any sturdy enough branches to make one with.

The worst pain was a sharp agony in his side from the broken rib that produced waves of nausea. He lay on the ground for a few minutes, waiting for it to pass. It never did. The pain was constant now. On top of this, now his lower back hurt, and he had a splitting headache.

Well, are you going to just lie here and feel sorry for yourself? You can’t make the pain go away by crying, so you might as well accept it and press on.

Finally, wiping away the tears, he managed to roll onto his stomach and push himself to his hands and knees. He crawled toward the trees and retrieved the Winchester, dusting it off and checking to make sure he hadn’t broken it. He would have taken another test shot, but he didn’t want to give away his position now. He reached out and grabbed a low tree branch with his free hand, using it as leverage to pull himself up. Once he was on his feet, he took a few deep breaths to calm himself, then he resumed walking down the trail, though he was limping badly now.

The rain finally let up for a while, but he heard thunder in the distance and knew the storm had much more to offer. Though the pain of his broken rib continued to stab all the way through his body like a blade, Greg forced himself to keep moving. He was never going to catch up to any of them at this pace, and he knew it. The laziest cow moved faster than this. For a few minutes, as he limped along, he felt a desperate powerlessness. It seemed to tingle in his limbs. He couldn’t continue like this, knowing that his family was being stalked.

The trail took another lazy curve, following the landscape, and came in sight of the river again. Greg stepped off the trail onto the riverbank and came to a stop. He could see a long way down the river. The banks on either side were rough and rocky, but relatively clear. Periodically, the trail curved up next to the river before swooping back into the woods to follow some easier course.

There’s your answer right there, he thought. Make your own shortcut, and you’re more likely to catch up to them.

Indeed, if he followed the river, he would avoid all of the twists and turns of the trail. He was bound to catch up them that way. The steep banks looked treacherous, and the uneven ground was covered in loose rocks and big muddy patches. It wouldn’t take much to stumble and fall, and he didn’t think he could handle another violent spill. Also, if he took the river, he might bypass his family without realizing it, especially if the trail veered far from the banks. But even then, he could simply arrive at the cabin first and get ready for their arrival, maybe set up some defenses in case the scavengers showed up. It seemed like the wisest course of action, but still he was wracked with indecision. The sharp pain in his side made it hard to think clearly.

You’re in real trouble here, he told himself. You’re all busted up. Even if you catch up to the scavengers, who’s to say they won’t overpower you? Who’s to say they don’t already know you’re behind them? Maybe they passed you while you were unconscious on the ground and decided you weren’t worth their time.

At the moment, these all seemed likely, yet he had no choice. For his family’s sake, he knew what he had to do, no matter how difficult. He began picking his way along the riverbank, trying to avoid loose rocks. In his current condition, it was like trying to navigate the world’s cruelest obstacle course, and he had to carefully consider every step. Still, even like this, it seemed like it would save time.

He’d gone maybe a hundred meters without incident before he slipped on mud and dropped to his knees. Though he landed hard, he managed to maintain his grip on the rifle, drawing it close against his chest. However, the fall caused another sharp burst of pain in his side, and the world began to swim around him, as if everything had become liquid, and he fought to stay conscious. The sound of the river receded.

Don’t pass out, you weakling. Fight it. Get up! Force yourself to rise no matter how much it hurts. You can take the pain. Do it for your family!

Gritting his teeth, he dragged his right foot forward and set the sole of his boot against the ground. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision, so he reached over and pulled back his sleeve. Then he gave the skin on the back of his wrist a savage pinch. For some reason, this helped, so he did it again. This time, he pinched and twisted the flesh, and finally the darkness drew back. The world seemed to snap back into focus around him, the roar of the river suddenly loud in his ear.

Greg pushed with his right foot and slowly rose, wincing at the pain in his side. Once he was standing, he took a deep breath and held it moment. The fresh air in his lungs cleared his mind a bit, and he let it out in a rush. Then he resumed walking, wiping away more tears of pain.

Just ahead, he saw safer ground a few meters from the water’s edge, and he made his way toward it. Here, patches of snow lingered, grass poking through in many places, but there didn’t seem to be any rocks to stumble on. He stepped carefully but tried to pick up the pace.

I’d kill for an ibuprofen right now, he thought. Heck, he’d kill for a shot of morphine, a puff on an opium pipe, or just about anything that dulled the sharpest edge of this pain.

Had the medicine survived? He wasn’t sure. God, he hoped so. If they’d lost all of their medicine, they were in real trouble.

No, Emma will know of some plant she can crush up or brew into a tea to dull the pain, he thought. But first, you have to get to her and make sure she’s okay.

He’d just taken another look at the dark clouds overhead when he heard a distinctive snap somewhere in front of him. Greg stopped in his tracks, raising the Winchester and holding his breath. His finger slowly crept down to the trigger, lightly touching the edge. Except for the dull roar of water on his left, the world had gone quiet again. Nevertheless, he aimed into the trees in the general direction of the sound.

Come on, whoever you are, he thought. Make another sound. Give away your position.

After a few seconds, he heard it again. This time he could tell it was someone in a heavy boot stepping on a dry twig. Then he heard it a third time. Yes, someone was moving through the forest somewhere just ahead of him. He scanned the shadowy spaces between the trees, looking for any hint of movement, but he didn’t see anything. He briefly considered shouting at them, trying to startle them into giving away their position, but he was alert enough to realize this was a dumb idea. They might be armed, after all.

Suddenly, there was a burst of shuffling footsteps and branches breaking, as if the stranger had taken off running. Greg listened to the footsteps fading deeper in the woods. He was pretty sure it was just one person. Had they split off from the other scavengers? Was it perhaps one of his family members? Greg didn’t know, but he was determined to find out.

Daring a bit more speed, he hurried off down the riverbank, moving in the direction of the sound, every step painful and uncertain.

18

Someone was definitely sneaking around, and they weren’t doing a very good job of it. Greg was almost offended that they weren’t trying harder to go unnoticed. Although he never spotted the person, he kept hearing noises: the crunch of ice or sticks, an errant cough, the crackle of loose rocks. Anytime he came to a stop, the other person went silent, but once he resumed, he would inevitably hear them again.

Greg was cutting a path across the meandering trail, which forced him from time to time to clamber over rough terrain or push through dense bushes. In doing so, he’d hoped to save time, so he could catch up to his family. Now, he wasn’t so sure that he’d saved any time at all. He’d tried to stick closer to the river, but the ground there was slick. The few times he slipped and went sliding toward the water was enough to dissuade him.

Though the terrain had leveled out and become less treacherous, there were still plenty of trees and places for a person to hide. When Greg stopped to rest for a while, as he often had to do, he stayed alert, clutching the gun just out of sight, in case his follower decided to make a move. However, the person seemed patient. They never showed themselves.

Compounding the problem, Greg was so tired that he wasn’t making good time. The stiffness in his limbs just wouldn’t go away, and the sharp pain in his ribs was constant. Finally, as afternoon approached, he found himself sitting on a fallen log in a small clearing within sight of the river. A section of the trail was just visible off to his right, but it seemed to be curving away from the river again and headed up a slight rise.

Greg kept the densest part of the forest directly in front of him, the gun held just out of sight behind his left thigh. As he sat there, trying to catch his breath, with lingering soreness in his shoulders, back, and legs, and the sharp pain in his side, he stared into the shifting shadows deep beneath the boughs.

Show yourself, you coward, he thought. Just give me one glimpse, so I know what kind of person I’m dealing with.

As if his follower had somehow sensed the thought, there came a distinct snap of a twig from the woods straight ahead. Instinctively, Greg raised the rifle and pointed it toward the trees, shutting one eye and looking for any unusual movement. He waited there, holding his breath, for almost a full minute. However, the woods were almost peacefully still, frost-flecked branches and needles unmoving in the windless afternoon air. Finally, he let his breath out in a long, frustrated sigh and lowered the gun.

Branches break all the time, he reminded himself. And the woods are full of animals. It’s entirely possible that you’re just imagining your pursuer.

But he didn’t buy it. The crawling unease that had settled in the base of his spine seemed like a prey response. No, something was watching him. He’d considered the possibility that it was an animal, maybe a mountain lion or a bear, but surely either of those would have pounced on him by now. What sort of wild animal would track a prey all day long without ever getting closer or showing itself? And anyway, bears would probably still be sleeping away the last of the winter weather.

It seemed clear that this was a person. Maybe they’d started off stalking the family, but they were now following Greg. In his mind, Greg imagined some desperate man half-starved from the bitter winter, draped in animal pelts, lice-ridden and wild-eyed.

Is it possible they don’t have evil intent? he wondered. Maybe they’re hoping I will lead them to some vestige of civilization.

This would certainly explain why they hadn’t attacked or gotten closer. Greg finally rose and resumed his hike. He’d only walked for another minute or two before he heard a branch snap somewhere behind him. It was really beginning to infuriate him, and he was sorely tempted to turn and just start firing wildly into the forest. He restrained himself.

Instead, as the afternoon edged toward evening, he began to formulate a different plan. The rain had stopped for the time being, which he considered a small mercy. He was so exhausted that he would have gladly set up camp right then and there and gone to sleep. Instead, he pressed on until it was fully dark, and he had only moonlight to guide him. He saw flecks of light dancing on the river to his left. He’d heard nothing from his family. If anything, they’d widened the gap. Maybe they’d reached the cabin by now. Greg could only hope so.

Finally, when his steps became plodding and his thoughts began to mist over like cold glass on a chilly morning, he decided to stop for the night. He stumbled to a stop in another small clearing within sight of the river. Slinging his pack on the ground, he began gathering dry sticks for a fire. He wanted a large fire with plenty of light, so he looked for branches in a variety of sizes. It was a struggle. His fumbling fingers had trouble grasping anything, especially the larger sticks. Rooting through all of the rain-damp wood to find a few sticks that were relatively dry made it all the harder, but he eventually managed to gather a nice pile of wood. Then he laid a circle of stones for the firepit and stacked the smaller of the sticks into a rough pyramid shape.

Before lighting the fire, however, he began to enact his plan. Using a flat stone with a sharp edge, he dug into the frost-hard ground, chipping away at the icy crust to reach softer soil beneath. The ache in his shoulders made this excruciating, but Greg pushed through the pain, digging and digging, carefully piling up dirt beside the hole. The work was brutal, the ground unyielding, but he made himself keep at it. If the post-EMP world had taught him anything, it had taught him how to keep going well past his breaking point.

Once he was satisfied with the hole, he went back to the stack of wood and set about starting a fire. Fortunately, he still had a lighter, but it took time to get the flame to catch. He babied it for a few frustrating minutes until it was strong enough that it wouldn’t go out. At some point, he heard another footstep somewhere in the woods, but he could see even less of the woods now in the gloom. There were plenty of places for even the most incompetent tracker to hide.

We’ll just see if we can’t tease you out into the open, you creep, he thought. We’re going to have a nice face-to-face encounter before the night is over, mark my words.

Once the smaller sticks were burning brightly, he began adding the bigger ones, until he had a large, crackling campfire that flooded the clearing with warm, orange light. The heat was comforting and soothed his aching joints. For a few minutes, he just sat before the fire and soaked in it, but that made him sleepy. When he felt his thoughts turning fuzzy, he knew he had to rouse himself. He reached under his left sleeve, pinched a big meaty part of his arm just above his wrist, and gave it an almighty twist. The sharp pain was like a splash of cold water in the face. Suddenly, he was alert again.

Greg looked back toward the river. He could see orange firelight dancing on the water and casting a broad arc on the far riverbank, revealing a rocky slope and more dense trees. In that moment, for reasons he could not have fully articulated, he felt a sharp pang of loneliness. It seemed, though he knew it wasn’t true, that he and his mysterious follower were the only humans left in the world.

I’m going to have to pick up my pace tomorrow, he thought. I have to catch my family, no matter what. I have to make sure they’re okay.

But right now, he had a trap to set. He crawled over to the hole he’d dug, sitting beside it with the fire at his back. He kept his gaze fixed on the dark trees. In his right hand, he held the rifle. His left hand reached over and touched the large pile of dirt beside the hole. Beyond the reach of his campfire, the world was getting darker and darker as clouds filled the sky and blocked the moon.

Come on, buddy, he thought. He strained to hear anything unusual, but the world was quiet now, sleeping. Some lone insect chirped away, as if to defy the silence. Let’s get this over with.

19

Staying awake was his biggest struggle. The crackling fire and the dancing lights on the trees were hypnotic, and a few times, he found himself swooning, on the verge of drifting off. Each time, he gave himself a vicious pinch, and it helped rouse him yet again. Soon enough, his whole left forearm hurt.

The fire sounded inordinately loud, the crackling of wood carrying out into the quiet night. Greg’s vision was fixed on the shadows beyond the fire, scanning between the trees for any strange movement at all. He was careful not to make any sound of his own, careful to keep his gaze fixed on the dark places.

The long quiet stretched out, the minutes feeling interminable, and gradually his sleepiness was replaced with a mounting unease. The stalker was out there somewhere. He knew that. He’d heard another footstep while making the fire. Where was he now? How close had he come? Greg had the gun hidden behind his right leg and the fingers of his left hand sunk into the pile of dirt.

Come on, you skulking coward, he thought. Show yourself. Do something.

But the silence persisted. Another tense minute stretched by, and another. Greg tried to breathe as quietly as he could, waiting for some sound, any sound.

And then it came. A single, loud click, which he recognized as the cocking of a hammer. From the sound of it, he thought it was a single-action revolver, some old gun, maybe an antique. So that was it, then? He’d just wanted to get close enough to take a clear shot? The stranger hadn’t said anything, hadn’t made any demands, hadn’t shown his face. He didn’t want anything but to kill and loot. Now, it was clear, and Greg didn’t have to wonder any longer. He knew what needed to be done.

His left hand was still sunk deep into the dirt pile, but he swung it back, flinging the dirt onto the fire. The flames were immediately dampened, if not entirely put out, and the clearing plunged into darkness. Immediately, Greg fell to one side, throwing himself into the shallow hole he’d dug. The guttering fire cast up a great cloud of smoke, further hiding him.

Somewhere to his left, in the direction of the trail, Greg heard a muffled voice cursing. Since he’d been sitting with his back to the fire, his gaze on the shadows, he wasn’t fire-blinded. He could only hope the same was not true of his pursuer. Greg dared to raise his head, thrusting the rifle out in front of him as he looked in the direction of the voice. He soon spotted a shape there, moving behind the veil of smoke. It looked like the man was stepping to one side, as if trying to find a better approach to the camp. He seemed short and stocky, but otherwise Greg couldn’t make out anything about him.

I’ve got you now, Greg thought.

He rolled out of the pit toward the trees, as smoke continued to fill the clearing. Just this simple act caused a fresh burst of pain from his ribs. He groaned as he rose to his feet. Fighting through the discomfort, defying it by sheer willpower, he ran into the trees, circling to the left then coming at the shadow from the left. As he closed the gap, he saw a bearded face, a padded jacket, messy tangles of graying hair. The stranger was still staring toward the camp, holding an old revolver out in front of him but shifting it back and forth, as if trying to track an invisible target.

The man only saw Greg at the last second, and he started to spin in his direction. It was too late. Greg hit him around the midsection and drove him backward. Then the stranger tripped on something, and they both went down. They landed hard on the cold ground, Greg’s weight slamming down on the stranger. Greg heard the man’s breath leave him in a violent rush, then heard the thud of the revolver as it fell from his grasp and landed somewhere nearby.

They slid a few inches and came to an abrupt stop. As soon as they did, Greg raised his rifle and pressed the barrel under the man’s chin. The campfire had recovered some of its strength, and their gazes met in flickering orange light. Greg could tell that the man was utterly shocked and terrified. But he heard his hands fumbling around on the ground.

“You reach for that weapon, and I’ll kill you,” Greg said evenly.

The stranger made a kind of hissing sound and raised both hands above his head, clasping them together. Greg rose, one knee pressed against the man’s chest, shifting the barrel of his gun to his left cheek.

“The only reason I haven’t already killed you is because I want answers,” Greg said, “but I’ve had a bad couple of days. I’m real twitchy. You follow me?”

It had the opposite effect from what he’d intended. The stranger began to writhe beneath him despite the gun in his face. Then he bucked, and Greg’s knee slipped off his chest. As soon as he was free, the man rolled onto his stomach and began crawling away, making frantic breathing noises.

I should just kill him, Greg thought, but I need to know where he came from, who he’s with, and what they want.

Despite this, he raised the rifle, sorely tempted to put a bullet in the back of the man’s head. Instead, he flung himself onto the man’s back, crying out in pain as his own injured body protested. He brought the rifle down, driving the butt against the top of the stranger’s skull. It made a dull thud. The stranger grunted, thrashed once, and collapsed onto the ground. This time he went limp.

For a second, Greg thought he’d killed him. Then he heard the faint, shallow breathing. Greg grabbed a fistful of his shaggy hair, raised his head, and turned it. The man’s eyes were open, full of pain but very much awake.

“I’m really trying hard not to annihilate you here, pal, okay?” Greg said.

“I’m done fighting,” the man replied, in a low voice. “You got me. Just remember, I could’ve shot you too. I had a clear shot there for a second, and I didn’t take it.”

“Well, then, we’re even,” Greg said. “Let’s call it a draw.”

“Just let me go,” the man said. “I won’t follow you anymore.”

“No, I don’t think so. I think we’re going to have a little chat first. Now, I’m getting off your back, but I don’t want you crawling away again. You sit up slowly, calmly, and you stay right there. Can you do that for me?”

The stranger grimaced, hesitated a moment, and finally replied, “Yeah, fine. My head hurts like hell anyway. You put a knot on my skull that feels about as big as a tennis ball.”

“Don’t make me put another one.”

Greg slid off the man, rose to his knees, and reached back to grab the revolver he’d dropped. As he’d expected, it was an ancient gun, though someone had taken good care of it. The thing felt huge and heavy in his hands, a solid chunk of metal. Greg made a mental note to take a good look at the thing and figure out the make and model when he had a chance. For now, he tossed it well out of the stranger’s reach as he backed away.

“Sit up,” he commanded the stranger, his gun still trained on the man. When the man hesitated, he added, “Maybe you think I’ve never killed anyone before, that I’ve not pulled the trigger because, oh, the humanity, the humanity? But, no, it wouldn’t mean much to me at this point. I’m trying to do the decent thing here and maybe clear the air, but if you’re not amenable to that, friend, then it won’t mean much to toss what’s left of you in the river.”

It got through to the stranger. Maybe the truth of it was evident in Greg’s voice. Whatever the case, the man rolled onto his back, hands still thrust above his head, and slowly sat up, wide eyes fixed on Greg. He did indeed have a bit of a mountain man look to him, but he was wearing a ski jacket that was far too nice for a wild person.

“Now, take one of your boots off,” Greg said. “Slowly. Gently. Just pull it off and set it to one side. Can you do that for me?”

“Take off my boot?” the man said. “Are you serious?”

Greg gave him what he hoped was a slightly crazed nod. Frowning, the man reached down and pulled off a rather nice Timberland hiking boot, revealing a filthy wool sock. He gingerly set the boot to one side, never taking his eyes off Greg.

“Why do you want one of my boots?” he asked.

“I don’t want the boot,” Greg replied. “I just want the shoelace. I used to be pretty good at tying complicated knots. Hopefully, I haven’t lost my touch. We’ll see. Afterward, we can have a nice chat, and you can tell me absolutely everything.”

20

Fleeing in the night to escape their pursuers had been a miserable ordeal, especially with the newborn and a recovering Justine. But it had to be done. Darryl wasn’t about to let the family get in a confrontation with a group of strangers.

Transporting Justine and the baby had been the biggest problem. After just giving birth, there was no way the new mom was going to be able to ride in a saddle. Walking was out of the question as well. In the end, their only option had been to create a space for her on the travois, forming a padded area in between the boxes where she could lie down with the baby. Since the back of the travois was constantly dragging on the ground, it wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but Justine resigned herself to it with only a modest amount of sarcasm.

“I give birth, and suddenly I’m just another piece of luggage,” she said, as Darryl carefully tucked a blanket around her and the baby. “I see how it is.”

“Hey, these are the first-class accommodations,” Darryl replied. “The in-flight movie starts in thirty minutes.”

“Look at you trying to be funny,” she said, managing a smile.

He took her free hand, kissed it awkwardly, and walked away. They broke camp so quickly that they were forced to leave some stuff behind. Darryl just couldn’t bring himself to care about a few knick-knacks and a tarp or two. Horace and Tabitha rode one horse, Marion the other. Emma took the lead of the caravan, guiding the horses, while Darryl decided to bring up the rear. He wanted to stay in the back with his rifle at the ready in case their pursuers caught up to them in the night. He also wanted to make sure the cows kept moving.

“Are you sure you don’t want one of the horses back there with you?” Horace asked, as he headed back.

“No, I want everyone else in the front,” he replied. “As far from these strangers as possible. If they catch up, I’ll deal with them.”

“Don’t do anything rash,” Marion said. “We can’t assume they’re hostile.”

“If they’re trying to sneak up on us at night, they’re hostile,” he replied, “but they’re free to prove me wrong.”

And with that, he headed past the cows to the end of the line. The caravan headed off into the night, following the trail deeper into the woods, where the air was still and all sound muffled. Far ahead, Darryl could see the light of Emma’s flashlight playing over the trees as she picked out their path. Tabitha had been right to call this the “scenic route,” as it wound back and forth in long looping curves. At times, Darryl felt like they were going the wrong way, as if the trail had been intentionally designed to keep them away from the cabin.

The night march soon turned into a long, slow slog. Darryl periodically cast his gaze back over his shoulder, shining a line on the trail. This made him realize just how obvious their own tracks were. The drag marks of the travois were deep, and the animals were leaving clear hoofprints on the ground. Anyone tracking them would have an easy time figuring out the general size and makeup of the group. Of their pursuers, however, there was no sign. Either they were moving slowly, or they had decided to remain out of sight for the time being.

Darryl found himself slipping into a half-awake space, still moving forward but barely aware of his surroundings. Periodically, he slapped himself hard on the cheek, but it only helped for a little while. Eventually, he drifted into one of those foggy places and emerged to see the first pink light shining through the branches overhead. Still, they trudged on, and soon he slipped back into that space. He was walking without even being aware of it, as if his mind were skipping into the future. The next time he looked up, it was well into late morning, and he saw the trail wending back and forth in front of him. He heard a roar of water somewhere off to their left.

The line of cows in front of him were barely moving now, inching forward as if they were being hindered. Darryl finally made his way past them and realized that Emma and the horses were also moving just as slowly. Some of the poor animals seemed to be struggling, especially the older cows. Darryl paused beside the travois, where Justine was sitting up. The baby was under a blanket, feeding, but Justine seemed to be working on something.

“Comfortable?” he asked. “Did the flight attendant take your drink order?”

“Yeah, I ordered a rum and Coke an hour ago,” she replied, with a shake of her head. “It never showed.”

“I’ll look into it,” he said.

“Excellent,” she replied, giving him a brief, fading smile. It looked like she’d cut one of her blankets into long strips, and she seemed to be somehow knotting the strips together. When she noticed him looking, she held it up. “I’m making a papoose. It was Emma’s idea, of course. A papoose is a kind of baby carrier made by First Nations people. You create this little pouch and carry your baby on your back. At least then I wouldn’t have to carry him in my arms all the time when I walk.”

“Do you feel recovered enough to walk?” he asked.

“Well, not really, but I’m sick of being jostled around,” she said. “It’s like trying to ride an earthquake. I’ll walk for a while and carry our son and see how it goes.”

“Do you need help creating the papoose?”

She shook her head. “Nope, Emma gave me more instructions than I could ever need. Horace even threw in a few tips. Those two know a lot of random stuff. Anyway, Emma was going to make it herself, but I begged her. Told her I needed something to pass the time.”

“Well, if you insist on walking, that’s fine with me,” he said. “Just don’t push yourself.”

“You should take your own advice, Darryl Healy,” he said.

“Probably. And one of these days, I will.”

Darryl leaned down and kissed Justine on top of the head, then he moved up to the front of the caravan. Emma was walking beside Marion’s horse, and mother and daughter seemed to be in a debate.

“I felt drops,” Emma said. “Look at the clouds. Everything is gray now.”

“Okay, but there’s not much we can do about it if we get rained on,” Marion replied. “We have to keep going.”

Indeed, Darryl felt a drop of rain just then. It hit the bridge of his nose and ran down, hanging off the end. More drops followed, and soon a steady drizzle had begun to fall.

“Thanks, nature,” Darryl muttered. “I wasn’t miserable enough yet, but this will take care of it.”

Poor old Horace was asleep in the saddle, leaning so far forward that his face was brushing against the horse’s mane. Tabitha had her arms around him and seemed to be holding him in place. As Darryl approached, he assessed the trail ahead. It seemed to be taunting them. At times, it descended into the valley; at other times, it turned and ascended back up steep slopes.

“At this pace, we’re never going to get anywhere,” he said. “There has to be some way to move faster.”

“With the rain falling, the trail is going to get muddy,” Emma said. His sister was clearly sleep-deprived, with dark circles around her eyes, hair all tangled and dirty. She was still carrying the flashlight, though it was turned off now. “A slippery trail will make it harder for the animals.”

Darryl considered their predicament. But, of course, the answer seemed obvious to him. Their priorities were clear. “Okay, fine, let’s leave some of the older cattle behind and dump some of our supplies. I can’t do anything about the rain, but if we travel lighter, we can travel faster. We’ll survive without the cows. We know how to live off the land anyway, right?”

“We’ll need our cattle to survive,” Tabitha said, her voice a sleepy croak. “We’ve already lost far too much.”

“Well, the cows are barely moving at this point, and the travois slows down the horses,” Darryl said. “All the supplies in the world will be useless if we can’t get to the cabin, or if we get overtaken by a hostile group. It doesn’t seem like there’s anything to debate here, really.” His foggy brain was making him cranky, he knew, and he struggled mightily not to snap at everyone.

“We’re losing so much,” Marion said softly. She sounded like she was on the verge of crying, but when Darryl looked up at her, his mother had a steely expression, her jaw set firmly.

“I know, Mom,” he replied, “but if we can just get our people to that cabin…”

“There’s another option,” Tabitha said, with a long, drawn-out sigh.

“Please, don’t tell me there some other dangerous trail we can take,” Marion said.

“Not a trail,” Tabitha said. She pointed off to the left, where the land sloped down through the trees. “The woods thin out quite a bit in that direction. We could simply leave the trail and take a shortcut down the slope here. It’ll get us to the cabin faster. Eventually, we’ll be funneled toward a ravine, and that will point us toward the trail again. At this point, it would actually be faster and easier on the animals.”

Darryl considered the terrain to the left of the trail. It didn’t look too bad, actually. Patches of grass, lingering snow, some rocks, but indeed the trees were spread out just enough that the animals could pass. “Isn’t the river in that direction?” he asked. “Is there a way to get over it?”

“Yes, there’s a long stretch where it passes underground,” she said. “I suspect we’re close to that point.”

But as Darryl thought about it, something didn’t sit right. “What’s the catch?” he asked. “If it’s so much easier to just cut through the woods here, why didn’t we do that in the first place? Why did you act like the trail was our only option?”

Tabitha sat up, hoisting Horace away from the horse’s neck. “Because, of course, it’s not safe. The descent is pretty steep, and there are shale deposits where we could slip and slide. I’m only suggesting it now because the animals might not be able to last on the trail. We still have a long way to go. If we can get beyond the river and down through some rough terrain, we’ll meet up with the trail again at a lower part of the valley.”

“Have you done this before?” he asked.

“Tuck and I cut downslope from the trail a few times, yes,” she said. “Not with twelve head of cattle, mind you. I suppose the biggest risk would be a landslide, but I think at this point it might be worth the risk. Faster seems better all around, if you ask me.”

Tabitha was looking rough. Her skin had turned a yellowish color, and she was sweating profusely, though it couldn’t have been more than a few degrees above freezing. Her hair was limp, her eyes slightly unfocused. Clearly, this rough journey was wearing on her.

Still, he was conflicted. How would Justine and the baby survive a dangerous trek down rough terrain? Did he really want to risk it? She would have to leave the travois, of course, but walking along with their son in a papoose down a rocky slope with the risk of landslides? He looked from Emma to Marion and back to Tabitha. They were all waiting to see what he had to say.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Marion said. “But we all need to agree. Darryl?”

“Give me a second,” he snapped, then added, in a softer voice, “Let me weigh the options here. Hang on.”

“Don’t weigh them too long,” Tabitha said. “We’re getting rained on, and we still have people following us.”

“I know. I know.” He swiped a hand in the air. “We’re running out of time.”

21

In the end, the stranger gave up the laces on both of his boots. Greg let him put the boots back on after that, but then he led the man back to camp. He was limping now. Apparently, he’d been injured slightly when Greg had tackled him. Greg marched him to a tree nearest the fire, forced him to sit, then pulled his arms around the trunk behind him and bound his wrists with the shoelaces.

“It’s not necessary to tie me up,” the man said. “I’m not going to do anything. I have no more weapons, and I told you I’m done resisting. I promise. Do you want it in writing?”

“We don’t know each other well enough to make promises,” Greg replied, patting down the man’s jacket. He found a folding knife in an inner pocket, removed it, and tossed it toward the campfire. “Heck, I don’t even know your name. Why don’t we start there?” He found a compass in another pocket and took that as well, tossing it beside the knife.

“Daniel,” the man replied, leaning back against the tree trunk.

“Daniel. Such a friendly name,” Greg replied. He walked over to the fire and squatted down. “Well, my name’s Greg. See, we’re on a first-name basis now. That’s the beginning of trust.”

“Does that mean you’ll untie me,” Daniel said.

“Absolutely not.”

Greg went to work getting the fire going again, adding more sticks and stoking it until it was burning brightly. Then he piled the pocket knife, compass, and Daniel’s gun beside his own backpack. Soon, the clearing was warm and bright, and Greg noticed a trickle of sweat running down the man’s forehead.

“So how did you find me in the first place, and what made you start following me?” Greg asked.

Daniel shrugged. “We saw the smoke from your fire. You burned wet wood, man. Don’t you realize how much smoke that puts out?”

“I didn’t know I needed to worry about it,” Greg replied. “So, if you’re with a group of people, why were you the only one sneaking up on me?”

“When we saw the smoke, I volunteered to check it out,” he said. He was quick to answer, and he didn’t seem particularly concerned about giving information. Greg found that strange.

“And the others?” Greg asked.

“Most of them went the other way,” Daniel replied. “We’ll meet up down in the valley, once we’ve gotten everything we want.”

“So the rest of your group is following my family?”

Daniel smiled briefly, and Greg realized in that moment that the man wasn’t nearly as anxious as he’d seemed. “Now you’re getting the idea.”

“So you’re…what? A group of bandits or something?”

“Something like that,” Daniel said. “We’re just working together to survive, and that means taking what we need. You’d do the same, I’m sure. Heck, you probably got all of your stuff from some other poor group of travelers.”

“Actually, no,” Greg said. “We’re not thieves. Who is the leader of your group? It’s safe to say it’s not you.”

“Her name is Sasha Burke,” he said. “What do you want to know? Her life story? Fine. She’d love me to tell it. Sasha was a corporate go-getter in her former life, president and founder of a multinational organization based out of Vancouver, and in her free time, one of those extreme outdoors types. Now, she’s our fearless captain, and she’s kept us going for quite a while now.”

“By stealing from innocent people,” Greg said.

“Only when it’s necessary,” Daniel replied. “We barter, we build, and sometimes we steal. Whatever it takes. That’s the law of the jungle now, man. You must have realized that by now if you’ve come this far.”

“We’ve met people like you before, if that’s what you mean,” Greg said. “You should know my family is armed, and they will defend themselves without hesitation.”

“I’m sure they will,” Daniel replied, leaning his head back to stare upward. “Sasha knows what she’s doing. She’s dealt with all kinds of people, dangerous people.”

Greg used a long stick to stoke the fire. “Well, you’re certainly free with information. I’ll give you that. I expected it to be a bit harder to interrogate you.”

“Eh, what does it matter,” Daniel said. He seemed to have an itch on his chin and used his shoulder to scratch it, but this just mussed up his beard all the more, making him look even wilder and more unkempt. “My people outnumber yours. It doesn’t matter if you know my name is Daniel, if you know our leader is named Sasha. We’re still going to take all of your cattle, supplies, and anything else we want.”

It was a ridiculous boast for a man who was unarmed and tied to a tree. Greg couldn’t help but smile at him, but it was a smile hiding a growing rage. “You wouldn’t be the first people to try taking our stuff. All of the others who have tried have wound up dead. We buried them with our own hands.” It was a lie, of course. James and his gang were still presumably alive and living it up at the Healy ranch, but Daniel didn’t know this.

“You don’t look like a man who’s killed anyone,” Daniel said. “You look like a man out of his element.”

“Good. That means you’ve underestimated me, which gives me the advantage.”

Greg grabbed the Winchester and bounced it in his hands a few times. The anger had become white hot within. The thought that some large group of bandits led by a former corporate shark was out there hunting his family made him shake with rage. He rose, staring into the fire for a few seconds before slowly turning to Daniel.

“Well, Daniel, I’m a decent chap. I’m going to give you a moment to say a prayer, if that’s something that’s important to you,” he said. “Pray for the state of your soul. Do penance. Whatever you need to do to meet your maker.”

“You’re going to kill me, then?” Daniel replied, in a soft voice, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, that’s right. You’ve threatened my family, so I’m going to do to you what I’ve done to all the others who’ve threatened my family.”

Daniel pressed his lips together tightly for a moment, giving Greg a sharp look, eyes narrowed to slits. “If you kill me,” he said, “Sasha will never stop hunting you.”

“And why is that?” Greg said. “Is there some special connection between the two of you?”

Daniel averted his gaze, and it was all the answer Greg needed.

“Ah, I see,” he said. “You two are an item. I’m glad to hear that. So, then, if I kill you, she’s be hell-bent on revenge, is that it?”

“Something like that,” Daniel replied. “Any chance of negotiation will be out the window, I guarantee it.”

Greg struggled against the anger, trying to think rationally. Was killing this man the best course of action? It would certainly remove an immediate threat. But perhaps Daniel had another use, a better use.

“You make a good point, Daniel,” he said. “I’ll tell you what. I won’t kill you, not right away. Instead, I’ll take you with me, and we’ll go meet your boss lady. I’ll ask her if she thinks your life is worth anything. Maybe we can make a trade.”

“Yeah, I dare you,” Daniel said, still not looking at him. “Sasha doesn’t have to bargain for me. She’ll just kill you and set me free. Your best bet is to untie me and let me go. I’m the only one who can change her mind. If you let me go, I’ll head back to my group, convince her to change course, and that’ll be the last time you see us.”

“That’s a tempting offer,” Greg said, with a contemptuous laugh, “but I like my plan better. I don’t know what you want from my family anyway. I suspect that none of you have any cattle ranching experience. You know, it’s not easy keeping a herd of cattle alive and healthy. You’d be better off doing your banditry somewhere else to some other group. I’m going to suggest it to Sasha personally.”

Of course, what Greg didn’t tell him was that he had no expectation that Sasha would accept his offer. However, if Daniel was her lover, he thought he could at least use him to delay Sasha and her group long enough for his family to get farther ahead. If they could reach the cabin first, they would be in a better position to defend themselves from these people.

“What do you think, Daniel?” Greg said, squatting in front of the man and pointing the rifle at him. “You think Sasha will be willing to bargain for your life? Do you mean anything to her at all? Or does she put more value on a few cows?”

Daniel swallowed then, clearly a nervous gesture, but said nothing. Greg locked the rifle against his shoulder and took aim, closing one eye. Daniel looked at the gun, looked at Greg, and quickly looked away again.

“She’s not going to let her boyfriend die just to get her hands on a bunch of cattle that she doesn’t even know how to care for, is she?” Greg said. “Surely not.”

But Daniel seemed to have run out of words. Greg kept the gun trained on him for a minute, fighting an urge to pull the trigger.

He fully intended to kill you, he reminded himself. If he gets another chance to do so, he will. Shouldn’t you go ahead and put him down, the way you would a rabid dog?

But, no, for his family’s sake, he would keep Daniel alive for now. Greg slowly lowered the rifle, rose, and backed away from the prisoner.

“Well, we’ll just see what she has to say, then.” Greg went back to the fire and sat down. “Sasha can decide if you live or die. Why don’t we hit the road, so we can go and see her?”

22

They were still creeping along the trail, now heading back up a steep slope toward the ridgeline, though the animals were moving slower than ever. The rain had finally relented, but the sky was still blanketed in dark clouds. Darryl felt the weight of the decision on him. Marion and Tabitha had made their preference clear. They wanted to take the shortcut. Emma was undecided, as was Darryl. But he knew a decision had to be made one way or the other. He couldn’t keep putting it off. At the moment, he was walking beside Emma, trudging up the slope at a pace that was so slow it put his teeth on edge. He really needed to be at the back of the caravan, keeping an eye on the cows.

“If we’re going to take the shortcut, this would be the place to do it,” Tabitha said, gesturing off to the left. “If we keep going this way, we’ll get to a place where the river becomes unpassable again. Are we all on the same page now, or what? The day is slipping away from us.”

“I think I’m with you,” Marion said. “Whatever the risks of heading down the slope, if we can save time, it will be worth it.”

The more he thought about it, the more Darryl realized he wasn’t really undecided. He knew what he wanted to do. He was just putting it off because of the potential consequences. Indeed, while he was walking along, he heard the gentle cooing of his newborn son, and he looked back to see Justine approaching. She’d made a simple papoose using the wooden lid of one of their boxes and some strips of cloth from a blanket. The little one was safely strapped inside, swaddled up tight and making soft little sounds.

“Justine, are you okay to walk?” he asked.

“It’s not exactly comfortable,” she replied. Indeed, she was stepping awkwardly. He could tell she was still in pain. When she moved up beside him, he put his arm around her, and she leaned against him. It was a bit awkward because of the papoose. “I’ve had enough of being dragged with the laundry, though, I’ll tell you that. What’s going on up here?”

“We’re trying to decide whether to stick to the trail or take a shortcut down the slope,” he said, pointing into the trees.

“Another shortcut?” she said. “Didn’t we try that already? And wasn’t it a hellish nightmare that we never want to repeat?”

“This is different,” Tabitha said. She was fanning herself with one of her hands now, as if she’d become overheated. “We’d be cutting through the woods, yes, but there’s no risk of flooding. The river passes underground for a few kilometers, and we can cross over with no trouble.”

But Justine’s comment stuck with Darryl. Indeed, he could tell just by the tone of her voice that she felt much the same as he did. That finally made up his mind, and he came to a stop. Tabitha and Marion reined in their horses on either side of him.

“Okay, I’ve thought about it,” he said. “Here’s my opinion.” He braced himself for Tabitha’s irritation, then plunged ahead. “I think faster isn’t always safer. Justine’s right. The last time we took a shortcut, it was a disaster. It’s how we lost Dad, not to mention half our stuff. We took the faster, more dangerous river path and paid a terrible price for it. I don’t want to do that again.” He looked down the slope to the left of the trail and saw a descending slope, bare rocks, gnarled roots, and patches of lingering snow.

“As I said, this is different,” Tabitha said. “We’re not talking about a river path.”

“Not different enough,” Darryl replied. “If we head down the slope, someone might get hurt, an animal might get hurt. The travois will have trouble on the terrain. No, there are too many dangers that way. Shaving off some time isn’t worth the risk. I don’t think we should do it.”

He nodded, satisfied with his decision, though he saw the sharp looks of Tabitha and Marion on either side of him. Clearly, they didn’t agree. Tabitha seemed to gather herself for a few seconds, shifting in her seat, before finally responding.

“We have to take the shortcut,” she said. “We’re being followed. You saw our pursuers with your own eyes. And even if we weren’t being followed, we need to get to the cabin as fast as we can. At this pace, we’ll be creeping along the scenic route for days, and that’s not good for anyone.”

“No, we shouldn’t take the shortcut,” Darryl replied, as he resumed moving. “The shortcut is the bigger risk. That’s what I think. Emma, would you head back and make sure none of the cattle are lagging behind? Just focus on the ones that are young and healthy enough to keep up.” He knew his sleep-deprived brain wasn’t working quite right. His judgment was impaired, but the terror of the flooded river path was too fresh. He never wanted to experience anything like that again.

Emma bit her lip, glanced at Tabitha, and finally nodded. “Yeah, sure, I guess so.” Darryl handed her the Remington as she stepped past him and headed to the back of the caravan. She seemed reluctant to take it.

As soon as she was gone, Tabitha’s face twisted up in what was either pain or fury. She pressed stray locks of gray hair out of her face, then flung her hands to the side. When she spoke, she had a fire in her voice that Darryl had never heard before.

“With all due respect, you are making a big mistake,” she said, so sharply that he came to an immediate stop. “Do you hear me? Do you ever hear me? You’re making a big mistake. I know you don’t like to listen to me, Tuck, but I’m telling you this is wrong. If we keep going…if we…” She trailed off then, made a loud harrumph, and bowed her head.

Does she realize she just called me Tuck? He couldn’t tell, but everyone got tense and quiet. Darryl gave his grandmother a moment, and finally she raised her head again and took a deep breath. She looked so tired, so out of it, so cold and wet and miserable. Maybe she was delirious.

“I didn’t mean to step into the middle of a family dispute,” Justine said, reaching back behind her to stroke the baby’s fat cheek. “I shared my opinion, but honestly, I don’t care one way or the other where we go. If you people want to slide down the mountain there, so be it. I’ll get by. I’m not going to be the cause of a fight. That’s just silly.”

Darryl turned to his mother, but she seemed disturbed by Tabitha’s outburst.

If it’s what Grandma really wants, maybe it’s what we should do, Darryl thought. There’s bound to be risk either way, so why not give her what she wants just to keep the peace.

He looked around, seeking some kind of confirmation. Justine reached out and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He knew what she was trying to communicate: It’s fine. Just give your Grandma what she wants.

“Okay, then, so be it. Grandma, if you think…” He had just started to speak when he felt and heard a sudden loud boom. It startled both horses. Marion’s horse, tied to the travois, was somewhat restrained and only high-stepped with her front legs. Tabitha’s horse, on the other hand, unfettered, danced to one side, coming dangerously close to the edge of the trail and the slope beyond.

“What was that?” Darryl asked. He turned back toward the cattle and saw smoke rising from the trail behind them. “Was that an explosion?”

“Emma,” Marion said with a gasp. “She’s back there! You sent her to check on the cattle.”

23

Darryl ran back toward the cattle. He reached for the Remington, then remembered he’d given it to Emma. The cows had been startled, and they were moving about, restless. If they hadn’t been so exhausted, Darryl thought they might have just taken off running. As he ran toward the back of the caravan, one of the old heifers got spooked by his approach and lunged at him. He just barely managed to sidestep out of the way, but this time his left foot slid on mud.

Darryl went down on his knee, catching himself against a nearby tree. A long trail of smoke was rising up from somewhere behind their caravan, and he thought he heard the crackle and pop of a fire. Had their pursers somehow set a trap for them? Did they have explosives? It was an alarming thought, but he couldn’t rule it out. Picking himself up, he brushed off his knee and resumed moving.

The cows had been spread out pretty far, but he finally spotted Emma another ten meters back. She was gazing down the trail at the smoke, aiming the Remington.

“Emma, what is it? Are you okay?” he asked, running toward her.

He soon got his answer. As he drew near, he saw a large pine tree on fire, massive flames licking up the trunk and quickly catching in the branches. Red-hot needles rained down onto the trail behind them. Darryl stumbled to a stop beside his sister.

“What did they do?” Darryl asked. “Who did it?”

She lowered the rifle and gave him a funny look. “Nobody did anything. It was a lightning strike. Didn’t you see it? I was looking back that way, and it practically blinded me.”

“Lightning,” he said. At that moment, the rain started to fall again, harder than before. “Why were you pointing the gun?”

“It startled me, I guess,” she said, shrugging. “Just an instinct. My reptile brain wanted to fight.”

“You didn’t see any people back there?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, but after that lightning flash, I didn’t see anything but a big purple blob burned into my vision for a few seconds.”

The tree was burning like crazy now. Indeed, he could tell that the force of the lightning had gutted the trunk, and it was filled with flames and glowing embers. The branches above were blazing like an enormous torch.

“That tree is right beside the trail,” Emma noted. “If we’d been just a little further back, it might have…” She left the possibilities hanging in the air between them.

As they watched, the big pine gave a loud crack and a shower of sparks gushed out of a spot about halfway up the trunk. The bark snapped open, and the tree tipped over. With another gush of sparks and burning wood, it fell onto the trail behind them. It slammed onto the ground, burning branches and needles cast in all directions.

This was the last straw for the poor cattle. The thud of the tree sent many of them scurrying. Darryl saw a big heifer racing into the woods, running down the slope. He started to go after her, but then one of the horses gave a terrified whinny. Darryl turned just in time to see Tabitha’s horse rear up on its back legs, flinging its head from side to side. Marion reached out, but she was having trouble controlling her own horse. Tabitha leaned forward and grabbed the reins, but Horace was roused from his persistent sleep. As he fumbled about, trying to make sense of the situation, he fell from the saddle and landed hard on the road.

“I’ve got to help them,” Darryl said.

“No, you stay here with the rifle,” Emma said. “Those people might use this as a chance sneak up on us. I’ll help the others.”

She shoved the rifle into his hands and took off running, cutting a zigzagging path through the line of startled cows. Along the way, she managed to nudge one of the older cows on the flank and keep it from heading into the woods.

Darryl heard another crack and pop behind him. He turned to see the pine tree still burning across the trail. However, in its fall, it had actually shoved the tree beside it out of position. That tree now gave a loud groan and fell. However, it went the other way, tipping in the direction of the downward slope. It snapped just above the roots, and he noticed that it was also burning a little from the lightning strike. It toppled, ripping through branches, and hit the ground. Then it bounced and tumbled down the slope, smashing into bushes and other trees along the way.

When Darryl turned back around, he realized they’d lost another cow. She was bounding into the woods now herself, heading down and out of sight. Within seconds, they’d gone from twelve cows to ten.

Just let them all go, he thought. It’ll be one less thing to worry about.

He looked for Justine and found her standing off to one side, taking shelter from the anxious horses behind a small tree. She’d pulled the papoose off her back and was attempting to comfort the baby, who had begun crying. Emma reached Horace and bent down to help him sit up, but Tabitha’s horse was still flinging her head from side to side, tromping anxiously as Tabitha struggled with the reins.

Emma’s right. Now would be the perfect time for our pursuers to sneak up on us, Darryl realized.

He turned to look for them. The trail, at least, was now blocked by flames, but he scanned the distance beyond, seeking any hint of people in that direction. The binoculars were on the travois, but he saw nothing in that direction with the naked eye. Maybe the lightning had scared them off. The big pine tree had burned so fiercely that it was already crumbling into big embers, but the burning branches had reached to the other side of the trail. Darryl decided it was time to go.

He turned back around, but a faint movement caught his eye. At first, since it came from down the slope, he assumed it was the fallen tree. But then he realized that the tree had finally come to a stop by slamming sideways against a couple of large pine trees. A few loose branches and needles continued to rain down, but that wasn’t what he’d noticed. Instead, his gaze was drawn farther down the slope to shadowy places deeper in the woods.

At first, he thought he was just seeing shadows of moving branches, but then he realized he was seeing people. A group of people far down the slope. He could just barely make them out, but they were moving perpendicular to the trail, slipping from tree to tree. Darryl couldn’t tell how many of them there were. It seemed like a large group, but they were far enough away that it might have been an optical illusion.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Persistent scumbags. What do you want from us?”

He aimed the rifle in their direction, but the odds of hitting any of them from this distance were close to nil. Would it scare them off? Somehow he doubted it. If anything, it might encourage them to return fire. No, better to get moving, pick up the pace, and lose them. He turned back around and smacked the nearest cow gently on the flank to get it moving again. Most of the other cows followed her lead and resumed walking up the trail.

Tabitha had finally gotten her horse under control, and Emma had managed to get Horace upright. He was grimacing and clutching his side, but he wasn’t too injured to bear his weight, even with just one leg to stand on. With Tabitha and Emma helping, he managed to climb back into the saddle, though it took a while to get him settled. Darryl caught snatches of Tabitha’s strained voice, and it sounded like she was shouting angrily. Grandma’s mood clearly hadn’t softened.

Darryl just happened to be looking in that direction when the hard rain hit. He watched it coming down the slope like a great gray curtain. It swept over them, cold and fierce, and suddenly, they were all being drenched. The rain brought with it a dull roar that seemed to fill the whole world.

Down the slope, Darryl thought. It’s the only way we might lose our pursuers. They’re too close, and they can move faster than us on the trail.

He ran ahead, passing the cows, to catch up to the horses. It was clear now what they had to do. And maybe the trees would keep out the worst of the rain. Cold raindrops stung his face and ran into his eyes, as he picked up his pace.

24

A fierce, stinging rain had begun to fall, coming on them suddenly. Greg pulled up the hood of his coat, but somehow the water still got through to his face. Daniel was walking ahead of him, his hands still tied behind his back. He’d begged to be untied, but Greg didn’t trust him. The last thing he wanted to do was give him a chance to fight back.

They had cut through the trees to the trail and were following the path along a ridgeline that seemed to be leading away from the river. Indeed, as they went along, the slope began to angle upward.

“This weather is getting bad,” Daniel said over his shoulder. “The ground is turning swampy. I need my hands, man. How am I supposed to keep my balance?”

“By not falling down,” Greg replied.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Daniel said. “If I fall, I won’t be able to catch myself. I’ll land right on my face—break my nose, bust my jaw.”

“Believe in yourself,” Greg said. “Will yourself not to fall. You can do it.”

“See, you’re just mocking me. It’s not right, man.”

Daniel was right; the ground was getting muddy and slippery. Greg could see small rivulets of water pouring down the slope from the heavy rain. Still, when his captive slowed down, he prodded the man in the back.

“We can’t do this,” Daniel shouted. The rain had drenched his long hair and beard, making him look thoroughly pathetic, like a small, drowned dog. “We’re going to get washed away! Didn’t you learn anything from the flooding?”

“I learned that a situation can go south at any time,” Greg replied. “I learned to expect the worst and to act preemptively, whether I’m dealing with rain, a river, or a captured bandit.” He had the Winchester firmly in hand, and he kept it pointed at his hostage. “At least if we get washed away, we’ll get washed away together. We’re flood buddies now.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Daniel said. “You might actually be a crazy person.”

“Probably so. Drowning will do that to a man.”

They continued up the slope, but Daniel was dragging his feet, as if he thought pouting might finally win Greg over. Every time he stopped, Greg drove the barrel of the rifle between his shoulder blades and shoved him forward. Daniel didn’t realize how close to the truth he’d come. Greg felt pain in every part of his body, and it had pushed him to the edge. He was indeed as close to losing his mind as he’d ever been.

Daniel doesn’t realize how tempted I am to get rid of him, he thought. He doesn’t realize that I’m fighting at every moment to save him from myself.

They’d gone a few hundred meters, following a sharp rise, rainwater running beneath their feet, when Daniel slipped suddenly and went down on his knees. Greg grabbed him under the arm and dragged him to his feet. Now, however, the cold wind was blasting right in their faces, and Daniel had to walk hunched over. Greg almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“It’s no good,” Daniel cried. “We’ll never make it like this. We’re practically at a standstill.”

“Well, quit dragging your feet then,” Greg replied, giving him another poke between the shoulder blades. “Buck up, pal. You’re tougher than you think. Soon enough, we’ll catch up to your lover, and we’ll make our friendly trade and go our separate ways in peace. Everyone will walk away from this alive, and you can go find somewhere else to practice your banditry. How does that sound?”

“Unlikely, is how it sounds” Daniel replied. “We’ll be washed away long before that happens.”

As if to punctuate his words, there came a loud crack of thunder, and Greg saw a flash of light far ahead of them. Daniel came to a stop, bent over, as if afraid to go on. Greg tried prodding him again, but this time, he didn’t react. Finally, he grabbed the man by the arm and dragged him forward, and Daniel was forced to resume walking just to keep from falling down.

“No more stopping,” Greg said, releasing his hold on the man’s arm. “You’re not half as pathetic as you pretend to be. It’s an act, and I see right through it. You’re playing it up to try to gain sympathy or pity, so I’ll untie you. I have neither. When my family is threatened, I lose the ability to give a crap about weaselly little guys like you. Got it?”

“I’m not weaselly,” Daniel replied sharply. “I’m just trying not to get killed. If I’d shot you the first time I saw you, none of this would be happening.”

“Well, then, you’ve learned an important lesson,” Greg replied. “Your next lesson is how to stay alive by doing what you’re told. Keep walking.”

Daniel took a step then, and his left boot slipped on mud. Instantly, his foot went out from under him, his loose boot flying off. He tried to correct his balance, but with his hands tied, it was futile. He landed on his side, splashed in muddy water, and began sliding back down the wet trail. Greg was slow to react, and the hostage went sliding right past him.

“You’re failing the lesson,” Greg said with a sigh. “Am I really going to have to chase after you?”

Daniel quickly began picking up speed, spinning as he went, and Greg struggled to catch up to him. Every step felt precarious. Suddenly, he lost his own balance and fell forward, landing on his hands and knees, and sliding after Daniel. The trail beneath him seemed to have turned entirely to liquid. He lost his grip on the Winchester, but it slid along with him.

At a bend in the trail, Daniel went off the trail into the woods and was caught in a tangle of underbrush. Greg managed to drag his fingers into the wet trail and slow himself, and he came to a stop at the trail’s edge. Picking himself up, mud oozing down the front of his coat and pants, he grabbed the rifle and stepped carefully toward Daniel.

“Tell me you didn’t do that on purpose,” he said, as he approached his hostage.

Daniel was on his back, his legs sticking out of the bushes. He was rocking from side to side, trying to rip his way out of the tangle of branches, but he was stuck.

“Does it look like I did this on purpose?” he shouted. “Get me out of here! You’re heartless.”

He’d lost both of his boots in the fall. Greg stooped down to grab his legs and pull him out of the bushes. In that moment, however, Daniel kicked outward. He moved much faster than Greg’s sleep-deprived mind could react. Both heels slammed into Greg’s shin, and he fell forward. On the way down, he tried to grab a nearby tree with his free hand, but this only made him spin to one side. He landed in a narrow space between the tree and bush. When he rolled onto his back, he saw Daniel leap to his feet, moving nimbly, and with far more energy than he’d seemed to possess.

“That’ll do,” Daniel said. “A wise man once told me that a situation can go south at any time, so expect the worst.”

As Greg tried to pick himself up, he inadvertently let go of the rifle, and it landed with a splash in a puddle. He got a foot under himself and lunged forward, kicking off the ground in his attempt to reach the gun. He managed to fling himself beyond the narrow space, but he slammed into the ground on his ribs, feeling a surge of white-hot agony. Still, the rifle was just out of reach, inches from his fingertips, and he fumbled along the muddy ground trying to grab it.

Daniel appeared at his side then. He brought his arms forward. Somehow, the shoelace had come untied. “I can’t believe you’d think about shooting me at a time like this. Whatever happened to being flood buddies?”

He’d pulled his boots back on, and he raised one of them now and brought it down. At the last second, Greg tried to move his hand out of the way, but the heavy heel slammed down on top of it. His knuckles took the brunt of the impact. Greg shrieked as a burst of pain went through his hand and up his arm.

“Oops, sorry about that,” Daniel said. “I’m so clumsy sometimes.” He used his momentum to bend down and reach for the rifle.

Having little time to react, Greg didn’t even try to get up. Instead, he rolled toward him, though it caused waves of sickening nausea when he put pressure on his ribs. Daniel saw him coming and stumbled backward to get away, but he slipped again on the wet ground. Flailing his arms, he fell against a nearby tree but managed to keep his feet.

“I’m going to strangle you for that,” Greg snarled, pushing himself to his hands and feet. The back of his right hand was scraped. He saw a flap of skin hanging off the knuckle of his middle finger “Don’t you get it? I was trying to make peace with your little crew of bandits. I was trying to make peace. If that doesn’t work for you, so be it.”

A surge of fierce anger, hot as the heart of a flame, filled him, feeding him strength. Greg pushed off the ground, hopping to his feet. Daniel pushed off the tree, his eyes flitting down to the gun. In that moment, a great crash of lightning filled the sky behind him, the rumble coming less than a second later, shaking the treetops. That seemed to break something in Daniel. Instead of going for the rifle, he pushed himself backward, turned, and dashed off into the deepest part of the woods.

The ground was rough and uneven in that direction, the bushes and vines creating endless obstacles. This slowed Daniel a bit, as he had to take a meandering path. Still, he was moving fast, too fast, and Greg knew he would never catch the man. He was too banged up, even with the burst of adrenaline feeding him. Instead, he stooped down and picked up the gun, wiping a big glob of mud off the barrel.

He raised the gun, aiming at the zigzagging figure. There were too many damned trees in the way, but Greg did his best to track Daniel through the woods. Suddenly, the man passed through a big gap between trees. He was drenched and muddy, his beard hanging down like a bit of filthy rope. Greg pulled the trigger, sure he would miss. However, Daniel yelped, grabbed his left arm, and fell. He hit the ground, bounced on wet rocks, and slid into a tree.

“No, no, wait,” he cried in a shrill voice. “Don’t kill me. Don’t do it!”

Greg picked his way toward Daniel. By the time he got there, the man was on his knees, his left arm hanging limply at his side. The bullet had hit him just above the elbow. Greg couldn’t see the extent of the damage, but the twisted look on Daniel’s face suggested it was bad. Despite this, Daniel started to get up again. He was making weird, wheezing animal sounds.

“Try to run away again, and the next bullet goes in your back,” Greg said, stepping up behind him and pointing the rifle between his shoulder blades. “I’m still going to make the exchange with Sasha, if I can. For my family’s sake, not for yours.”

Daniel unleashed a hoarse cry then, rocking back and forth on his knees. “My arm! What did you do to me! I can’t move it, man. It’s destroyed.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Greg said. “At least I hit your arm and not something vital. Now, get up. We’re going.”

But Daniel continue to rock back and forth, moaning and whimpering.

“Daniel, if you’re exaggerating the pain in order to catch me off guard again, I will kill you,” Greg said. “I’m tired of threatening your life, but I’ve given you every chance to survive this. More than you deserve, quite frankly.”

Daniel’s yelling trailed off, and he seemed to settle down. Indeed, whatever the extent of his wound, it seemed he had indeed been exaggerating. He looked over his shoulder at Greg, resignation in his tired eyes.

“Fair enough,” he said. “But I had to try.”

“No, you didn’t,” Greg replied.

“You would have done the same thing in my place,” Daniel said. “If I’d tied your hands and marched you off at gunpoint to confront your family, you would’ve made every effort to get away from me.”

“I wouldn’t have bothered you in the first place, moron,” Greg said. “You started this, remember? Now, do you want me to look at your wound or not? We can fashion some kind of bandage or sling.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Daniel said, picking himself up. “I think the bullet went all the way through. I can’t tell. My forearm is mostly numb. Whatever the case, I don’t want you touching me.”

“Very well.” Greg stepped forward, planted a hand against his back, and shoved him in the direction of the trail. “Let’s get back on track. We have to make up for lost time, thanks to you and your shenanigans.”

25

Darryl made his way back through the caravan to the others, surer of his decision by the minute but still dreading it. He felt like he was about to recommend that his family jump off a cliff. Still, it had been Grandma’s idea first, and she’d argued for it vociferously.

Is this how Dad felt when he chose the shorter trail? he wondered. It feels like the right thing to do and absolute folly at the same time. If something bad happens, I’ll never forgive myself.

Emma was nudging one of the lead cows back into line when he approached her. The rain was coming down harder now. Its constant drumming against his hood, against his back, felt like nature was somehow trying to humiliate him. Or warn him.

“Emma,” he said. He had to speak louder than normal to be heard over the roar of rain. “We’ve reached a decision.”

She gave the cow a pat on the flank and turned to Darryl. She was knitting her eyebrows, clearly anxious about what he was going to say.

“Let some of the cows go,” he said. “The stragglers. The ones that keep falling behind. They’ll be more trouble than they’re worth.”

“We’ve already lost two more since the rain started,” she replied.

“I know. And if we lose every cow, it’ll be worth it so long as we get to the cabin safe and sound,” he said.

She nodded sadly. As he passed her, he grabbed her shoulder and squeezed gently. He would have hugged her if not for the rain, though hugs were rare between them. Justine was standing beside Marion’s horse now. She’d moved the papoose to the front, and she was shielding the baby’s face from the rain with her hands.. She came toward him.

“Tell me we have some sort of plan,” she said. “Standing here in the rain doesn’t seem like the right thing to do.”

He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “We have a plan. I’m worried about you, though. The next part of our journey isn’t going to be easy, but we have to get ahead of these strange people who are following us.”

“So the fire back there didn’t stop them?” she asked.

“I’m afraid not. They’re trying to sneak around it.” Darryl reached through the little opening in the papoose and brushed the baby’s fat cheek with his finger.

“Don’t wake him,” Justine said. “He’s sleeping.”

“Got it.”

He moved past Justine, approaching the horses. Horace was back in the saddle. He’d produced a small silver flash from an inner pocket—emergency whiskey, perhaps—and he was sipping it. Tabitha had climbed down for some reason, and she was currently standing beside their horse with her forehand in her hand. As Darryl approached, they both looked at him. Marion was in the other saddle, bent forward and shielding her eyes from the rain.

“Mom, you need to get back on your horse,” she said. “Where are you going?”

“What is Emma doing back there?” Tabitha said sharply.

Darryl looked back and saw his sister shooing a couple of cows away. Stragglers, they were always at the back of the line, always at least a few yards behind the others.

“What is she doing to the cattle?” Tabitha said, even more sharply. “Why is she running them away like that?”

“We’re cutting our losses,” Darryl said. The wind had picked up again, blasting cold rain right into his eyes. He almost lost his toque to a particularly fierce gust, but he reached up and grabbed it.

“The cattle are not losses we can cut,” Tabitha said. “We need them to survive. Don’t you understand? We didn’t bring them all this way just to scatter them in the mountains like garbage.”

“Take it easy, Mom,” Marion said. “Don’t get worked up. This is too much for you.” She dismounted, hopped down to the ground, and approached Tabitha. “Come on. Let’s get you back in the saddle.”

“No, I’m okay,” Tabitha replied. As she said it, she swooned and Marion caught her.

“You need to sit down,” Marion said.

“I said I’m okay,” Tabitha snapped. She jerked away from Marion and stumbled backward. This spooked her horse, and the mare eased away from her. “Tell Tuck he’s not going to get rid of my cows. This is our livelihood. How many times do I have to say it?”

As if to punctuate this point, a blast of wind swept over the trail, and Darryl had to brace himself against it.

“Justine, are you okay?” he called, raising an arm in front of his face.

“I’m still standing, if that’s what you mean,” she replied. “This weather sucks, and it’s not good for the baby. Can we go now? If we keep standing here, he’s going to get pneumonia.”

And then Darryl heard a loud crack above him. Looking up, he saw an enormous tree, almost forty meters tall, bending in the wind. The trunk had snapped about two-thirds of the way up, and it leaned over, tipping in the direction of the trail. His first thought was Justine, so he backed toward her, but as a massive section of the tree fell, he realized that the trunk was going to hit right where Tabitha and Marion were currently standing.

Horace grabbed the reins of his horse and turned her, as Tabitha and Marion both looked up and realized what was happening. Seeing the enormous section of the tree falling straight down upon them, they reached for each other.

“Move,” Tabitha snapped. She dodged Marion’s grasping hands, took her by the shoulder, and shoved her aside.

Marion stumbled and fell, landing on her back on the trail. And then the tree slammed down with a crash of limbs, needles, and rainwater. Darryl thrust his arms out and turned, shielding Justine, but he felt debris pelting his back. The baby began to wail. In the aftermath, as the tree settled, he stepped back.

“Are you hurt?” he asked Justine.

“I’m fine,” Justine said. “It landed over there. Go help them!”

She grabbed his arm and turned him. The tree had fallen directly across the trail.

“Tabitha,” Marion cried. “She’s beneath it! We have to get her out of there.”

Darryl rushed forward, swiping branches aside. It didn’t take long to spot his grandmother. She was directly beneath the trunk of the tree, lying flat on her stomach. He pushed and tore and kicked branches out of his way to get to her. As he drew close, she raised her head and looked at him with glassy eyes. Using her forearm, she managed to push off the ground. Blood ran down her forehead into her eye, but she angrily swiped it away.

“I’m alive,” she said, anticipating his concern. “Don’t bury me yet.”

Darryl stretched out his hands, and she took them. “I’m going to trying to pull you out from under.”

“Pull hard,” she replied. “Don’t worry about the pain. I can handle it. Just get me out of here.”

Fortunately, branches on the underside of the tree had prevented the trunk from falling flat against the ground. Indeed, it looked like Tabitha had a couple of inches between her body and the trunk. Still, Darryl was sure that the force of its fall had caused the full weight of it to bounce, and he didn’t doubt that her delirium was masking the true extent of the damage.

“Okay, here we go,” he said. “One, two, three.”

He pulled, and she cried out. Broken branches dragged at her clothing, scraped her back, her legs. After a moment, he stopped.

“No, no, keeping going,” she said. “It’s working. I said don’t worry about me.”

He resumed pulling. Slowly, she came out from under the trunk of the tree, snarling and cursing the whole way. By the time he pulled her free, her clothes were torn, with numerous long rips down the back of her coat and pant legs.

Marion appeared at his side then. She bent down and put her arms around Tabitha, helping to lift her. But Tabitha moaned and went limp, collapsing against Darryl shoulder.

“I’m fine. Just put me back in the saddle,” she said, voice slurring. “Back in the saddle. Come on, Tuck. I can still ride. Like you always said, I’m tougher than two-dollar steak. It’s a silly saying, though, isn’t it? You can’t buy a steak for a toonie.”

“You can’t ride in your condition,” Horace said. “Tabitha, dear, you’ve been badly injured. We need to treat your wounds.”

“No, we’re not going to sit here and wait for Emma to chase away all the cows,” she replied.

Dragging her backward, her feet sliding along the ground, Darryl moved to the travois. He felt a frantic sense of desperation. They were supposed to be heading downhill already, taking the shortcut to get ahead of their pursuers. What was he supposed to do now?

“I’m fine, I told you,” Tabitha said. “Why are you lugging me around like dead weight?”

“You’re not fine,” Darryl replied. “I’m putting you on the travois. We’ll make room, and you can lie there and take it easy. You’re all banged up, Grandma. Please, don’t fight me on this.”

Justine had taken a seat on a small box at the end of the travois, trying to shield the baby while she fed him. When Darryl approached, lugging a delirious Tabitha, she reached back and flipped her blanket aside.

“Here, she can have my spot,” Justine said. “I was going to walk for a while anyway.”

With Marion’s help, Darryl managed to hoist Tabitha off the ground and lay her on the travois, though it was already puddling with water. It couldn’t have been a more miserable situation. Tabitha made a vain effort to sit up, batting weakly at his hands.

“Why do I have to lay here with the supplies?” Tabitha said.

“Because we’re taking the shortcut,” Darryl replied. “We’re leaving the road and heading down the slope through the woods, just like you wanted. But only if you promise to lie down.” He positioned her on her side, so she wouldn’t put pressure on the worst of her wounds. Then he shifted the water barrel so it blocked some of the rain.

Tabitha looked up at him, some of the frustration leaving her face. “The shortcut,” she said. “We’re taking the shortcut. So you took my advice?”

“That’s right, so just relax here, okay? Don’t make trouble.”

She gave him a sheepish grin and settled herself on the travois, as he pulled the blanket over her. A trail of blood had run down her forehead, curling around her left eyebrow, and Darryl could just make out an enormous wound above her hairline. Nothing to be done about it now.

With a sigh, he rose and turned to Justine. She had the baby under her shirt, and she was rocking in a kind of gentle spinning motion, patting him.

“We need to make room for you on the travois as well,” he said.

She frowned at him. “I can walk.”

“Not the way we’re going,” he replied. “I’m sorry. We don’t have time to debate the issue. We have to get moving. Please, let me make room for you.”

Justine looked for a moment like she was going to resist. She tightened her jaw and pressed her lips together, but then she let out an expulsive sigh. “Well, so be it,” she said. “I guess I’d rather get out of here as soon as possible.”

Darryl moved some boxes around to create a place for her near Tabitha, and Justine slid backward onto the travois and settled herself in the space. By then, Emma had returned, looking glum, her hands on her hips.

“I sent a few of the straggler cows into the woods,” she said, shaking her head to get rain-soaked hair out of her face. “We’ve got seven left. Seven. But they’re the best-behaved of the cattle. I think we can keep them together.”

Darryl nodded, looking from his sister to his mother to the travois. He just didn’t feel good about this, but he didn’t feel good about anything. Their whole situation seemed hopeless, and suddenly, he was fighting an urge to cry. Instead, he dragged his fingers through his hair and tried to push the worst of his emotions down as deeply as possible.

“Okay, let’s get going,” he said. “Emma, keep an eye on the remaining cows, please. I’ll lead the way.”

And with that, he turned and headed back to the front of the caravan.

26

The ground south of the trail was rocky, which meant the trees were more spread out. While the downward slope was a bit of a problem, forcing them to check their speed constantly, it wasn’t as bad as Darryl had feared. The rocky ground meant they left fewer tracks behind them. Darryl considered that a massive advantage, even if it was rough-going for the people on the travois. He held the reins of Horace’s mare, guiding her in the lead as he headed into the woods. Marion rode just behind him, pulling the travois, and Emma was a little farther back, keeping the last few cattle together.

We’ve dwindled so much since we left the cave, he thought. Will there be anyone or anything left by the end?

He tried to put that thought aside. Better to fake being hopeful than give in to the despair that was so close to the surface. Unfortunately, the trees being so far apart meant they did little to shield them from the relentless rain, which was coming down in great sheets, hitting them at an extreme angle. Darryl retrieved the binoculars from the travois and used them to scan their surroundings. He didn’t see their pursuers anywhere. But, then again, with all the rain, he couldn’t see much of anything.

After perhaps a few hours of tromping down into the woods, the land opened up even more, the ground becoming mostly rocks with only smaller trees scattered about. Darryl looked back to make sure everyone was still in line, and he spotted Emma at the back of the group, walking alongside one of the cows. She was walking hunched over, letting the animal shield her from the worst of the rain.

When Darryl turned back around, he stumbled on a loose rock and struggled to maintain his balance.

“Son, you look like you could use some rest,” Horace said. “Why don’t you join them on the travois. This big draft horse can handle the extra weight.”

“He’s right,” Marion said. “You haven’t gotten enough rest in the last few days. Take it easy. We’re fine. We’ll just keep the horses moving straight ahead.”

“No, no, I have to see where we’re going,” Darryl said. The truth was, his every thought was swimming on the edge of blackness. A deep bone-weariness had sunk into every limb, and it took all of his concentration just to keep putting one foot in front of the other, but he was afraid that if he lay down, he would struggle to get up again for a very long time. And they needed him. His family needed him in case there were any other problems. “I’ll be fine for a while longer.”

“Son, just promise me you’ll take a break eventually,” Marion said. “You can’t keep pushing yourself to the breaking point. Otherwise, you’ll be no use if something bad happens.”

“You got it, Mom,” he said.

He scrubbed his face with his hands, hoping it would somehow wake him up. It did little. He pressed on anyway, guiding the horses down the slope. Over the next few hours, the slope gradually flattened out, and they found themselves headed across a broad shelf of rocks. Darryl assumed this was the area where the river ran underground. He considered asking Tabitha for confirmation, but she was sleeping. Ahead, the ground remained flat for a while before sloping down again and entering dense woods.

Darryl stumbled on a loose rock again, and this time, he went to his knees. When he picked himself up and looked back, he saw that Horace was slumped in the saddle, arms crossed over his chest, the silver flask dangling from his hand.

“Let’s take a break,” Marion said. “It’s time. Darryl, we’ve gone long enough. Anyway, it’ll be night soon, and we need to make camp somewhere.”

He wanted to argue with her, but he could barely stand up now. Raising the binoculars, he scanned their surroundings again. Still no sign of their pursuers. Maybe they’d given up and gone elsewhere. Maybe they’d come across the straggler cows and taken them. He could only hope. The rain, at least, was finally beginning to let up, though by now, they were all soaked to the bone. Darryl finally lowered the binoculars. He pulled the rifle off his shoulder, planted the butt against the ground, and used it to leverage himself to his feet.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “We’ve been going down the slope for hours. I guess we can let the people and animals rest for a while. I think we’re safe.”

“Good,” Marion said, climbing down off the saddle. “I’ll help Horace down. You go check on the others.”

Darryl nodded and headed back to the travois. All of the remaining cows were accounted for. Indeed, it seemed Emma had done an excellent job of keeping them close. Darryl gave her a thumbs-up, and she gave him one in return. Looking back the way they’d come, he had a beautiful view of the rocky peaks behind them. A bit of smoke still rose in the distance, as if the fire had not yet been completely rained out.

On the travois, Darryl found Justine sitting up, her back against the water barrel. She’d set the papoose beside her and was holding the baby in her arms. Darryl approached, catching himself against the edge of the barrel.

“Is everything okay back here?” he said. “Not too rough, I hope.”

“If this is first-class accommodations, I want a refund,” Justine replied. “Still no rum and Coke. Seriously, though, I can handle it, but it’s hard on the baby. Poor little guy can’t stay asleep. Otherwise, I guess we’re fine. Thank whoever is charge of the rain for turning down the dial a little bit.”

Darryl smiled at her attempt at humor, though he didn’t find anything funny at the moment. He leaned over the barrel to look down at Tabitha. She was curled on her side, the tarp pulled up to her shoulder. Her hands were pressed together and tucked beneath her cheek, and she was breathing loudly with her mouth open. The wound on her head had stopped bleeding and was beginning to scab over, but a lot of blood was clumped in her hair.

“How is she doing?” he asked Justine.

“She’s been asleep almost the entire time,” Justine replied. She climbed off the travois and rose, standing beside him. “She’s kind of a loud sleeper, but other than that, nothing to report. I feel bad for her. She’s all banged up and bruised. Shouldn’t we set up camp so we can treat her wounds?”

Indeed, she had visible bruises on her wrist, cheek, and temple, with shallow scratches on the back of her neck. Darryl leaned down and grabbed her shoulder, giving her a gentle shake.

“Grandma, we’ve stopped for a little bit,” he said. “Do you need something to eat or drink?” She didn’t respond, so he shook her more insistently. “Come on, Grandma. At least sit up and let me take a look at your injuries. Now that the rain has let up, we should probably clean and bandage the worst of them.”

She didn’t respond. Indeed, she didn’t react in any way. Darryl stepped onto the travois and knelt beside her, pulling one of her hands out from under her face.

“Grandma.”

He squeezed her hand, but she still didn’t react. Alarmed, he looked back at Justine, but she was trying to comfort the baby, patting him gently and rocking him from side to side.

“What is it?” Marion said, coming up beside him.

“She won’t wake up,” he said, setting her hand down. “She’s alive. I can hear her breathing, but I can’t get her to respond to me.”

Marion reached down and set the back of her hand against Tabitha’s cheek, then pressed fingers to her neck.

“Is it the head wound?” Darryl said. “Maybe she got hit harder than we realized.”

“Or it could be diabetic shock,” Marion replied. “Get the medicine box. She has an emergency syringe that’s supposed to help in situations like this. I think it’s called glucagon. It came with the rest of the medicine you got from the mayor of Glenvell.”

“Don’t remind me of that guy,” Darryl said.

He crawled to the back of the travois, where the small wooden medicine box was lashed down with ropes. He worked it loose and opened the lid. Then he dug out the smaller box that contained Tabitha’s diabetes meds. As he was doing that, he saw his mother pull Tabitha’s sleeve back and pinch her forearm. Grandma didn’t respond.

“No response to pain,” Marion noted. “That’s a possible sign of coma.”

Darryl opened the small box and felt a little jolt of fear. There were two pill bottles inside, but they were empty. He saw the cap of a syringe as well, but nothing else. Somehow, Grandma had used all of her diabetes meds at some point. He turned over the box and dumped the empty pill bottles into the medicine box.

“Nothing,” he said. “All of her meds are gone. How is that possible?”

He met his mother’s gaze, and a terrible realization passed between them.

“Tabitha’s been self-medicating,” Marion said. “Is it possible she took them all by accident at some point, confused by the onset of delirium?”

“Must be,” he replied. “When could that have happened?”

“Not sure. When we stopped to rest at some point. I didn’t have my eye on her constantly.”

Darryl looked upward. They’d been walking all day, and evening was settling in. The last trickle of rain persisted, but he saw breaks in the clouds along the western horizon. He felt a deep and profound hopelessness in that moment, and it paralyzed him.

He heard Emma approaching then, and he turned to her. “Emma, is there some kind of plant that can help diabetes?” he asked. “Reach into that encyclopedia you call a brain and think of something.”

“Sure, there are lots of natural remedies that can treat diabetic symptoms,” she replied. “Aloe vera, cinnamon, fenugreek, apple cider vinegar.”

“Do you have any of them?”

“I did. I gathered a whole bunch of stuff for Grandma’s diabetes, but they were all in my big herb bag.” she said. “All we’ve got now are black cohosh root and nettles”

“Where is your herb bag?”

Emma shook her head sadly. “It was on the other travois.”

Horace hobbled up then, leaning on his crutch. Darryl held out a last shred of hope that somehow the old man would have an answer. Maybe he would think of something they’d overlooked.

“Horace, sir, what do you think? How can we help her?”

“The dear lady,” he said, with a shoulder-slumping sigh. “It was just too much. All we can do is let her rest now and hope against hope.”

“That’s not a solution,” Darryl said.

“It is the solution when there is no solution,” Horace replied.

They had no choice but to make camp for the evening. Darryl desperately wanted to keep moving, but he saw no other choice. Tabitha needed to rest. Maybe there was a still a chance for her. Without saying anything, he began setting up camp. He strung a blanket between two small trees to block the wind, then cleared the area of loose rocks. Emma and Marion joined him and not a word passed between them. There was nothing helpful to be said now.

Darryl laid a tarp on the ground to cover the wetness. Then he made a pallet for Grandma. With Marion’s help, he carried her there and laid her down, doing his best to make her comfortable. She continued to breathe, and she had what seemed to be a strong heartbeat, but she didn’t respond to anything.

By the time camp was set up, it was dark. It took Emma almost a full hour to get a fire going. Everything was just so damp. The fire provided a little bit of light and heat, but it didn’t seem like enough. They broke out some food, eating from the last of their MRE pouches. Horace positioned himself beside Tabitha, and periodically, he reached down and laid his hands against her cheek or throat or forehead. Marion, Emma, and Justine sat down, but Darryl was restless. His mind was so fuzzy now, he felt like he was on the verge of going insane, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had to keep moving, moving, thinking, acting. Otherwise, everything would be lost.

Justine finally walked up and handed him a cup of water. “At least drink something,” he said. “It’s not rum and Coke, but…”

“No more jokes, please,” he said miserably. “No rum and Coke. No Denisovans. No…nothing…”

Justine nodded sadly. “I understand. I guess I do it to cope.”

“Sorry.”

He raised the cup and took a sip, but even a single gulp of water settled badly in his stomach. He passed the cup back to Justine and resumed pacing. At some point, he must have come to a stop, crawled onto the tarp, and lain down, but he had no memory of it. He remembered walking restless circles around the camp, and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled on his back on the tarp, moving in and out of sleep.

The rain had finally stopped completely, though he heard wind rustling the blanket. Somewhere, the baby was cooing gently, and through it all, Grandma continued to breathe loudly.

Fight it, Grandma. Whatever’s going on in your body, fight it and come back to us. We need you. I don’t know how we go on without you.

Darryl finally drifted into deep sleep, his whole body aching even in dreams.

The next time he opened his eyes, he saw early morning light in the sky, casting a pink-orange nimbus on the underside of the few remaining clouds. He rubbed his face, rolled onto his belly, and pushed himself to his knees. Marion and Emma were sleeping side by side, sharing a sleeping bag. Justine had created a makeshift backrest for herself in the angle of two boxes, and she was leaning back, sleeping, with the baby still somehow in her arms.

And then Darryl saw Horace. The old man was sitting up, gazing off into the distance. His beard had dried into a big, gnarled nest, and his knit cap sat askew on his head. When he realized Darryl was awake, he turned to him with red eyes. Darryl realized then that he was holding Tabitha’s hand, stroking her knuckles with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, young man,” he said softly. “She’s gone. Quietly slipped away in the night. Couldn’t have been more peaceful.” Horace reached up and brushed away a tear.

Tabitha was on her back, eyes partially open but unfocused, lifeless, her mouth hanging open. Darryl nodded sadly and rose, tears blurring his vision. It wasn’t terribly surprising, but somehow, it just didn’t seem real. After all they’d been through, Tabitha Healy had seemed unbreakable. Indeed, she’d been the core of the family in many ways.

How can we lose another? Darryl thought, feeling a crushing despair.

Needing something to do, he began to gather stones. Standing still made it a thousand times worse. At some point, Emma and Marion came up beside him and began adding to his pile of stones.

“We’ll bury her under a cairn of rocks,” he said. “She deserves better, but I don’t know what else we can do.”

Emma and Marion both hugged him them, and they cried together for a while. But Darryl wouldn’t wallow. Best to keep working, keep moving, leave the worst of the emotions behind him. Not for the first time, he desperately wished his father were there. Greg would understand exactly how he felt.

He resumed collecting stones. The rest of it seemed so uneventful. How could such an incredible life end in such mundane fashion? They removed her hat and coat, her gloves, emptied her pockets, and laid her on the ground, then folded her hands upon her stomach. Then they piled up the stones over her, one by one, until they’d made a large cairn. Finally, they pried the lid off one of the boxes, and Darryl used a pocket knife to scratch a name on it: Tabitha Healy. He jammed it into the rocks as best he could so that it stood upright.

And then Marion, Emma, and Darryl just stood there beside cairn, and none of them spoke. It seemed there should be something: a eulogy, a prayer, a funny story. Still, quiet minutes passed. Finally, Darryl sighed and said, “Well, that’s it, then. I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m sorry, everyone. We’d better get moving again.”

With that, he turned away and headed back to camp. Horace was sitting beside the travois, hands on his knees, staring off wistfully into the distance. Justine was meandering about, comforting the baby, but she came to Darryl.

“Slow down,” she said to him. “Give everyone a few more minutes. They need it.”

He nodded without meeting her gaze. “Yeah, okay, if you insist, but we can’t wait around all morning.”

When he tried to step past her, she deliberately moved into his way. Then she thrust the baby at him. Confused at first, he just stood there. Then he realized what she wanted, so he took his son in his arms.

“What about Peter?” she said.

“What do you mean? Peter who?” The baby felt so tiny. He fit easily in the crook of Darryl’s arm. He tried to hand the baby back to Justine, but she held up her hands and stepped away. “Who’s Peter?”

Holding the baby wasn’t as intuitive as he’d expected. It felt sort of awkward. The little guy was all floppy and fragile, and Darryl worried that he might drop him. And wouldn’t that just complete his track record of failure if he dropped his own son? Still, the baby was resting contently, so he clearly didn’t mind.

You haven’t failed completely yet, he reminded himself. Get this little guy to the cabin, keep him safe, keep his mother safe, and you will have achieved something.

“As a name for the baby, silly,” Justine said. “What do you think about Peter?”

Darryl tried to settle his mind long enough to consider the possibility. “Eh, it makes me think of Peter Parker. You know, Spider-Man. That’s a little weird, don’t you think?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Well, I don’t read comics books or watch those kinds of movies, so I never…”

Her voice trailed off, and Darryl heard footsteps behind him. Boots on the rocks, crunching and stomping. It sounded like a whole bunch of people. Justine looked past his shoulder, her eyebrows climbing her forehead. When Darryl turned, he saw them there, a group of people approaching from upslope, stepping past the cows. The woman in the lead was dressed in very nice winter clothes. Darryl was shocked. Though her face was weathered, her hair scraggly and frayed, she was wearing a Canada Goose parka, some really nice ski pants, and what appeared to be an expensive pair of hiking boots. If not for the rough condition of her face, she would have reminded him of the rich city people who crowded the area ski resorts in the winter.

The man walking just behind her was dressed in a weird, handmade outfit of rough leather, like some kind of hippie guru from another decade. Completing the picture, he also had a ridiculous gray beard that was separated into three beaded braids.

“Well, what do you think, Harry?” the woman said to her companion, coming to a stop near the end of the travois. “Isn’t this a sad little scene we have here? I’m afraid we might have interrupted a funeral.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a somber group, boss,” the man replied. “Seems like they could use some help.”

“Help,” she said, and for some reason, this made her smile. “That’s right. Let’s give them some help.”

27

Daniel was nothing but a nuisance, and Greg had to fight a constant urge to strangle him slowly.

Don’t murder your only bargaining chip, he kept telling himself. Endure his insufferable antics until your family is safe.

Still, every step became an exercise in restraint. At least the rain had finally let up. That was one small mercy. Greg had retied the man’s hands behind his back.

“This really hurts,” Daniel said, for the thousandth time, as they reach another twist in the trail. “My arm is killing me. I can’t believe you tied me up again after you shot me. Show some pity, man.”

“Pity? After you tried to escape and steal my gun?” Greg replied. “I don’t think so. I’ll tell you what, my daughter is an expert on herbal remedies. She’ll be able to recommend some plant or root that will diminish your pain. I guarantee it.”

“I don’t need a plant or root,” he replied. “I need a Percocet and a swig of Jägermeister, and I also need my damn hands untied.”

They’d used a strip of cloth as a makeshift bandage to staunch the flow of blood from Daniel’s wound, but that was all Greg could do for the man. Having his arms pulled behind his back no doubt made the wound hurt worse, but Greg didn’t dare untie him. They were on the trail now. Fortunately, the rain hadn’t completely erased the tracks of the travois. Greg could still make out the faint grooves pointing the way.

“We’ll never catch up to them,” Daniel said, “so what’s the point of all this? They have too much of a head start.”

“Then walk faster,” Greg replied, jabbing him between the shoulder blades with the barrel of his gun. “I keep telling you that, but all you do is whine more.”

Daniel grunted and began walking just a little faster. After that, he fell into a brooding silence, though Greg didn’t doubt that he was still scheming, trying to come up with some way to either escape or kill his captor. Greg had no sense of how fast the caravan was going, but he knew from experience that the cows were slow. Surely, they were closing the gap, though he couldn’t tell from the faded tracks. He’d seen no sign of the bandits.

Around another bend, they found an enormous burned tree trunk lying across the trail. Some of the trees on either side had burned as well, but the rain seemed to have put out the fire. They clambered over the tree. As they did, Greg thought he could still feel heat radiating from it, and the charred trunk cracked and split beneath his feet. It had happened recently.

“Maybe my family chopped this down and set it on fire to block the road,” he mused aloud, “or maybe it was a simple lightning strike. I’d like to believe the former, but it seems farfetched.”

Daniel offered no opinion on the matter. The trail began another ascent up a gradual slope, and up ahead, Greg saw another tree that had fallen onto the path. Indeed, branches were down all over. A fierce wind had torn through this area and done surprising damage.

As they approached the second downed tree, Greg looked down to find the tracks of the travois again, and he was shocked to see them veer suddenly to the side of the trail and then disappear on the rocky slope beyond. As first, he assumed they’d simply circled around the fallen tree, but when he headed into the woods, he saw faint drag marks headed straight down the slope and far into the distance.

They’d left the trail completely. Had they been forced off by the bandits? Had they taken an unexpected route in order to lose them? He didn’t know, but when he glanced at Daniel, his captive had a weird little smile on his face. Clearly, he thought this was Sasha’s doing. Greg restrained the urge to punch the man in the mouth and instead nudged him down the slope.

“You’d better hope to God none of my people have been harmed,” he said.

Daniel said nothing to this, fixing his gaze on the ground ahead. Greg was following the tracks when some large moving shape caught his eye. Looking up, he spotted one of their cows standing a few meters away, nibbling at a small scrub brush. A straggler. It was one of the heifers, not a year old. Greg briefly considered trying to corral the animal and bring it with them, but he knew that would be more trouble than it was worth.

“Since that cow hasn’t been carved to the bone, I assume your people didn’t get hold of it,” he said.

“Harry and Jen are the ones who carve up the carcasses,” Daniel replied, his first words in a while. “They can make quick work of a full-grown moose or elk. It’s impressive, but if Sasha had other work for them, they wouldn’t bother.”

As they continued down the slope over a couple of hours, the forest gradually opened up, and they found themselves on open ground. It appeared to be a broad shelf of rock, a large gap in the trees where nothing could grow. They were making good time, moving fast. Far in the distance, Greg saw another dense line of trees. As he was staring at it, he saw another one of their cows roaming within the trees, as if it had nowhere in particular to go.

Still on the right path, he thought. Did they lose every cow along the way?

He heard a loud clatter of rocks then, and Daniel suddenly tumbled forward. He crashed onto a large pile of loose stones, then rolled off to one side, winding up on his back. This meant his arms were pinned beneath him, and he uttered a hoarse cry of pain.

Greg stooped down and grabbed him under his good arm, hoisting him off the ground. He slid the rifle over his shoulder so both hands were free. Then he set Daniel on his feet again.

“Please, man, you’ve got to untie my hands,” Daniel said, speaking through clenched teeth. “My arm is killing me. I can’t stand it. I’ve behaved, haven’t I? I’m walking fast now. Do me a small mercy.”

“Calm down, Daniel,” Greg said. “We’ll figure something out. I just…”

Something caught his eye then. There were patches of thick mud in the area, and he could see distinct footprints pressed into them. He was no expert on reading tracks, but it didn’t take more than basic observational skills to realize there had been a lot of people wearing a lot of different kinds of footwear in this area.

“People have been here recently,” Greg noted. “Quite a few, by the looks of it. I think we’re finally closing in on your crew.”

“That’s fine. Whatever, man,” Daniel said with a groan. “Make your trade. Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. I’m hurting bad.”

“Just hang in there a little longer,” Greg said. “As long as the trade with Sasha goes well, we can part ways without further incident.”

At this, Daniel just rolled his head back on his shoulders and let out a long, shuddering breath. Greg’s gaze went from the obvious footprints to the pile of rocks. He hadn’t thought much of it, at first. Now, however, as he really looked at it, he realized it was not a natural feature. Someone had spent time piling up these stones. A piece of wood was lying beside the pile. As Greg leaned in close, he realized it was the lid to a wooden box.

He picked up the lid, shook a few loose rocks off of it, and turned it over. And there was the name, scratched into the wood. It appeared to have been hastily scrawled. The letters were crooked and uneven, but clear: Tabitha Healy. For a few seconds, Greg just stared at it, numb. Then he found it hard to breathe, as if the air in his lungs had begun to solidify. The makeshift grave marker fell from his hands and clattered on the rocks.

A cairn, he thought. That’s what it is. A cairn for my mother. And now both of my parents are dead.

The heaviness inside of him spread through his whole body, until he felt pressed down, crushed by the weight of it. He bent over, pressing his hands to his thighs to keep from collapsing. What at first had been a great wave of grief crashing over him quickly turned to panic. They’d hastily buried Tabitha here in the middle of nowhere instead of taking the body with them to the cabin. That meant they’d been in a hurry. On top of that, there were strange prints all around the cairn, which almost certainly meant the bandits had also been present.

“Bad news, pal?” Daniel said.

There was nothing mocking in the tone of his voice, but the question annoyed Greg anyway. He clamped his eyes shut and fought an urge to unleash all of this terrible heaviness in the captive’s direction. What if the bandits had killed Tabitha? It was at least a possibility. What if they’d killed her, given the rest of the family a few minutes to hastily bury her, then dragged them all off somewhere?

“I have to find them now, right now,” he said. “I hope you’re ready to run.”

He rose, clamping a hand to his forehead and taking deep breaths to calm himself. Then he opened his eyes, picked up Tabitha’s crude grave marker, and set it on top of the cairn.

Sorry, Mom. I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you, he thought.

He turned to Daniel, who was standing with a dumb look on his face, as if he scarcely understood what was going on. Maybe it was the pain in his arm. Or maybe he was still playing the idiot.

“Let’s go,” Greg said, motioning for him to turn around and continue walking. “This is our last push, so give it your all.”

Instead, Daniel’s dumb, glazed-over look suddenly turned into a big smile that seemed to show every tooth in his mouth. His hands came around from his back, the shoelaces falling to the ground in pieces. At the same time, he opened his left hand, and a thin rock fell at his feet. Greg scarcely had a second to make sense of what had happened before Daniel lunged at him.

With his left hand, he batted Greg’s arms aside. With his right hand, he reached for the rifle and tried to pull the strap off his shoulder. In the midst of their struggle, Greg realized the guy must have grabbed the rock when he fell, then used the sharp edge to cut through the shoelaces while Greg’s attention was on his mother.

Daniel managed to grab hold of the gun. Before he could pull it off, Greg lunged forward, throwing his weight against the captive. Daniel was forced backward, stumbling along until his feet slipped. Then they both went down, Greg landing on top of his captive. His shoulder slammed into Daniel’s chest, and the captive unleashed an ear-piercing shriek. Then the momentum carried Greg forward, and he did an awkward somersault, tumbling past Daniel and winding up on his back. The captive continued to shriek, the sound becoming more animal, almost crazed, as Greg rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself off the ground.

Daniel was up already, blood seeping through the crude bandage on his arm. Still making an awful sound in the back of his throat, he stepped to one side, broadening his stance, and raised his right hand. He was holding the rifle.

“Yeah, that’s right, buddy,” he said. “I got it. What do you think about that?”

Blind with rage, scarcely thinking, Greg got his foot beneath him and lunged at Daniel. He came in low, off balance and letting his weight carry him forward. Just before he collided with the other man, he heard the echoing crack of a gunshot. It seemed to come from just behind his head, so loud it hammered into his skull. Then Greg caught him around the torso and shoved him backward. They hit the cairn and fell sideways across it, sliding over the top. In the chaos of limbs and shouting voices, Greg managed to grab the man’s injured right arm, clamping down as hard as he could. Daniel screamed himself hoarse.

“Drop the rifle,” Greg shouted. “Drop it, and I’ll stop hurting you.”

They wound up tangled in a heap on the other side of the cairn, thrashing and kicking. Daniel fired the rifle again, but Greg grabbed the bandage and yanked it, tugging it against the wound.

“I said drop the gun,” Greg said again.

Instead, Daniel flung his head forward and bashed Greg in the mouth with his forehead. Dazed, Greg grabbed the rifle, but Daniel thrashed, working his way out from under him. His vision was blurred by tears, so Greg began punching blindly. The first punch hit the ground, and he felt sharp pain in his already injured knuckles. The second punch hit Daniel in the chest. The third punch, the lucky one, hit the bandaged arm. Finally, there was a loud clatter as the rifle fell and skittered across the ground.

Despite this, Daniel managed to squirm out from under him again. Greg grabbed at him, taking hold of the back of his coat and trying to pull him down. But he heard a zip, and suddenly the coat was falling away. Daniel spun to one side, pulling his arms out of the sleeves. In the process, he pulled the bandage off as well. Greg could see now that the long sleeve underneath was soaked in blood from his shoulder to his forearm.

And then Daniel kicked backward, slamming Greg in the face with the heel of his boot. Sputtering, tasting blood, Greg flopped onto his back, fighting through the pain to make his body move faster.

“I knew you’d try something the second you got your hands loose,” Greg said. His lips hurt when he spoke. It felt like they were swollen again, and the old cut from his near-drowning had split open. “That’s why I didn’t untie you.”

“I untied myself,” Daniel said with a snarl. “I don’t need your mercy anymore.”

As he got to his feet, Greg realized Daniel was going for the rifle again, which had come to rest at the base of a large rock a short distance away. Greg rushed after him, tasting blood on his tongue. Daniel heard him coming and glanced over his shoulder with wild, bloodshot eyes.

“I won’t go back with you,” he snarled. “There’s not going to be a trade. Forget it!”

He kicked the rifle with the side of his boots, sending it flying. It bounced and rolled down the slope. Greg turned his head to follow it, intending to go after it, but Daniel used the distraction to take off running. He headed east, moving parallel to the distant line of trees. His course took him across the broad, rocky ground. Greg went after him, but Daniel was moving fast, taking long strides. Somehow, he’d found some deeper well of strength inside of him.

“You’ll never take me,” he shouted. “I won’t be a bargaining chip!”

Greg did his best to catch up to the man, but the ground was treacherous. Loose rocks kept trying to trip him, and the pain in his face made his eyes water. By now, Daniel was sprinting at full speed, cutting a straight course across the open ground. The land in front of them was wide open, but Greg gradually became aware of a distant low sound. It trembled in the rocks beneath him.

Suddenly, Daniel yelped and came to a stumbling stop. He fell to his knees and slid, grabbing wildly at the ground to arrest his forward momentum. As Greg closed the gap between them, he realized why. Straight ahead, the rocky ground dropped suddenly into a deep ravine. Below, the river gushed out of some underground chamber, casting up a cloud of mist as it crashed over the rocks and headed downstream. A few jagged edges of ice remained along the sides of the ravine.

Daniel had managed to stop just a meter or two from a sheer drop. Making weird mewling sounds, as if he’d devolved into some lesser thing, he flailed about, turned, and headed at an angle away from the water. Greg moved to intercept him, though every stride was a struggle, and he was constantly aware that he was on the verge of a spectacular fall.

“I said leave me alone,” Daniel said. “Sasha will kill you. She probably killed your whole family already, and I’m glad. You deserve it.”

He slipped, and it was all the advantage Greg needed. He took two long strides, closed the gap, and wrapped his arms around Daniel’s torso. As before, his momentum carried him forward, and he rolled, pulled the man off his feet, and they went tumbling across the rocks together. When they came to stop, Daniel was on top of him, thrashing wildly. They were less than a meter from the drop, and Greg felt the cold mist rising up around them.

“I’m trying…to end this…peacefully,” Greg said. “Don’t you get it? That was always my objective.”

But Daniel swung his head back and hit him in the face again. For a moment, Greg’s vision went black, and Daniel managed to pull out of his arms.

“She would never have made the trade. You don’t know Sasha Burke,” he said, backing away from Greg, still kicking and flailing his arms to keep him at bay. “She takes what she wants, she always has, and there’s nothing you can do to stop her. She’s ruthless, and you’re outmatched.”

Greg reached for him, trying to snag one of his legs. But Daniel did a little backward hop. It was one hop too far. The yawning drop was directly behind him, and he landed mere centimeters from the edge. Realizing what he’d done, he yelped and began spinning his arms in big circles on either side. But the rocks here were wet, and he slid backward.

“Help me,” he said in a last, desperate cry. “Please!”

Greg crawled forward, still reaching for him, but it was too late. Daniel toppled over the edge. Greg watched him fall, tumbling down the twenty or thirty meters into the dense cloud of mist. Just before he disappeared, he slammed into a jagged edge of thick ice, leaving a bright splash of blood behind. His scream ended suddenly. No longer flailing and crying out, he was devoured by the mist. Greg kept watching until he saw the body emerge downstream, floating face-down in the raging water as the current swept him away.

“Damn you,” Greg said. “I needed you alive, you idiot.”

In despair, he sank onto the damp rocks, feeling more bruised and battered than ever.

28

There was little he could do about his wounds. His lips were quite swollen now, and he had a welt on his forehead where he’d been kicked. His bruises had new bruises forming overtop them. At least he no longer had a foot-dragging hostage to worry about. That meant he could move as fast as he wanted. First, he went looking for the Winchester. It took a while to find it lying among the rocks. It was all banged up, but it didn’t seem to be broken. He slipped it over his shoulder and headed back toward the cairn.

When he got there, he spotted a wisp of gray hair sticking out of one end. A sudden swell of grief paralyzed him for a moment, tears blurring his vision, but he pushed past it. Stooping down, he spent a moment stacking the strewn rocks back on top of the cairn, then replanted and repositioned the grave marker.

Sorry about that, Mom, he said, laying his hand gently on top of the cairn. But I’m going to make everything right very soon, no matter what it takes or what it costs me. The rest of the family will be safe, I promise. Wait and see.

He bent down and studied the footprints on the ground, trying to make sense of them. Of course, he’d added his own footprints to the mix as well, but he could see drag marks from the travois headed off to the south across the rocky shelf toward the distant line of trees, accompanied by a number of other people.

Only one grave here, he noted. So, the others might be alive. It’s not too late.

Yes, it seemed most likely that Sasha and her people had taken them captive. Intending to do what? He didn’t know. The sooner he caught up with them, the better, but it wouldn’t be a peaceful prisoner exchange now. No, he would have to come in fast and try to take out the leader. If he could kill Sasha, maybe he could scatter the others. It was his best hope. But it all depended on the condition of his family. Getting them away from the bandits safely was the priority.

Though he was sore, in pain all over, and tasting blood on his tongue, Greg set off in the direction of his family, heading toward the distant trees. It didn’t take long to realize he had overestimated himself. After maybe twenty or thirty yards, his legs began threatening to buckle, and he felt darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision.

No. Keep going. You have to keep going. Don’t let your body dictate your actions. Bend it to your will.

He made the mistake of trying to slap his own cheek, hoping it would wake him up. Instead, it split open his lips even further, and he felt blood trickle over his lower lip into his beard. Far from waking him up, it caused him to swoon, and he had to stop for a moment to collect himself. Everything inside of him, every cell of his body, cried out for rest, but he pressed on.

From time to time, he saw more footprints and drag marks, which confirmed that he was headed in the right direction. They seemed fresh—the mud hadn’t yet dried. This helped keep him going, though every step now took absolute concentration. And the damned tree line didn’t seem to be getting any closer, no matter how long he walked.

A short distance ahead, he spotted a large, round rock, and he decided to sit, if only for a few minutes. When he finally got there, he eased himself down.

Just a few minutes, he reminded himself. You can’t afford to rest any longer than that, no matter how you feel.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, and tried to take slow, steady breaths. Daniel had hit him hard. His head hurt like hell. Greg reached up and felt the big welt on his forehead, then touched his lips and felt the edges of the wound that now bisected the middle of his upper lip.

Daniel was right about the Percocet and Jägermeister, he thought. I hate the taste of Jägermeister, but I’d down a whole bottle right now.

He was just about to stand up when something caught his eye—a little hint of green at the base of the rock. At first, he thought it might just be strange, discolored mud, but that he realized it had the texture of cloth. Stooping down, he snagged a corner and pulled it out. A toque, all crumpled up beneath the rock. And not just any old hat. He knew this one. He recognized it by its distinct forest green color. This belonged to Darryl.

He wouldn’t have left it behind unless he had no choice, Greg thought. Either he pulled it off and discarded it for some reason, or it fell off and he was unable to retrieve it.

The latter seemed more likely. Darryl had owned this hat for years and wore it often. Greg examined it for damage, but it was still intact, a bit frayed along the edges.

“They’re in trouble,” he muttered.

He rose, shoving the toque into the pocket of his coat. He’d rested long enough. His family needed him. They’d needed him long ago, and he’d let them down. Greg pulled the rifle off his shoulder and held it in the crook of his arm. Then he set off once again toward the tree line. Though he’d only sat down for a minute or two, finding Darryl’s hat seemed to have reenergized him. He dared a bit of speed, picking his way along the open ground at a jog.

Gradually, the rocky ground gave way to mud, grass, and thick shrubs, and the drag marks of the travois became clear again. He saw them cutting a gradual curve toward the trees. The prints of various shoes and boots were more obvious now, as well. There were quite a few people in this group. Indeed, as he considered this, he realized that he had never questioned Daniel about the size of Sasha’s crew. Was he dealing with five people, ten, more? Were they all armed? So many questions he’d failed to ask.

If only that idiot hadn’t thrown himself off a cliff, he thought. He was my best and only hope.

As he ran toward the trees, he kept the rifle at the ready. Speed and surprise were his only advantage now, assuming he had any advantage at all.

29

The ground here was so much easier to navigate as he headed down into the valley. He caught a glimpse of a trail far below, and it seemed his current path would take him right to it eventually. He found that reassuring enough that it gave him the energy to keep going. However, over the course of an hour or so, a shadow crept in on his right side, and he realized he was approaching a sheer rock wall on that side, which formed a hard border for this part of the woods.

At the same time, the steep drop on the left cut in from the other direction, so that eventually he found his path forward becoming quite narrow. This, at least, made it easier to keep following the group, since they were essentially being funneled in one specific direction. He dared to step close enough to the drop to see what lay below. He’d moved well beyond the river, so it was now about a forty- or fifty-meter drop into a broad ravine. However, as he gazed across the ravine, he caught a glimpse of the trail again, emerging from the trees below. He tracked it with his eyes and spotted a fence, an overgrown yard, and the corner of a large cabin.

He was so close. Now if he could just get his family there.

He noted evidence of the group’s passage more frequently now. He saw where hooves stamped into the soft places, the drag marks of the travois wending through the trees. Greg began stepping more carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. And then, after perhaps another half hour, he heard the lowing of a cow in the distance. He came to a stop, squatting behind a tree. While he could see the sheer drop on his left, he couldn’t see far ahead at the moment. Too many obstacles in the way. Greg raised the rifle, leading with it as he crept forward.

Gradually, he began to hear voices. A man and a woman in heated conversation. Even from a distance, he could tell which of the two was in charge. The woman had a commanding sharpness to her every word, and she interrupted the man frequently.

Sasha Burke, he thought. I’d bet anything that’s her.

And then he reached a gap in the trees. As Greg approached, inching into the shadows beneath the rock wall on his right, he finally spotted the group. He saw the cows first, and he was shocked at how few of them remained. He counted six, just six, though at least they seemed to be in good health.

A group of strangers was standing on the path beyond the cows. He could tell instantly that these were Daniel’s people. Many of them wore expensive winter coats and hats, but the men had long beards, and all of them had grim expressions. To Greg’s eyes, they seemed like a team of high-level executives that had gotten lost in the mountains. However, they were all armed, and most of them were pointing those guns in a specific direction. As Greg shifted position slightly, he finally saw his family. Darryl, Marion, Emma, Justine, and Horace—at least they were all accounted for. At the moment, they were sitting with their backs to the sheer rock wall, guns trained on them.

He felt a rush of relief. They were alive. Only Tabitha had been lost. And then he caught a glimpse of a tiny pink hand and heard the soft gurgle of a very young baby, and he realized Justine was holding the little one in her arms, wrapped in a blanket. Poor Justine had been forced to give birth on the trail somewhere!

The man and woman who were arguing were standing on the far side of the group beside the horses. The man had a long, braided beard, and he was gesturing down into the valley. Though the words were heated, they weren’t speaking loudly, so Greg couldn’t make out what they were saying. Finally, the woman approached the edge of the drop, aimed a pistol down into the ravine, and pulled the trigger. The sound echoed loudly down in the ravine.

What the heck is she firing at? Greg wondered. Maybe she’s just trigger-happy.

The sound of the gunshot spooked the animals. The cows scattered, though they didn’t really have anywhere to go. Some of them ambled closer to the trees, toward Greg, while others moved toward the group. A large piece of shale, shaken loose by the sound, tumbled down from the rocks above and crashed among the cows, further scattering them. In the confusion, the group guarding his family moved closer to the horses, clearly trying to avoid getting bumped over the edge by a stray cow.

“Don’t do that, Sasha,” one of the other women said. “I thought we were under attack.”

“That was for Daniel,” the leader replied. Despite her expensive coat and hiking boots, she had a fierce, stony expression on her face, shark’s eyes, and a small, angry mouth. “He may need some kind of signal if he’s lost out there. Don’t second-guess my decisions, Jen. I know what I’m doing!”

“Of course,” the other woman replied.

Greg would have shot the leader then and there, but the risk to his family was too great. Somehow, he had to get them away from those guns.

He heard a soft gasp from somewhere nearby, and he turned to see that his daughter had spotted him. Emma was at the end of the row, sitting cross-legged with her arms wrapped around her. She was bleary-eyed, her hair tangled and messed up, but as she’d turned to watch the startled cows, she’d spotted Greg in his shadowy space beyond the trees. The look on her face was pure shock. He held a finger to his lips.

A plan had begun to come together in his mind, though it seemed dangerous. Somehow, he had to draw attention away from his family, so they could sneak away. Now that he had Emma’s attention, Greg pointed at the cows, then drew a line in the air toward the trees.

Use the cows for cover. He hoped the message got across. Emma nodded and leaned over to whisper something to Marion. Then it was Marion’s turn to look shocked. She clamped both hands over her mouth. Clearly, they had not thought he survived his tumble into the river. Greg rose, using the trees for cover, while keeping his gun at the ready. He cleared his throat and spoke loudly.

“What do you want with my family?” His voice carried out over the ravine. The bandits were startled at first and began scrambling about, aiming their guns this way and that. The leader made a loud clicking sound with her tongue and patted a hand in the air to calm them.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt a conversation?” she said, turning toward the trees where Greg was hiding. “Is Daniel with you?”

“I don’t know anyone named Daniel,” Greg lied. “What do you want with my family?”

She made another signal to her people, and they backed toward her, forming a line, as if taking up position to defend her. The cows continued to shuffle about, still spooked. When one of them stepped in front of Sasha, she smacked its flank, and it moved closer to the rock wall. This, in turn, put it between her people and Greg’s family.

“What do you want from my family?” Greg asked again.

“If you must know, I want your cattle and your supplies,” Sasha replied. When some of her people pointed guns in his direction, she motioned for them to lower their weapons.

Emma slowly rose to a crouch. Marion followed suit. Then Darryl and Justine, though the baby made another soft sound. To cover for them, Greg stepped out into the open. “Well, you have the cattle and supplies,” he said, gesturing at the animals. “There they are. Take them and let my people go.”

The man with the braided beard started to raise his gun at Greg, but Sasha put a restraining hand on his arm. “That’s awfully accommodating of you, sir,” she said. “It should be that simple, shouldn’t it?”

As she talked, Emma began very slowly creeping away, trying to position herself so the cows were blocking her from the bandits. The others started to follow, thought it was clearly going to be difficult for Horace. Darryl reached back and grabbed him around the shoulders to help him.

“Here’s the complication,” Sasha continued, as Greg took another step out into the open. He had his gun aimed at the ground in front of him, but his finger was on the trigger. They might decide to shoot him, but he was going to take out at least one or two before he went down. “Your family here is clearly headed somewhere specific. If I let them go, I may never find out where.”

“Maybe we’re just trying to survive up here in the wilderness like you,” Greg said. “Cities are dangerous these days. A lot of people have fled.”

“Right, except no idiot would herd a bunch of cattle up a mountain trail without some destination in mind,” Sasha replied. “This is a dangerous endeavor, as I’m sure you’ve learned the hard way, so the place you’re going must be worth tremendous risk. Now, I’ve asked questions. I’ve asked many questions, and all I get from your family are vague replies. They pretend to be stupid, and it’s wearing on me. I want to know where you’re headed.”

“And if I tell you, will you let them go?” Greg said. He took another step toward the group. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his family slipping quietly along the rock wall toward the trees.

“I would certainly be more amenable to it,” Sasha replied.

“Very well. They’re headed to a remote cabin in the valley, but it’s been abandoned for years. It’s in bad shape, dilapidated and dirty. Not much to see there.”

Sasha gave him a withering smile, but her eyes remained lifeless, plastic beads set in a stone face. “You wouldn’t have come all this way, and risked losing so much, to reach a dilapidated cabin. I don’t believe it. Now, look, if I didn’t think the real answer was worth getting, you’d all be down in that ravine by now, so let’s have it.”

“I told you the truth,” Greg replied. “There’s a cabin. It’s not far from here, in fact.”

Sasha sighed. Somehow, she made a sigh sound aggressive.

“They won’t tell you,” the man with the braided beard said. “Let’s kill them and be done with it.”

“Shut up, Harry,” Sasha replied. “I didn’t ask for your advice.” And then, to Greg, she continued, “Maybe my friend here is right. Maybe I should give up the dream and kill you all. Though, I have to say, I don’t know that I want to kill a baby. That’s a bridge too far for me, you know? So, we’re in a bit of a pickle. Do I kill all of you, including the baby? Do I kill you but spare the baby? Do I spare you so you can lead us to your destination? So many choices.” She clicked her tongue again, as if the decisions were almost more than she could bear.

“I’ll lead you to the cabin, if you’ll spare my family,” Greg said. Emma and the others had crept past him now, moving out of his line of sight. Greg shifted to one side to further draw Sasha’s gaze away.

“That seems dangerous,” Sasha replied. “You might turn on me, or you might keep trying to escape. I don’t make rash decisions, friend. How can I guarantee that you—”

She was cut off as another piece of shale broke off the rock wall and tumbled down onto the trail. This further spooked the cows, and they moved to get away from it. In the process, however, they parted like curtains from the spot where the family had been sitting. The man name Harry noticed it first and pointed, stuttering as he attempted to say something. Then Sasha turned and saw.

“So that’s what you were up to,” Sasha shouted, raising her gun.

As the others pointed their weapons, Greg lunged to one side, ducking behind one of the cows. One of the bandits took a shot, but it passed overhead.

“Don’t shoot the animals,” Sasha said. “I want them alive. Shoot the people.”

Greg heard the bandits fanning out, moving toward him. He raised his rifle over the back of the cow, but he hesitated to fire, afraid it might scare the cow and cause his only cover to depart. Suddenly, he realized someone else was standing beside him.

“Dad,” Darryl said, voice quaking. “We thought you were dead. Mom is back there freaking out.”

“Not quite dead,” Greg replied. “I had a few close calls. Get the family out of here. Back up the trail. find another way across the ravine. The cabin is in sight. Meet me there. I’m going to buy us some time.”

When Darryl didn’t move right away, Greg gave him a push. It was enough. Darryl went racing back into the trees. One of the bandits took a shot at him, and Greg heard the bullet hit a tree behind him. The cow started to move, trying in vain to get away from the sound. This forced Greg to move as well, following cover, even as the footsteps of the bandits got louder.

They were so close to the cabin. He just needed to give his family time to get away. At the cabin, at least they would have a defensive position. He decided to risk a blind shot, knowing it might cause the cow to flee. As the footsteps moved around to his left and right, he raised his rifle over the big animal’s back, aimed toward the sound, and fired a shot.

One of Sasha’s men unleashed an ear-piercing shriek.

30

Mom was a mess. She was crying, which blurred her vision. Darryl kept having to correct her course so she wouldn’t stumble off the cliff. This was hard enough when he was already practically carrying one-legged Horace. As they fled back up the slope through the trees, he heard a gunshot, and one of the bandits shrieked in pain. Darryl turned and looked back down the slope.

“We have to go back,” Emma said. “Dad needs our help!”

“No, we have to put some distance between us and the bandits,” Darryl replied. “Dad’s coming. Move!”

Marion was in the lead, an arm around Justine. She ran about twenty meters back up the slope before diverting suddenly and diving behind a large boulder at the side of the road. She caught herself against the rock and slid down to the ground on the other side, pulling Justine down with her. Darryl followed, lugging Horace alongside him.

“Was that really him?” Mom said, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “I can’t believe it. Where did he come from?”

“I don’t know,” Emma replied, dropping to her knees behind the boulder. “Suddenly, he was just there. I looked over and saw his face between the trees, and I almost screamed.”

Darryl didn’t want to stop, but he couldn’t just stand there and hold almost the full weight of Horace. With a huff, he lowered the old man to the ground behind the boulder.

“Dad wants us to keep going,” he said. “The cabin is close. Just beyond the ravine, if we can get down somehow.”

The shouting was getting more intense behind them. Darryl reached for the Remington, but of course, it was no longer slung over his shoulder. The bandits had taken it from him after capturing them. When he realized this, he dropped down with the others and looked back in the direction they’d come.

“I can’t believe he’s alive,” Marion said, brushing away fresh tears. “We’re not going to lose him again. We have to go back.”

But Darryl saw a figure moving between the trees, and he heard another gunshot. It was answered by two others, and he saw a bullet hit a branch nearby. Soon, his father appeared, backing toward them, using a cow for cover. He’d grabbed the animal by its collar and was pulling it along. Beyond him, the bandits were shouting and cursing.

“Go around! Go around!” That was Sasha. “Don’t be such cowards. He just got a lucky shot, that’s all.”

“Let me shoot the damn cow,” came the reply. He thought it was the one named Harry. “If I try to go around, I’m going to get hit.”

As if to prove to point to the man, Greg leaned around the neck of the cow and took a shot down the slope.

“Don’t let him pick us off one by one,” Sasha shouted. “Charge up there and take him out.”

Darryl felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he realized it was Horace.

“There’s a way down into the ravine,” Horace said. “I saw it a little way back. Heck, I actually entertained the notion of trying to sneak past our captor and make my way down.”

“Can you lead us there?” Darryl asked.

“I can point the way, if you’ll help me,” Horace replied.

Greg was getting close, slowed only by the reluctant, terrified cow. Only its ingrained obedience kept it going. Greg glanced over his shoulder and met Darryl’s gaze. With his free hand, he gestured for him to get moving.

“Okay, sir, lead us there,” Darryl said, and stooped down to put his arms around Horace. Fortunately, he was a shriveled old man, which made it easier to carry him.

As soon as he stepped out from behind the boulder, he saw one of the bandits suddenly lunge around a tree, trying to move past the cow to get a clear shot. It was Harry, the guy in the handmade leather clothes with the braided beard.

“Dad, on your left,” Darryl shouted.

At the sound of his voice, his dad turned and saw the man coming at him. He raised his gun and fired just as the bandit stepped past the tree, and the man cried out. He stumbled backward, grabbing his chest. Another bandit, a woman, unleashed a shrill cry at this, even as the wounded man fell backward. Darryl saw dark blood oozing between the fingers of his gloved hand before he hit the ground and rolled onto his side.

Greg ran toward Darryl. Even now, it was like seeing a ghost. Darryl had long accepted the death of his father, and his brain couldn’t fully comprehend that this was really him. Up close, he realized how badly injured his father was. His lips were busted, his face covered in bruises. He had a black eye and a large welt on his forehead.

“Horace saw a way down into the ravine,” Darryl said, waving his father past him. They didn’t have time for an emotional reunion. It would have to wait. “It’s back up the slope there.”

Marion flung herself at Greg, clinging to him. He put his arm around her waist and practically carried her as he fled back up the slope.

“I need to reload the rifle,” he noted. “Horace, point the way. Quick. They’re coming.”

Darryl dared another glance over his shoulder. A couple of cows were milling about among the trees, providing convenient cover for their retreat. However, he saw movement beyond them. A woman dressed in similar handmade leather garb was dragging the wounded man away, while the others eased to one side, intending to step around the cows through a gap along the rock wall.

Fortunately, Greg was moving fast, so Darryl hurried to keep pace with him. Justine was right on his heels, though the baby had begun to whimper and fuss. Emma came last, moving in a crouch and constantly looking behind her.

“This way,” Horace said, pointing off to the right. “There’s a narrow trail just over there.”

Indeed, they went another ten meters or so, and Darryl saw the beginning of a crude trail that cut down at an angle into the ravine. It was clearly manmade, but it had not been well-maintained. Not unlike their river shortcut, the edges were crumbling, but they had no other options.

As soon as Darryl, Horace, and Emma got to the trail, Greg waved them past.

“Go on ahead,” he said. “Hurry. Get down there as fast possible. Make for the cabin. It’s in sight now.”

“No, we’re not leaving you behind again,” Marion cried, grabbing his shirt with both hands. He winced at this.

“I’m not staying behind,” Greg said. “I just need to fend off the enemy.”

Emma stepped past him, whimpering as she came close to the edge. Darryl and Horace went next. Already, the trail made Darryl’s skin crawl. It cut a switchback course down into the ravine, but it was steep and rocky.

“I’m sorry you have to lug me around,” Horace said. He was trying to help, stepping with his one leg. “I hate to be a burden to anyone.”

“You’re not a burden, sir,” Darryl replied. “You’re the one who pointed out the trail. You might have saved us.”

Greg and Emma came last, but Darryl heard the voices of the bandits getting louder. Suddenly, his father took a shot back behind them. Sasha cursed loudly and began barking orders to her people.

“That way. Right over there. Just use the trees for cover. Go!”

The shooting had caused the cows to panic again. Indeed, it seemed they’d reached a breaking point. The two who were in the trees took off running. Darryl heard them, but he couldn’t see them from his position. He moved back up the trail to his father’s side just in time to see a cow barrel into one of the bandits and knock him down. The big animal kept going, trampling him in the process.

Greg turned then and grabbed Marion by the arm. She had lingered at his side. “Get going down the trail. Keep the others moving. I need you to listen to me, Marion. Please! If they reach the trailhead, they’ll pick us off.”

Marion hesitated, then hugged him suddenly. He returned the hug, and she finally headed down the trail. Once she was moving, Greg dropped down onto his knees and dug a box of ammo out of his coat pocket. As Darryl came up beside him, he quickly reloaded the rifle.

“Join the others,” Greg said. “I can’t let the bandits get close. The trail takes us down into the ravine, but there’s no cover. It’ll be like a shooting gallery. I have to buy enough time so you guys can reach the bottom and hide among the rocks.”

“Do you have another gun?” Darryl said. “Let me help you. We’ll pick them off as they come through the trees.”

“No, this is all we’ve got,” Greg said, waving his rifle in the air. He turned and gave Darryl an intense look. “I’m counting on you, son. Get the family down the trail as fast as you can. I’ll hold them off as long as possible. You have to do this.”

“Dad…” Darryl tried to think of some other plan, something that didn’t involve his father risking his life yet again. But they had no time. He saw Sasha coming through the trees toward them, then another bandit on the left, and a third on the right. They were moving fast. And they were all armed. Finally, Darryl laid a hand on his father’s back. “Okay, I’ll make sure everyone gets to the cabin safely, Dad. I promise.”

“I know,” Greg replied, giving his son a smile and a nod. “I trust you. You can do this.”

And then he turned back around and fired another shot at the approaching bandits. They scattered, seeking cover behind the trees. Darryl knew he couldn’t delay any longer, though he felt a terrible dread fill him. Finally, he turned, spotted his family picking their way down the trail, and hurried after them. The baby had begun to wail. All of the loud gunshots had finally proved too much for the little guy.

31

It had been a half-baked plan from the beginning due mostly to the fact that Greg hadn’t known what to expect. Unfortunately, when he’d finally caught up to his family, the terrain hadn’t cooperated with him, making escape even more difficult. As he knelt at the top of the trail, using the ground for cover, he realized that if it hadn’t been for Horace, they would have been in real trouble.

Well, it was the best I could do, he thought, and as long as I buy them a chance to escape, it will have been worth it.

Sasha moved swiftly from tree to tree, using them for cover in an attempt get close to the trailhead. Another one of the bandits, a woman draped in handmade leather, moved the other way. Beyond them, there were others, all taking up positions. Greg raised the Winchester, trying to catch one of the bandits as they shifted position. He decided to take a bold approach.

“Throw down your weapons,” Greg shouted at them. “Take the cattle and leave, and I’ll spare your lives.”

He dared a quick glance over his shoulder. Darryl was guiding the family down the slope at a furious pace. They’d already reached the first switchback. Unfortunately, it was all open ground until the bottom of the ravine.

“You’re outgunned,” Sasha replied, and, as if to prove it, she fired a wild shot in his direction. It pinged off the rocks somewhere to his right. “We’re not going anywhere, so why don’t you throw down your weapon.”

“Not going to happen, Sasha,” he replied.

At this, she grew quiet for a moment. Greg heard one of the bandits shifting around behind a tree, and he pointed the gun in that direction. He saw the edge of a leather coat for a second. Somehow, he needed to flush them out into the open. Maybe if he could push them to act irrationally.

“How do you know my name?” Sasha asked.

“Oh, your friend Daniel told me,” he replied. “Yeah, he told me all kinds of stuff about you shortly before he leapt off a cliff to his death.”

Sasha hesitated again, and when she spoke, her voice had tightened even more. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t know what he was thinking,” Greg said. “Desperate to get away, I suppose. He hit a big block of ice on the way down. Last I saw, he was floating face-down in the river.”

“I’m going to kill you for that,” Sasha replied. “I was going to kill you anyway and let your other family members lead me to the cabin, but now it’s settled. I was too compassionate from the beginning. It went against my better judgment.”

“Okay, quit talking about it and do it,” Greg said. “You like to run your mouth, don’t you?”

The woman with the leather coat was inching out from behind the tree. Greg saw more of her long coat, so he decided to flush her out. Aiming carefully, he took a shot. The bullet hit a corner of the coat, making it sweep back. This startled the bandit, who stepped backward out into the open, fumbling with her gun to point it in his direction. They fired at the same time. Greg heard the bullet sizzle over his head. In turn, he hit her in the leg, and she yelped and went down. She dropped her gun and grabbed her thigh.

Distantly, he heard the cry of the baby echo out over the ravine, and he felt a sudden, poorly timed swell of pride.

I’m a grandpa, he thought. I’m so grateful I got to see the little one.

Bandits were moving again, shifting positions. They had spread out, practically surrounding the trailhead. At least a few of them were down. Three had been shot, another trampled. He estimated about five were left, all armed. He decided to prioritize targets, so he turned his gun in Sasha’s direction. At the moment, she was well hidden behind a fat pine tree.

“Jen, can you still fight?” Sasha called.

The injured woman gave a wordless groan in reply. Greg dared another glance behind him. His family was practically flying now. Darryl was lugging Horace on his back. Emma and Marion were helping Justine and the baby. They’d reached the second switchback, heading into the third and final section of the trail.

I bought them some time. It’ll have to be enough, Greg thought. He felt a strange calm come over him then.

“Now,” Sasha said, a little bark of a command. “All at once. This is it.”

The bandits all leaned out from behind their respective hiding places and took aim. Greg had one clear second to see their faces. One man and two women, plus their fearless leader. Sasha was directly in front of him, holding his own Remington rifle. He noted sunlight glinting off a pair of fancy ski goggles, which were pushed up to the top of her head. The dark eye of the rifle was fixed upon him.

Make it count, he thought. This is your one chance.

Pushing off the ground with his right foot, he charged at her. The strange calm endured, even in that mad moment. Greg Healy felt a great swell of love for his family. They would live. He believed it. And then guns began to fire on all sides.

The next few seconds were chaos. He opened fire at Sasha, bullets striking the tree, shattering the glass of her goggles. She fired back once and ducked out of sight. She missed him, but a bullet from the right side hit him in the arm. He felt it, a sudden sharp stinging sensation just above his elbow. Instantly, the arm lost strength. Reaching down with his left hand, he managed to grab the Winchester before he lost his grip on it. Then he turned, even as the bullets continued to come in.

He saw two bandits immediately to his right. Corporate types, he thought, in their former lives. Either that or they’d raided a Saks Fifth Avenue for winter wear before setting out on their mountain trek. Greg fired at the nearest one. As he did so, he felt sudden heat in his shoulder. He’d been hit again.

The bandit stumbled backward, turning her face as blood erupted from her left eye. She went down. A third bullet struck Greg just above the knee. He felt his quadricep detach from his knee with a pop, and he fell. However, he managed to land on the good knee, shifting the gun to the next bandit. The woman realized she was the target and spun around, heading back behind her tree. Greg struggled to operate the gun with his injured right arm. Pulling the bolt was the hardest part, but he managed it through sheer hateful will. He shot the bandit between the shoulder blades, and she collapsed in a heap.

Finally, Greg turned back around to the place where Sasha was hiding.

“Well?” he cried. Sharp, burning agony was quickly filling his body. He knew he couldn’t hold up long. “What are you waiting for, Sasha? I’ve killed most of your people. Are you just going to die up here like a coward? You’ve failed. Your whole corporate life has led up to this one shining moment of failure. Think about it!”

“Damn you,” Sasha snarled in return. “I should have killed your entire family the second I laid eyes on them. I should have smothered the baby and threw it into the river.”

“Well, you can start with me,” he replied. “I’m right here. Or do I have to come back there and get you?”

He tried to rise, but it was no use. The right leg wouldn’t bear any weight. Still, he thought he could see just a small edge of Sasha’s padded shoulder. He took aim. Pain was making his arm shake badly, but he pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the trunk of the tree, casting out a spray of bark.

Sasha appeared suddenly, lunging around the other side of the tree. She opened fire with the Remington, even as Greg returned fire. He felt the first bullet pass within inches of his right cheek. As he returned fire, his shot went wild, cutting through tree branches high above his target.

Greg felt a sudden blow to the neck. In the madness of the moment, he thought another bandit had snuck up behind him, reached around, and punched him. Then he felt furious heat and felt wetness pouring down the side of his neck, trickling under the collar of his coat. He managed to draw the bolt and pull the trigger on his Winchester one more time. Then a wave of cold weakness washed over his whole body.

Trying to fight it, he pushed up with his good leg. He managed to get about halfway up before his knee buckled. He fell backward and slammed into the ground, his breath leaving him in a rush. Quickly, his thoughts were becoming indistinct, a dense fog filling his mind. He rolled onto his belly, but as he did so, he heard blood splashing onto the rocks beneath him. Still, fighting through the rising darkness, he dropped the Winchester and used his left hand to pull himself toward the edge of the cliff.

He only managed to inch forward a little bit before he lost all strength. However, it was enough. He was able to look over the edge, gazing down at the sheer drop below. Blackness crept into the edges of his vision, but he saw the trail winding down to the bottom of the ravine. His family was nowhere in sight. He’d bought them just enough time.

Greg felt a deep satisfaction in that moment, and he fell onto his side on the rocks.

I did it, he said. Marion, I did it. All for you. All for the kids. For the little one.

As the weakness swept the pain away, he felt only his love for them. A beautiful blue sky wheeled overhead, a crisp breeze carrying away the scent of blood, and it was okay. It was okay. Everything was okay.

Greg Healy shut his eyes and let the last breath leave him.

32

The trail was treacherous. With every step, Darryl felt loose ground shifting beneath his feet, as if the whole side of the mountain were on the verge of crumbling down into the ravine. Still, he knew they didn’t have much time. As soon as he reached the family, he grabbed Horace by the arm, stepped in front of him, and hoisted him up onto his back. The weight was almost too much, and he felt a little twinge of pain in his lower back. But he didn’t have time to think of a better plan.

Emma was leading the way, picking her way down the steep trail, but carefully considering each step. Justine was right behind her, hugging the rock wall as she descended, the baby carefully bundled in her arms. Only Marion hung back, and Darryl knew she was on the verge of bolting back up the trail to be with Dad. He couldn’t let that happen. Finally, he planted a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle push.

“Mom, you have to keep moving,” he said. “They mean to kill us, and if we’re caught out in the open like this, we’re doomed.”

“Why does it have to be your father?” Marion replied, wiping away a steady stream of tears. “Let me go back and take the gun. I’ll hold them off. Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

“Dad would never let you do that, and you know it,” Darryl said. And then, to his sister, he shouted, “Pick up the pace, even if it’s dangerous. We have to get down to the bottom as soon as possible.”

“Can’t you see I’m working on it?” Emma replied.

As he looked below, Darryl saw three switchbacks cutting sharp angles as they headed for the mass of tumbled boulders at the bottom of the ravine forty meters below. He was trying hard not to think, not to feel. He’d left his father to fend for himself! But, no, he’d done the only thing he could do. It’s what Dad wanted, after all.

“We just got him back,” Marion said, though she did start moving a bit faster. “It’s like he came back from the dead, and now he’s…he’s…”

Darryl still had his hand on her shoulder, and he squeezed gently. “He’s saving our lives. He’s giving his grandson a chance at a life! Those bandits meant to take everything from us. This is what has to happen.” He was speaking to himself as much as to his mother. He needed to hear it, because he didn’t quite feel it.

Emma began moving faster, taking big, reckless strides that caused her feet to slide on the rocks. She let her left hand glide along the rock wall to steady herself. Within seconds, she reached the first switchback. As they rounded the bend, Darryl looked back up the ravine. He heard voices then, his father and Sasha, but he didn’t make out what they said.

“Why doesn’t he just take a shot at her and run?” Marion asked. “Why is he having a conversation?”

“He can’t let them reach the trailhead,” Darry said. “We’ll be easy targets from there. Mom, this is what he had to do, okay? I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t so, but this is how we survive.”

She was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “I know, but…” And she left it at that.

They were halfway down the second switchback when he heard gunshots. To Darryl, it was like a punch in the stomach. This was it. The flooded river all over again. The crumbling bank. But he couldn’t let the emotions take root, not now. This was a time to act—to act and not to feel.

Darryl readjusted Horace so the weight was higher on his shoulders and shouted for the others to run. Emma was practically sprinting down the path. Justine couldn’t go quite as fast with the baby in her arms, but she managed to press her back up against the rock wall and slide along, taking long, awkward side steps.

He heard more shouting above him. He tried to look up and see what was happening, but the angle was all wrong. His father was no longer in sight. As they reached the second switchback, he heard more gunshots, more shouting. A woman howled in pain. The bottom of the ravine was close now, and he could see numerous large boulders in the area. Plenty of cover. As he traced the path ahead, he spotted movement in the distance. The mountain pass above dropped down and joined up with the ravine, and not far from that point, Darryl saw a familiar trail curving out of the woods and heading off to the southeast.

He realized then that some of the spooked animals were charging down the slope toward the far trail. He saw both horses running at a gallop, along with a few of the cows. Apparently, they’d had enough gunfights for one lifetime and had decided to set off on their own.

“Keep running,” she shouted down to Emma. “Don’t look back. Don’t think about anything. Just get to the bottom and find cover behind the boulders.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Emma replied, her voice ragged and out of breath. She slipped then, her left foot sliding dangerously close to the edge, but Justine reached down and grabbed her arm. She pulled Emma against the rock wall. Somehow, she also managed to hold onto the baby with her other arm, though the sudden motion made the little guy start crying loudly. Justine shushed him in vain as she resumed her descent.

Just as they reached the final switchback, Darryl heard a terrible burst of gunfire. It sounded like multiple guns all firing at the same time. People were shouting as well, but their voices were buried under the crack-crack-crack of guns. Marion almost came to a stop then, clasping her hands in front of her, but Darryl nudged her with her shoulder.

“We’re close, Mom. Keep going.”

Just as the gunshots ended, and a terrible quiet descended around the trailhead, Emma reached the bottom of the ravine. She ducked behind the nearest large boulder and waved Justine in after her. The baby was still crying, and all of the chaos wasn’t making things any better. Marion reached the boulder next. Darryl glanced up the sheer rock wall just before joining them. He didn’t see anyone at the top of the trail. In the silence, it seemed as if they all had just disappeared.

Maybe they killed each other in that final shootout, he thought. He felt a twinge of grief. Dad, how could we lose you twice?

But just then, he saw a figure rise above the rocks at the trailhead, and almost immediately, he heard the crack of a rifle. A bullet hit the ground a few feet to his right, casting up fragments of rock. Darryl quickly backed behind the boulder and hunkered down with the others.

“He’s gone,” Marion said.

“You don’t know that,” Darryl replied.

“Yes, I do.” Marion’s face had gone blank, her tears abated. “I felt it. He’s gone.”

Darryl wanted to collapse in grief, but it wasn’t over yet. Pushing past the feelings, he went to Justine and hugged her. The baby seemed to settle down a bit then.

“We’re pinned down,” Darryl said. “Somehow, we have to get to the other trail at the end of the ravine. That’s our way home. We’ll have to move from rock to rock to maintain cover.”

“What happened to the bandits?” Emma asked. She had tears in her eyes, but her jaw was clenched, her eyebrows low. She was pushing past her feelings as well. “How many of them are left?”

“At least one,” Darryl said. “Judging by the shape of her, I’d say it’s the leader, Sasha. She took a shot at me.”

“Then we have to move fast,” Emma said, “before she follows us down the trail.”

“I wish I’d brought the damn papoose,” Justine muttered. “This would have been the perfect time for it, but I left it on the travois.”

“Just hold our baby tight.” Darryl gave Justine a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Kissing later,” Justine said, giving him an anxious look. “Running like hell now.”

“Got it,” he replied.

He looked toward the end of the ravine. The horses and cows were there now. They’d come to a stop and were milling about, as if they’d suddenly realized they were lost. Darryl judged it to be about a hundred meters. There was plenty of cover, but also many gaps between the boulders. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

“Put me down, son,” Horace said. “I’m slowing the group too much. Leave me here. Maybe I can throw them off your trail. You folks will move a whole lot faster without a useless old man on your back.”

“Stop that,” Darryl replied. “I’ve got you, and we’re not losing anyone else, not if I can help it.”

Darryl moved past the group. He wanted to lead from this point on. Dashing from cover to cover was going to be dangerous, and he didn’t want Emma to feel responsible if something went wrong. He brushed past her, giving her an encouraging nod.

“Okay, everyone follow my lead,” he said. “Run as fast as you can.”

“Well, at least I’m providing some cover for your back,” Horace said, with a gruff little laugh. “Let me be your human shield.”

“I said stop that,” Darryl said. “You’re the reason we made it down here in the first place.”

There was a five-meter gap between their current rock and the next one. Darryl braced himself, took a deep breath, and dashed out into the open. As he did, he glanced to his right up the side of the ravine. Near the top, he saw a couple of people picking their way down the trail, stepping lightly. He crossed the gap in three strides and quickly ducked behind the next boulder. Just before he moved out of sight, he heard one of the bandits on the trail cry out.

Emma and Justine came behind him, Marion bringing up the rear.

“Well, they’re descending fast,” he said. “We outnumber them, but, unfortunately, we don’t have any guns.”

“Couldn’t we wait for them here behind a rock and then jump out when they get close?” Emma asked. “If they’re close enough, we could probably overpower them. I’d like to beat that woman to death with my bare hands.”

“Too big of a risk,” Darryl replied. He gauged the path ahead. Another four or five meters to the next big boulder, but he could see the horses clearly now. They were milling about near the end of the ravine. The travois still seemed, miraculously, to be intact. But more than that, he knew that Sasha’s group had put some of their things on it.

“It’s not that hard to beat someone to death,” Emma added. “If you have to use your bare hands, just apply blunt force trauma to the throat, but with all of these rocks, a few hard blows to the head would do it.”

Darryl glanced at his sister and saw a wild, hateful light in her eyes. Her face was dusty, sunburned, her hair sticking out in all directions. Yes, he thought, this was someone who could beat an enemy to death, if she had a chance.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He took off running again, moving across the next gap. As he did, he looked at the trail again. Sasha was in the lead. He recognized the fancy orange and black coat. She was still picking her way down the trail, approaching the first switchback, but when Darryl stepped out into the open, she raised the Remington and pointed it at him. Darryl hunkered down and kept going. The crack of the rifle chased him a second later. He braced himself for pain, but the bullet went wild.

Only when he was safely behind cover again did he realize that Horace was waving his hands over his head.

“What are you doing back there?” Darryl asked.

“Just trying to draw her aim a little higher, so she misses you,” Horace said sheepishly.

“Stop making yourself a target, please.”

He waited until the rest of the family had joined him. Ahead, the rocks were a little more spread out, but the angle was changing as the ravine broadened. He thought this might make it harder for Sasha to get a good shot. Considering their options, he turned to his family. Justine, Emma, and Marion were all watching him intently.

“We have to get to those horses before they get spooked again,” he said. “This time, we’re running flat out, okay? No stop-start from rock to rock. Stay low. Try to make yourself as small a target as possible. When we get to the animals, move around behind them, use them as cover. Got it?”

The baby was fussing again, working himself up to another crying fit. Justine tried bouncing him, rocking him from side to side, patting him on the back. Nothing seemed to work.

The sooner I get them out of here, the better, Darryl thought.

“We’ll follow your lead,” Marion said. “When you go, we’ll be right behind you. Don’t stop and don’t look back.”

He nodded and turned. Fifty or sixty more meters to the horses, yet it seemed so far. Darryl’s shoulders and back hurt like hell from lugging the old man, and he had to adjust him again to get the weight up higher.

“Here we go,” he said.

And with that, Darryl took off running again, heading straight for the horses. He moved low, trying to keep his head down. However, he glanced one time at the trail behind and above them. Sasha and the other bandit were approaching the second switchback, picking up speed. She took another shot at him. He saw the flash of the muzzle as the sound carried down the ravine. The bullet whizzed past him, sizzling in the air somewhere to his right.

He kept going, letting adrenaline push him. He’d gone another ten meters or so when Sasha took another shot, but he didn’t hear the bullet or see what it hit. The unharnessed horse noticed him them and turned in his direction. Clearly recognizing him, the animal started to approach Darryl. Finally, he reached the horse, which had come to meet him. Grabbing her reins, her moved around behind her.

“Good girl,” he said, patting her on the neck. “I owe you so many apples and carrots after this.”

The rest of the family arrived a second later, moving around behind him. And now, the second horse, the one dragging the travois, followed the leader and came toward them. Darryl waited until she got close, then he passed the reins to Emma and moved to the second horse. He’d finally reached his limit on lugging Horace, so he moved to the travois and slipped the old man off his back. He set him down on one of the support beams of the travois, with the water barrel at his back for cover.

“See? You weren’t a problem at all,” he said to the old man.

Darryl leaned over and looked between the boxes and barrels. The bandits had left some of their packs here, and he saw them all piled together in the middle of the travois. He couldn’t help but smile at the delicious irony.

They came to steal from us, and we stole from them.

But his eyes were drawn to one specific item which stuck out of the corner of the largest backpack. He pulled it out—a small bolt-action rifle. The stock was painted in a light-green camouflage, the barrel in bronze. It was a nice gun that looked like it had never been fired. Darryl thought it might be a newer-model Browning, but he wasn’t sure.

He opened the breech and saw the shiny casing of a .30-06 bullet in the chamber. Just then, he heard another gunshot, as a bullet smashed into the water barrel. He closed the breech and raised the rifle. Sasha and the bandit were at the bottom of the trail now, and she’d taken a wild shot in their direction. Darryl aimed back at them, bracing his sore arms against Tabitha’s old medicine box. Then he took the shot. The jolt of the rifle was utterly satisfying, and when he saw Sasha and the other bandit dive for cover, wrapping their arms over their heads, he laughed out loud.

“Mom, Emma, Justine, either get in a saddle or get on the travois,” he called. “I’ll hold the bandits off while we hit the trail. Dad said the cabin is just down this trail a little way. Hurry!”

He heard them moving about, but he kept his eyes on the distant figures. When Sasha started to rise, he took another shot. The bullet hit the trail just above her, creating a little puff of dust. She dropped again. Justine appeared then, taking a seat on the travois, as she continued trying to calm the baby.

“He needs to feed,” she noted. “Poor little guy. Bullets are flying all over the place, and he’s just hungry.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be safe soon,” Darryl replied.

Marion had climbed into the saddle of the lead horse, and she used the reins to guide it onto the trail. Emma was on the second horse, and she tapped it with her heels to get it moving. Darryl remained standing, following behind the travois and keeping an eye on Sasha. Because she was crawling, she was too small of a target now.

He caught movement to his left, some enormous object barreling toward him. Turning, bringing the gun around, he discovered a few of the cows rotting dutifully after the horses. Marion was on the trail now, riding toward the trees. Darryl considered their predicament. If indeed the cabin was in sight, what was to stop Sasha from biding her time and attacking them as soon as the opportunity presented itself. No, they would never be safe as long as these bandits lived.

He turned back to the travois and realized Justine was staring at him hard.

“I can read your face,” she said. “Please, don’t do anything foolish.”

“Not foolish,” he replied. “I’m going to clear the road behind us, so we won’t be followed by violent maniacs.”

“Just remember, you’re a father now,” she said. “You can’t take crazy risks.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“I want to believe you, but reckless heroics run in your family,” she said.

“I know, but I’ve got a plan.”

Not entirely true. He had only the rough circumference of a plan. Marion had turned in her saddle to look at him.

“Get them to the cabin, Mom,” he said. “I’ll be along shortly.”

He saw her face scrunch up in agony. She opened her mouth, as if to protest, but after a moment, she closed it again and nodded sadly.

“It’ll be fine,” he said. “Trust me.” Faint comfort, he knew.

Marion turned back around, shook the reins, and picked up speed, heading into the woods. The second horse followed, and Darryl opted not to look at them again, knowing he might second-guess himself.

Dad, you taught me well, he thought, standing now out in the open. Do whatever it takes to keep your family safe. Whatever it takes. That’s the rule we live by.

33

The woods were deep and dense here, and enormous evergreen trees grew close together with plenty of underbrush between them. That gave him a terrain advantage. As soon as the horses entered the woods, Darryl headed for the nearest tree. He looked back across the ravine in time to see Sasha and the other bandit moving across the ravine toward a nearby rock. Raising the gun, he aimed at them, but his arms were shaky. He had nothing to brace against, and by the time he’d steadied himself, they’d dashed behind cover.

So be it, he thought. We’ll do this the hard way.

He pushed through a dense screen of bushes, ripping at the branches as they clawed at his clothes. On the other side, he considered the trees around him. The most suitable was a smaller spruce tree. It had low enough branches that he could pull himself up. He slung the Browning rifle over his shoulder and reached for the lowest branch. Pulling himself up proved difficult, however. He was just so worn out.

Finally, he planted one shoe against the trunk, pushing with his foot while pulling with his hands. This was enough to get him off the ground, and then he managed to wrap an arm over the lowest branch. From there, he got his other leg over the top. He continued climbing until he was about maybe ten meters off the ground, with a decent view of the ravine. Unfortunately, he realized now just how littered the ravine floor was with large rocks. Even from this angle, Sasha had plenty of cover.

He scanned the area for her. They were hiding somewhere now. Darryl raised the gun, bracing the barrel against another branch and settling his shoulder against the tree trunk.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Step out of hiding, you little vermin. Give me one good shot at you, Sasha. Just one.”

He saw a flash of red nylon cloth as the second bandit stepped out from behind a rock. Darryl took a shot at the man, but he quickly ducked back out of sight.

How many bullets left? Darryl wondered. He opened the breech again and checked. He was shocked to see only a single bullet remaining. It looked like the magazine could hold a total of four, and he’d already fired three of them.

There were probably more bullets in the backpack, he thought. And I didn’t think to check.

Justine would never let him live down this poor planning, assuming he survived, but everything had happened so fast.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Give me a Glock 19 with a fifteen-round magazine over this four-shot rifle.” He sighed and raised the gun again, scanning for Sasha. He didn’t see her anywhere. Still hiding behind cover. And now, to make matters worse, he only had a single shot left. He had to let her get closer before he took it.

A flash of red drew his eye again. The second bandit was making another run for it. Darryl tracked him with the rifle, but he wanted to save the bullet for Sasha. He noticed that the man was walking strangely, limping, clutching his hip with both hands.

By God, I think I hit him, he realized. Still, he was alive and getting close, too close. And where the hell was Sasha?

The second bandit was moving at an angle from cover to cover, headed to the far side of the ravine, but he was clearly having trouble. And now, he wasn’t making much effort to find cover.

Do they know I’m low on bullets? Darryl wondered. How could they?

Unfortunately, the bandit was closing in, heading toward the end of the ravine and the trail beyond. Darryl tracked him, fighting the urge to pull the trigger. Sasha was clearly the more important target. Suddenly, the bandit came to a stop, bent over. He took one more step and fell forward, landing hard on the rocks.

Darryl’s gaze was fixed on the man, so when gunshots rang out, he didn’t know where they were coming from. Suddenly bullets were crashing through tree limbs all around him. He ducked back behind a branch as a cascade of needles rained down on him. The muzzle flashes came from him his left. He dared a quick glance over the branch and spotted her.

Sasha came from the left. She’d worked her way to the opposite side of the ravine from the other bandit, and she was running flat out now, trying to aim the rifle at the same time. And she was headed straight for Darryl.

She used the other bandit as bait to distract me into giving away my position, he realized.

Sasha fired again, and this time the bullet hit the big branch in front of him, the one he’d been using to brace the rifle. Splinters exploded into his face, one of them getting in his left eye. Darryl instinctively pulled away, but this made him slip off his perch. As he fell, he managed to wrap his arms around a branch. It slowed his fall, but it also made him drop his rifle. He toppled through the branches, crashing down, snapping through twigs, until he got caught, stopping just before the ground below.

Because of the angle of his fall, and the denseness of the branches, he found himself caught upside down, his legs sticking up, his arms wrapped in what felt like a net. He thrashed, swinging his arms and legs back and forth. Twigs scraped at his clothing, but slowly he tore himself free. With a final swing of both arms, he toppled to one side, fell out of the branches, and landed on his side on the hard ground.

Where is she? Where did she go?

Disoriented by the fall, he was unsure where he’d wound up. He pushed himself up on his arm, looking around for the rifle. He’d fallen behind the tree, and dense brush and thick trunks rose up on all sides. When he strained to listen, he no longer heard Sasha charging toward him. Indeed, the area had gotten strangely quiet, except for the dragging of the travois on the trail. His family wasn’t all that far away, after all.

As he picked himself up, he cast about for the rifle. It had landed in the crook of some branches just above him, and he reached up to retrieve it. Holding it close, he leaned around the tree trunk, pushing through the bushes so he could see into the clearing beyond. And if she was out there waiting for him, pointing the Remington at the tree, ready to fire? His skin crawled at the possibility.

Still, it couldn’t be helped. He had to figure out where she’d gone. Slowly, he pushed his way through. Beyond, he saw the ravine stretching out before him. The injured bandit was still curled up on the ground off to the right, unmoving, but Darryl saw no sign of Sasha. He kept pushing forward, slipping past the tree and out into the open. He tracked from left to right, aiming the rifle in front of him. The trail curled out of the woods just ten meters to his right, heading past the end of the ravine and back into the woods further on. When he turned in that direction, he saw one of the cows trotting along, the end of his family’s little caravan. The baby gave a loud cry then, which carried out over the ravine.

Where did you go, Sasha? Come on. Stick your head out of your hole.

He tracked back to the left, looking into the distance where the mountain pass dropped down into the ravine. The line of trees marked the end of the ravine. He was staring in that direction, aiming with the rifle, when she lurched out from behind a tree not five meters away. As she turned to face him, she led with the Remington.

And seeing the barrel of the gun pointed directly at him, he pulled the trigger. The Browning kicked against his shoulder, the report ringing out. And Darryl watched in horror as the bullet hit the trunk of the tree beside Sasha, splitting the bark.

“There you go,” Sasha said. “Great aim.” At first, she seemed entirely unscathed from all of the fighting. Then he noted the shattered goggles, which were pushed to the top of her head.

He considered lunging at her, but the distance was too great, and there was no time. The Remington rifle was centered on his chest.

I’m going to be killed with my own gun, he thought, and felt a bitter irony.

She pulled the trigger, and the gun clicked. She pulled the bolt and tried again. Nothing. She’d used every bullet in her charge. He saw her eyes go wide, her lips draw back to reveal teeth that were too white for the wilderness, too straight, too perfect. Indeed, they were an incongruence with her sun-burned cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

“Well, then,” she said, after a moment’s surprise. She turned the rifle around, grabbing it by the barrel. “You might as well take it back!”

She hoisted the rifle up over her shoulder and flung it at him, as if she were chucking a throwing axe in his direction. Darryl tried to duck back out of sight, but he bumped up against a tree. With the Remington sailing toward him, he had little time to react, so he raised the Browning sideways, using it as a crude shield.

The two rifles collided, and the force of the impact knocked the Browning out of his hands. They both clattered to the ground. In the process, Darryl turned away for a second, and when he turned back, Sasha was pulling something from her coat pocket. A small black Beretta. Darryl turned and lunged back through the underbrush, just as she took a shot in his direction.

“You killed all of my people,” Sasha shouted, “but you left the most dangerous one alive. That was a mistake. A big mistake.”

And, as if to prove her point, she fired another shot in his direction. He heard the bullet hit the tree at his back, and he pushed deeper into the underbrush.

“You’re going to die,” Sasha said. “Your whole family is going to die, and I’m going to take everything that belongs to you. Your father gave his life in vain! Get ready.”

34

She took a third shot, though he was well hidden now. The bullet crackled through the underbrush, and Darryl dropped low. As he cast about for some kind of weapon, he realized she was running. It seemed she’d taken the shot to cover her tracks, but he heard her now, sprinting full out, coming for him.

And then she passed by the spot where Darryl was crouched and kept going. Not coming for him, he realized. Heading for the trail, for his family. In the distance, his baby son was crying again, as if he knew what was coming. As she passed, she took another wild shot into the bushes. The bullet passed somewhere above him and ricocheted off a tree. Darryl dropped flat against the ground, but he heard her moving off to his right now, heading for the trail.

You’re just going to have to stop her, he told himself. By any possible means.

Nearby, a rather large tree branch lay on the ground. He thought it was the branch he’d broken when he’d tumbled from his perch. He grabbed it, stripping a few stray needles, and held it like a club. Then he rose.

“I’ll take care of them, Dad,” he whispered. “I promise. Our family is going to be safe. We protected them today, you and me.”

He felt the sting of tears, but he fought against the grief. Now was the time for cold purpose. Clutching his crude club, he pushed back through the underbrush, poking his head out just enough to see on the other side. When he turned to his right, he spotted Sasha. She was running full tilt in the direction of the trail, toward the sound of Darryl’s crying son. She still had the Beretta in her hand.

Seeing no other choice, Darryl stepped out into the open and started after her. To aim the gun at him, she would have to slow down and turn. He figured that would buy him at least one good second to dive back into cover. However, he tried to run as quietly as possible, moving lightly as he took long strides.

It wasn’t enough. Sasha was clearly athletic, and she had a head start. The distance between them was growing. If she reached his family, it was over. He wouldn’t be able to stop her. Desperate, Darryl knew he had to get her attention somehow.

“Coward,” he shouted, “get back here!” A dumb thing to say, but what did it matter?

She raised the gun and tried to point it behind her without looking. Having no other option, Darryl heaved the branch at her, using the same exact throwing technique that she’d use to chuck the rifle at him. She fired the Beretta, but since she wasn’t looking, her aim was way off. Still, it was close, too close, and Darryl lunged to one side.

The branch went spinning toward her. She must have heard it coming, for she turned back and looked. Seeing the branch flying at her, she raised both arms to deflect it, but her feet got tangled up. Falling, she landed hard on her belly and slid into a tree with a loud huff. The branch hit the ground beside her and tumbled away.

Darryl seized the opportunity, racing toward her. Sasha pushed herself up with her forearms and looked back over her shoulder. They locked eyes, but the gap was closing fast. Her weight was on her arms, but she still had the gun in her right hand. He saw the gun pivot, as she turned it toward him.

He leapt at her, just as she fired. Blood rushing his ears, breath ragged in his lungs, he felt only burning adrenaline in his body at that moment. He had no idea if the bullet had hit him. His leap closed the final few feet. Sasha, realizing he was going to land on top of her, rolled onto her side, bringing the gun up. She wasn’t fast enough.

Darryl crashed down on top of her. He had his arms up in front of him, bent at the elbows, and they crashed into her belly. Then the rest of him came down, slamming on top of her hips and legs. It knocked his breath out, and when his face bounced off his own arms, he saw stars. She fired another shot then, so close it made his ears ring. He didn’t dare take a moment to recover. Immediately, he began clawing at her, trying to get the gun.

“Get off me, you scum,” she snarled. “You redneck. You rube!”

With her free hand, she clawed at his face. He felt her fingernails ripping at his skin, but he focused on getting the gun. He managed to grab her right arm, pinning it against the ground, though she took another wild shot back toward the ravine.

“You will not hurt my family,” he said, his voice cracking. “You will not take anything else from them.”

“I said get off me,” she shouted. She balled up her fist and punched him in the face. He felt a burst of pain in his lips and tasted blood on his tongue. “Do what you’re told, you nobody.”

She continued punching him in the face, but he focused on wresting the gun from her grip. Punches hit his lips, his nose, his cheeks, his eye, his throat. And she was surprisingly strong. He felt blood running down his cheek from a fresh cut above his eye.

And then he had it. The gun popped out of her gloved hand, and he rose, pushing away from her. He fumbled with the Beretta for a second to get a good grip, then he pointed it at her. She bared her teeth at him, snarling like a cornered cat, reaching for the gun with both hands. He pulled the trigger.

It clicked.

You’ve got to be kidding me, he thought. Are there any bullets left in the world?

She sat up then, lunging for him. It startled him enough that he dropped the gun, and she managed to get her hands around his throat.

“These mountains belong to me,” she said. “I’ve claimed them. Do you hear me? They’re all mine!”

Her grip around his throat was fierce, and he found himself unable to take a breath. Still, he had her lower legs pinned beneath him. That, at least, restricted her movement somewhat. As the edges of his vision turned red, the words of his sister came to mind.

It’s not that hard to beat someone to death. If you have to use your bare hands, just apply blunt force trauma to the throat.

He clenched his fist, reached around her arms, and punched her. The first blow was aimed at her throat, but he hit her in the chin instead. Her head rocked back on her shoulders, but somehow, she managed to tighten her grip around his throat. A weird gurgling sound was coming out of his mouth, though he wasn’t making it intentionally. His vision was quickly dimming.

His second punch hit her right in the neck. For a split second, he thought he felt the small bone in her throat against his knuckles. A horrible raspy sound came out of her then, and she released her grip on him. As she fell back, she grabbed the Beretta. He punched her a third time, just as she swung the gun at him. The corner of the metal grip hit him in the temple, and his fist hit her in the right eye.

A burst of pain went through his skull, and he fell backward. He had a sense of her falling the other way, but then he landed on his back and lost sight of her.

“I’m going to kill that shrieking infant,” Sasha said in a raspy voice. “You hear me? It’s the least you deserve.”

She managed to wriggle out from under him. Darryl flopped onto his side and spotted the large branch beside him. He grabbed it in both hands and rose to his feet. Sasha managed to rise at the same time, holding her throat and struggling to take a breath. She sneered at Darryl and turned toward the trail. She managed to take a single step before he brought the branch down. Swinging with all his might, putting every ounce of force into the blow, even as his aching shoulders cried out, he drove the branch into the top of her skull.

His vision was swimming in and out, but he felt the violent jolt go through his whole body at the moment of impact. It started in his wrists, shot up his arms, and went all the way down his spine and through the soles of his feet. Sasha made an awful wet sound as she crumbled to the ground, her now strengthless limbs folding up beneath her.

Darryl stumbled backward and tossed the branch aside. He rubbed his eyes, but the pain in his face made him cry out. When his vision cleared, he looked down and saw Sasha at his feet. She was bleeding freely from the nose and mouth, from her ear, and from the hideous gash caused by the branch. As he watched, the light left her half-lidded eyes. Still, he waited a few seconds before squatting down and pressing fingers the side of her neck.

No pulse. No breathing.

Realizing this, Darryl felt a moment of stomach-churning disgust at what he’d done. But his son was still crying off in the distance.

I did what I had to do, he reminded himself. What Dad would have done.

Licking blood from his lower lip, he stepped over Sasha and headed for the trail and the sound of his son.

35

The cabin was halfway up a slope, on a grassy shelf overlooking the forest. A split-log fence marked the property line—roughly two acres of weedy ground set in a clearing. The mountain trail passed right beside the gate, as if it had been blazed specifically to bring the Healys to their new home. By the time Darryl rounded the last bend and came in sight of the cabin, the sun was setting behind the great mountain peaks west of the cabin, bathing the whole area in a warm light. It couldn’t have been more inviting if an artist had planned that first glimpse.

Still, Darryl was hurting, and he had to stop for a second, catching himself against a tree by the side of the overgrown trail. Sasha had battered him thoroughly. He had a fat lower lip, a couple of good welts on his face, and a deep ache around his right eye that he was sure would turn black in another day or so. Beyond that, he had taken the time to walk all the way back up the ravine, so he could check on each bandit and his father. He’d found no survivors among the scattered bodies in and above the ravine. Every bandit was accounted for. The long process of making sure meant he was thoroughly exhausted, and he needed a minute to catch his breath.

His family had gathered in the big yard in front of the cabin, and the cows were milling around the gate, chomping grass. There was his son, still whimpering but much calmer now. That was a good sign. He pushed off the tree and approached the fence.

As for the cabin itself, it was clear that it hadn’t been used in a long time. The wilderness was pushing in against the walls, wild grass growing up against the wood. However, the structure itself seemed intact. No broken windows. The roof was solid. A big red-brick chimney rose from one end, making him dream of a crackling fire, warm rooms, comfortable beds.

I did it, Dad, he thought again, reaching up to touch his swollen lip. Did you see me, Dad? Did you watch from somewhere? Our family is safe now. We’re home.

He allowed a few tears to fall, quickly brushing them away. Four cows left, but Darryl figured he could head out in a day or two and try to round up the others. He might find some of their lost supplies as well, along with more guns and supplies belonging to the bandits. Plus, he intended to bring his father home. Greg Healy would rest here at the cabin with the family he’d died to save.

Darryl had his work cut out for him, but he didn’t mind. This was his purpose.

As he neared the gate, two of the cows turned and looked up at him. In so doing, however, it was a bit like curtains parting. He saw his family gathered around the porch. It looked like Marion and Emma were unloading supplies from the travois and setting them by the front door. Justine was seated on a bench, feeding the baby, and Horace was sitting in a corner, his back to the porch railing. The travois had already been unfastened from the horse, and the big draft horses had joined the cows to feast upon the overgrown front yard.

Darryl passed through the gate, pushing it shut behind him, and stepped between the cows. Nobody had noticed him yet, but he could tell by the looks on their faces that they were in a miserable state. Grimacing, red-eyed, downcast.

They’re afraid I died, he realized.

He cleared his throat and said, “It’s done.”

His mother whipped around, dropping the medicine box which she’d been lugging. It hit the porch steps and popped open, Tabitha’s smaller box tumbling out. Emma gasped and looked up from the travois, and Justine broke into a big—and very rare—grin.

“Darryl,” Marion cried. “What happened?”

“They’re dead,” he replied. He held up the Beretta, as if to show them evidence. Then he stuffed it into his pocket. “All of them. It’s done.”

As Marion and Emma continued to stare in amazement, Justine rose and came down the porch steps.

“We heard Sasha screaming,” she said, pushing past Emma. She still had the baby in her arms, though she’d wrapped him in a blanket. “A bunch of gunshots. More screaming. But then there was nothing for, like, thirty minutes, and we kept debating whether or not we should go and check on you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, giving her a big hug that encompassed the baby. “I had to make sure the bandits were all dead. It’s such a mess out there.”

“How did you manage to kill the last of them?” Emma asked, coming down the steps.

“I took your advice,” he replied, making a fist and holding it up.

But she was close enough now to see the bumps and bruises on his face, and she gasped. “What did you do?” she said, in a soft voice—full of awe and fear.

“What I had to,” he replied.

His mother came down the steps then as well, and he saw that she was crying again. Tears had cut tracks through the dust and dirt on her face. “You don’t have to tell me. I already know, but…you went back and checked on him didn’t you…on your father?”

He nodded as his mother approached. Embracing him, she wept against his shoulder. “He died to save us. He died twice, in a way. I can’t believe it.”

“I would have done the same,” Darryl said.

“It was his way,” Marion said, pulling out of the embrace and furiously wiping her cheeks. “Come on. We’d better finish unloading and put the animals in the barn out back. It’ll be night soon.” Sniffing, she settled her face, jaw clenched. Then she turned and went back to the travois, pulling Emma along with her.

Darryl started to follow, but Justine stepped in the way again. Pulling back a fold of the blanket, she revealed the baby’s face. He was sleeping now, looking so peaceful with his fat pink cheeks and little nub of a chin.

“I have a name for him now,” Justine said. “It’s a bit old-fashioned, but it suits him.”

“Oh, yeah, what’s that?” Darryl replied.

“Now, look.” Justine gave him a serious look, eyebrows up, mouth tightening. “I’ve thought about this a lot, so don’t just dismiss it right away. I’m really fixed on this one.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said. “What is it?”

Justine averted her gaze, bit her lip, and said, “Greg. I think his name should be Greg Healy. After the man who died to save us.”

Marion and Emma had just been about to start unloading again, but they came stumbling back, bursting into tears again. Darryl joined them this time, and they all met in a big embrace, encircling the tiny sleeping baby. As Darryl looked past Justine, he saw Horace standing at the porch railing, smiling and nodding.

“Are you okay with it?” Justine asked.

“Absolutely,” Darryl replied.

When he looked down at the baby again, he saw that his son’s eyes were open, and he was currently jamming his stubby fingers into his mouth. Darryl stroked a fat cheek with his gloved finger.

“Hello, Greg Healy,” he said. “Welcome home.”

“Hello, Greg,” Marion said. “You’re going to have a safe and happy life. I promise. It’s what your grandfather wanted for you.”

“It’s what he gave you,” Justine added.

36

Six Years Later

The front yard was full of lazing cows, as usual. Sometimes, Darryl or Emma took them down the trail to graze in a clearing, or up the slope to a grassy place above the property line. However, they seemed to like the yard best. On beautiful afternoons like this, Horace liked to sit on his rocking chair in a corner of the porch and watch them. It was warmer now, but his frail body was cold most of the time anyway, so he always put on his heavy coat, gloves, and boots. However, they were in the heat of summer now, and he felt bold enough to remove his gloves and set them aside.

“It’s twenty-five, twenty-six degrees, I’ll wager,” he muttered, though he was the only one on the porch at the moment.

He slept quite a bit these days, but the Healys were always accommodating. Even now, as he began to drift toward sleep, he heard the front door open. Emma stepped outside. Unlike him, she wore only a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. He was amazed all over again at how much she’d grown in the last six years. Sometimes, he got confused and thought she was her mother.

“I brought you some hot tea, sir,” she said.

As she approached, he noticed the steaming enamelware cup in her hands. She set it on the small table beside his chair, and he reached for it.

“That’s awfully nice of you,” he said.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Oh, no,” he replied. He took a sip of tea, but it was just a bit too hot at the moment. “I’m perfectly fine to sit here and enjoy myself. I was thinking about taking me a little nap, but I’ll stay up for the tea.”

“Okay, but you just call for one of us if you need anything,” she said.

Emma went down the steps into the yard. A moment later, Horace heard the squeals of a tiny voice, and suddenly little Greg burst through the open door and went capering down the steps after his aunt. He was a little past six years old, and he was a bundle of energy. Horace could already see a lot of the grandfather in him. Same blond hair, blue eyes, same smile.

All of his clothes were handmade, of course. There were precious few stores in the wilderness of British Columbia. Indeed, at the moment, he was wearing a long shirt and pants that looked like they’d been made from a bedsheet. His shoes were crude moccasins. Horace had helped Emma make them.

“Papa, Papa, look at me,” Greg said, spinning circles in the yard.

“Oh, I see you,” Horace replied. “You’ll make yourself dizzy like that.”

“I know. It’s fun!” And then he stopped and cast himself onto the grass, arms and legs spread wide. “Whoa, the whole world is spinning and spinning!”

Horace often marveled at the amazing view they had from the porch. Because the cabin was set partway up a slope, they had an expansive view all the way to the vast gray mountains crowning the horizon. Of course, they’d done a lot of work on the cabin and grounds over the years, and it looked better than ever. Repairs had been made, and they’d cleared a bit more ground around them so they had some breathing room.

For a man like Horace, who had very few wants in life, it was paradise. He spent most of his time, even in his declining condition, feeling content. Now and again, of course, when his mind decided to wander, he would think of Tabitha and what might have been, and he’d feel a little moment of regret. But then he reminded himself of how much more they could have lost, and that always pulled him out of it.

Marion understood. And as she stepped out onto the porch, she gave him that knowing little look that she often did. “How are you doing this afternoon, Papa?” she asked.

“Got my tea. Got my chair. Got my family. That’s all I need.” He took another sip of tea. Emma had sweetened it with some wild honey, and it tasted amazing.

“You said it,” Marion replied, reaching over to briefly grasp his shoulder.

She headed down the steps. Emma was already at the well in the far corner of the lot, pumping water into a bucket. Marion moved to join her, but she diverted course first. Horace knew where she was headed, of course. She always liked to pay her respects when she stepped into the yard. The beautiful headstones for Greg and Tabitha were located in a small fenced area to one side. Marion approached, stood there for a moment with her head bowed, then smiled and walked away.

Soon, she was helping her daughter fill the trough with water, as the cows converged around them. Little Greg was now running back and forth from fence to fence, squealing with delight. “Can we ride the horses soon, Grandma? I want to ride the horses?”

“We’ll feed them in a little bit,” Marion said. “Do you want to help me do that?”

“Yeah,” the boy said, jumping up and down. “Can we ride them while they’re eating?”

“Maybe afterward,” Marion said.

The last members of the family appeared then. Justine and Darryl came through the door and crossed the porch. Horace thought Darryl looked quite imposing with his full beard. It matched his personality. The young man had boundless will and determination for getting things done, and he was always working on some project to improve the house, expand the property, boost their food supplies, or whatever else came to mind.

Even now, as he crossed the porch, he was in the middle of explaining to Justine his plan to expand their garden in the back yard. “We’ve got a few old tree stumps back there. If I can get the horses to pull them out of the ground, we could expand in that direction, add a few rows.”

“We need to grow more potatoes,” Justine said. “We’ve got way more radishes and turnips than we could ever eat.”

“You got it,” he replied.

Justine was holding the baby of the family, two-year-old Tabby, a chubby little thing with long, black hair like her mother. She began to thrash now, so Justine set her down. Immediately, she chased after Greg, her long dress swishing around her sandaled feet. Her dress had been made from fabric they’d looted from the bandits years earlier. Indeed, they’d gotten quite a bit of useful stuff from those awful people: lots of clothes, fabric, knives, guns, bullets, and more.

As the children ran around, Darryl hooked his hands into claws and made monster noises. He chased after them, as they giggled and pretended to be scared. But when he cornered them against the fence, he wrapped them in a big embrace and lifted them both off the ground. He kissed them on the head one at a time and set them down.

Horace smiled. It was one of those perfect little moments, and he’d had so many of them in the last six years. They’d left the old world behind and found a little paradise of their own here in the mountains. Maybe someday the young ones would have to trek back to civilization for supplies or simply to meet other people. As for Horace, he knew he would spend his last days right here, comfortable and well-loved. He took another sip of his tea and watched the children resume capering about the yard. Another beautiful day.

End of Survive the Journey

EMP: Return of the Wild West Book Three

Survive the Fall, December 9th, 2020

Survive the Attack, January 13th, 2021

Survive the Journey, February 10th, 2021

PS: Do you love prepper fiction? Then keep reading for exclusive extracts from Erupting Trouble and Escaping Conflict.

Thank you!

Thank you for purchasing ‘Survive the Journey’

(EMP: Return of the Wild West Book Three)

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About Grace Hamilton

Grace Hamilton is the prepper pen-name for a bad-ass, survivalist momma-bear of four kids, and wife to a wonderful husband. After being stuck in a mountain cabin for six days following a flash flood, she decided she never wanted to feel so powerless or have to send her kids to bed hungry again. Now she lives the prepper lifestyle and knows that if SHTF or TEOTWAWKI happens, she’ll be ready to help protect and provide for her family.

Combine this survivalist mentality with a vivid imagination (as well as a slightly unhealthy day dreaming habit) and you get a prepper fiction author. Grace spends her days thinking about the worst possible survival situations that a person could be thrown into, then throwing her characters into these nightmares while trying to figure out "What SHOULD you do in this situation?"

You will find Grace on:

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BLURB

A father with a heart problem and a son determined to get him home…

Matthew Riley wants to believe that people will come together in times of great struggle, but as panic and chaos set in after a massive EMP event, he has to face the fact that the only people he can trust are his family. His ailing father, David, an Army vet, has the skills the Riley family needs to survive in the dark new world, but with no medication for his heart condition on hand, keeping him alive may be an impossible task as they journey home from what was supposed to be a simple day trip.

She’ll keep her daughter safe and reunite her family…

Kathleen doesn’t share her husband’s optimistic view of humanity. When the power goes out during a visit to her brother in prison, she and her teenage daughter will need to find their way out and start the long journey back to Galena, IL, in the hope they can reunite with the rest of their family.

They’ll defend their home…

With the rest of the Riley family gone, it’s up to Ruth and her grandson, Patton, to keep their newly renovated hotel safe for the family they know is coming their way. But food is running low and some see an elderly woman and a pre-teen boy as easy pickings.

In a broken civilization the only way to survive is strength in numbers. One family is determined to work together in this new world, but will they be able to defend themselves against desperate survivors?

Get your copy of Erupting Trouble

Available April 7th, 2021

(Available for pre-order now.)

www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

* * *

EXCERPT

Chapter One

From his spot in the cashier’s line of Wilson’s Antiques, Matthew Riley smiled at the gorgeous expanse of blue sky that he could see outside the shop’s windows. It was turning out to be a beautiful day, and not just because of the spring Wisconsin weather: he’d junk-hunted through rickety wooden chairs and strange metal plush seats from the ’60s, and had found the perfect set of green velvet chairs. They’d be perfect decor for the hotel's summertime grand opening. Even his daughter, Allison, would think them retro-cool instead of outdated-gross. The ticket to claim and purchase rested in his palm.

“If this line moves any slower, I might keel over,” David grumbled beside him. His father wasn’t wrong—it seemed a lot of people had the same idea of taking advantage of the weather to hunt for trash turned to treasure. They were near the back of the line, and up ahead, the cashier was doing her best to keep the line moving.

“We have nowhere else to be,” Matthew told his father. “You can consider this mission a success. We found everything we came for here.”

“And some things we didn’t expect to find. What is this thing, anyway?” David asked, gesturing to the items in the basket Matthew held.

“It’s an old-timey coffee grinder,” Matthew said.

“Could just buy a new one,” David responded, peering at the squat wooden box with a rotating handle. “Looks like a Jack in the Box. Remember those toys?”

“It’s about the aesthetic. The River Rock Hotel is a mountain resort, and that’s what our guests will expect. We won’t use it, but doesn’t it look cool? People will imagine what it was like, exploring the mountains and finding ways to get their morning joe while watching the sun come over the mountain.”

“Should’ve kept my coffee grinder from when I was a young man. It might not have had the same aesthetic, but at least it worked and looked old. You could’ve used that for free instead of paying twenty bucks for something that cost fifty cents back in the day.”

“Fifty cents might’ve been the same amount as twenty bucks,” Matthew said. The lights above flickered, almost as if someone was playing with the light switch. “It’s called inflation, Dad.”

David snorted a laugh. His blue eyes crinkled in amusement. The lights continued to stutter, casting a dim flickering glow over the customers. Then, with a sudden bright surge like the bulbs had been pushed to their max, the store fell into darkness. Around him, the customers in line groaned.

“Sorry, folks,” the cashier said in a loud voice. “Looks like we lost power, again.”

A collective groan rose louder than the first.

“We’ll just wait for it to kick back on, and then we’d be happy to give you all a 10% discount for your patience and understanding,” the cashier finished. She pushed straggling hair off her forehead and had the look of a rabbit caught in a trap.

“I can’t wait for you to get your store back in order," one woman near the front said. "You should be prepared for this. It’s Madison, for goodness sake. The electricity is always unreliable in the spring.”

“It figures,” a young man said to his friend just in front of Matthew. “These kinds of shops aren’t investing in tech or updating their contingency plans in case something happens. Something like this could send them under. You need to take steps to ensure you aren’t losing your customer base just because the electricity goes out. The winter ice must've done a number on their infrastructure.”

Some of the customers rolled their eyes and pulled out their phones as the grumbling continued, and Matthew sighed, wondering if he should speak up. He understood why everyone was frustrated—the world was a hustle-and-bustle kind of economy, where listless time meant money lost or accomplishments not achieved. Still, the poor cashier looked flushed and stressed, and Matthew tended to have a strong, soothing personality. If everyone just understood that they were in the same boat, things would calm down. Matthew had found, over his years, that people had good hearts that got lost underneath the go-go-go life they all lived. Sometimes it just took a little nudge for everyone to remember that goodness. He opened his mouth.

“Don’t even think about it,” David said under his breath to him. Matthew gave his father an irritated, if fond, look. The two of them were so similar, yet their experiences had shaped them into two very different men.

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Matthew said, but even he could hear the lie in his voice. “While we’re waiting, I’ll check in on Kathleen.” He pulled out his phone and dialed his wife, wanting to keep her abreast of the situation. She'd been on his mind all morning. He knew today would be hard on her.

“She’s inside a prison,” David said to him gently. “I bet neither she nor Allison can answer. Especially during visitation hours.”

Matthew kept the phone to his ear, but he couldn’t hear anything. The phone was eerily silent. He ended the call with a frown. His battery was fully charged. Why wouldn’t the call go through? “It’s not that. The call doesn’t even go anywhere.”

David shrugged, even as he pulled out his much older cell phone. “This old building probably has too much concrete blocking the signal, plus the electricity is out. Maybe a tower’s down. I don’t have signal either.”

“It’s all right. I just wanted to check in with her. It’s tough for her, seeing her brother locked up. I feel bad not being there with her.”

“You can’t be in two places at once. She’ll be all right,” David said. “Plus, the hotel is like having another child. You were needed here.”

Matthew swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, steering the conversation back into familiar territory with a joke. “At least it’s a child we’re raising together.”

“The most time-consuming money-sink of a child I've ever had."

Matthew smirked, knowing his father liked to pretend the hotel hadn't given him some purpose in his retirement years. "You fuss over the place more than I do."

"Never thought I’d be a retiree,” David mused and scratched at his temple. He had the same sandy-blonde hair as Matthew, only his was cut military style and had been for decades. “In all honesty, opening this hotel together will be as good for me as it is for you.”

“It’s been Kathleen’s and my dream for a while now. It’s about time we took the steps to make it happen. I'm glad you and Mom decided to be part of that dream too.” Matthew paused. “I know we told Mom we’d be back early this afternoon to help her and Patton clean up the rooms, but they’ll understand why we might be late.”

David grinned. “Patton’s probably driving Ruth up the wall.”

“Hey, he elected to stay behind and help clean.” Matthew held his hands up, palms out. “Sometimes I don’t understand that child of mine. I wouldn’t be caught dead having to clean, especially on a nice day like this.”

"Oh yeah, as opposed to shopping, which has always been something boys enjoy."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny."

Up ahead, the cashier held her hands around her mouth. “Hi there, valuable customers! Since the power doesn’t seem like it’s coming back on right away, we are going to ring out customers with cash purchases only. If you have a cash purchase, please form a new line to the right.”

“Are you serious?” the woman near the front yelled. She walked out of line and around the numerous displays, leaving her pile of things in the middle of the store. “You’ve just lost my business.”

“I’m with that lady,” another man seconded, and abandoned his items.

"I'd be more than happy to put your purchases on hold until tomorrow," the cashier said, her face crumbled with distress.

"You think I'd ever come back to a mismanaged establishment like this?" The bell above the door jingled as the woman stormed out.

“That’s uncalled for,” David said, his gruff voice low. “No need to be rude.”

“They’re just frustrated.” Matthew released a sigh and looked down to his basket. “I don’t have much cash on me. Not enough to get the chairs, that’s for sure.”

David bit his lip as most of the customers left their items strewn about the store or dumped on displays. “Maybe we should come back when things aren’t so hostile.”

“Yeah, this poor lady has enough to deal with. Let’s go put our things back. The furniture hasn’t been pulled yet.” Matthew ran a hand through his short, wavy hair, and placed the coffee grinder back on the shelf.

He turned a watchful eye on his father, who was placing a few art deco hinges and doorknobs back, and searched for any signs of distress. It had been a couple of hours, after all.

“This whole thing has been a bust,” he said to David. “Feel like heading home? We can try again another day.” He shouldn’t push his father to keep going and explore the other antique shops in Madison.

“You read my mind.” David rubbed his gnarled hands together as if to warm them. His eyes skittered around the shop, always taking in his surroundings. Old habits died hard. Matthew nodded, and together they walked out into the bright sunny day.

The warmth hit Matthew’s face, dispelling his worry over his wife and daughter. It was hard to be upset on a day like today. Together, David and Matthew headed to Matthew’s silver truck—a couple years old, but still up to date. They hopped in the truck’s cab, and Matthew clipped his seatbelt before reaching to start the car by hitting the button.

Usually, a green light flashed at him when the car started up and his phone connected to the Bluetooth. Now, the light flashed yellow. With a frown, he pulled out the key fob from his pocket and held the angular piece to the button. The button flashed green, indicating the key was near, but when Matthew tried to turn the car on, nothing happened. “C’mon,” Matthew said, pressing the button again. “You have to be kidding me.”

“I’ll go check it out.” David laughed, opening the truck door to get out.

“There’s no way,” Matthew said, holding the fob closer to the button, only now, no colored light flashed to even indicate the key was present. He didn’t hear any clicking or whirring indicating that the system knew he was in the car. He followed his father out of the cab and popped the hood.

David lifted the hood up and hooked it open. Matthew bit back the admonishment to be careful. Ever since his heart attack, his father had been sensitive to Matthew’s hovering. David poked at the looping wires bundled along the engine, checked a few things that Matthew had no idea what they did—a master’s in business did not a mechanic make.

“What’s it look like?” Matthew asked.

“I can’t see anything wrong,” David said slowly. “Probably left an interior light on that drained the battery. Happens to the best of us. You’re low on washer fluid.”

“What should we do?” Matthew looked around and saw that despite the exodus of people from the shop, a lot of cars still filled the parking lot. “Call a tow?”

“If you have signal. Honestly, we should go back inside and see if anyone can give us a jump.”

“Good idea.” Matthew smiled at his father. “I’m sure someone will help us out.”

David patted Matthew on the back, and together they turned to head back inside Wilson’s Antiques.

Get your copy of Erupting Trouble

Available April 7th, 2021

(Available for pre-order now.)

www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

BLURB

They must adapt in order to survive when the lights go out.

After leaving college, Elna Pasqualee is determined to bring her family’s California vineyard into the twenty-first century. She hopes her diligent efforts will finally earn her father’s respect and keep visitors safe and comfortable.

But all her hopes for the future are dashed with the EMP attack.

Broadcasts offer only a brief warning before missile strikes wipe out all power and communications across North America. The idyllic setting on the private island quickly sours as food and water to sustain the Pasqualees and their guests grow scarce and life becomes a fight for survival. A fight further complicated when they are cut off from the mainland – and an unexpected assailant threatens their lives.

Someone is stalking one of the guests, hiding out on the island and sabotaging Elna’s desperate efforts to sustain their source of fresh water. When her father goes missing and another guest is gravely injured, remaining on the island isn’t an option.

But even if they reach the mainland, there are no longer guarantees of safety in a world where science and reason have descended into post-apocalyptic anarchy.

And survival of the fittest reigns supreme.

Grab your copy of Escaping Conflict (Island Refuge EMP Book One) from
www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

* * *

EXCERPT

Chapter One

Elna loved walking the orderly rows of their vineyard, where the trellis posts and tops of the wires seemed to stand at attention as she passed, like soldiers at inspection. There was a beautiful simplicity in it, though she knew there was a complex and exacting science behind the design—which made her love it all the more.

It was, in her opinion, the perfect time of day, with the sun burnishing the distant waves and casting long shadows over the island. It made the tasting room—a faux-rustic building, all aged oak and sturdy beams—seem almost to glow. The vineyard was on a slight slope, and as she worked the rows with her pruning shears, constantly kneeling, squatting, and standing, she felt the growing stiffness in her shoulders and legs.

As she often did when she worked alone, she had her earbuds in and was currently listening—well, half-listening—to a rather dull NPR interview on her phone. She preferred talk to music. It gave the restless part of her mind—the part that needed to think, consider, solve—something to focus on when she was doing repetitive tasks.

She had just rounded a bend and turned into the last row of vines when the interview abruptly cut off. After a moment of silence, there was a harsh squawk, and then a different voice cut in. Elna reached up to remove the earbuds, but just as her finger touched the wire, the new speaker’s words caught her attention.

“Breaking news. NORAD has issued a high priority warning confirming that missiles have been launched from multiple locations in the Korean peninsula, some of which are thought to be EMP missiles. According to the warning, EMP missiles work by detonating in the atmosphere. The intent is to disable electronics. The missiles were launched five minutes ago. Interceptor missiles have been launched in an attempt to minimize the attack, but this is”—the speaker’s voice cracked—”this is a massive attack involving dozens of missiles that could…potentially impact the whole of North America.”

Elna rose, the pruning shears slipping from her grasp. Was this some sort of War of the Worlds hoax? It had to be. How was such a strike even possible? Wouldn’t they have known about the threat long before the missiles were launched?

“It can’t be,” she muttered. But some deeper, more analytical part of her mind responded: Of course, it can.

“Anyone listening to this broadcast is advised to seek shelter immediately,” the voice continued. “We will provide more information as it becomes available. Again, we have confirmed an EMP missile strike targeting the U.S. from multiple positions in the Korean peninsula. If you are hearing this broadcast, take shelter immediately.”

Elna looked to the west. She had a clear view down a gradual slope toward the water’s edge. If the U.S. military was launching a counter-strike, would she see something? It was unlikely, but she scanned the cloudless sky for a few seconds anyway until the bright sun forced her to turn away. The voice in her ears was repeating the same message, so she pulled the earbuds out and tucked them into her shirt pocket.

What’s the speed of an intercontinental EMP missile anyway? she wondered, heart racing. How much time do we have?

Questions she intended to address, but first her father needed to know what was happening. Faintly, she heard voices coming from inside the building—a burst of laughter followed by the deep voice of her father. Elna hurried up the slope toward the back door. As she did, she put one of the earbuds back in. A different voice was sharing the same information, as if the first speaker had been overcome with emotion and had to step away.

As she passed beneath the awning at the back of the building and reached for the polished brass door handle, the endless voice in her ear offered a new vital bit of information.

“Estimated flight time for the first missiles is just over thirty minutes,” the speaker said. “Homeland Security is telling people to prepare for prolonged power outages and interruption of services.”

Elna repeated the information as she stepped inside the tasting room. “Estimated flight time,” she said, thinking out loud, “just over thirty minutes. But the news is probably a few minutes behind, and five minutes had already passed. How much time does that leave us?”

Her self-talk drew the attention of everyone in the room. The tasting room was a large open space dominated by an L-shaped bar of polished oak. A few decorative barrels were scattered about, but otherwise, the room was largely unadorned. At the moment, her father was behind the bar, frozen in mid-pour, with three guests sitting on stools before their wine glasses. George Pasqualee was wiry like his daughter, but he had a protruding gut—the consequence of a fondness for enjoying the family product. His face was craggy, had a perpetual reddish tinge, and he maintained a generous, well-groomed mustache. If not for the rather harsh glint in his eye, he would have seemed like a folksy fellow. At the moment, however, he was clearly annoyed at being interrupted by his daughter.

“Pardon us,” he said.

“Pop, turn on the news right now,” Elna said, trying to ignore Selene Bondere’s gaze. Elna had met each of the current guests already, and if there was one she’d taken a disliking to, it was Selene. “This is bad. Really bad.” She pointed at a small TV hanging in the corner behind the bar. “You have to hear it for yourselves.”

Selene glared at her like Elna’s inadvertent intrusion on her father’s wine tasting ritual was an attack. In her loose floral-print dress, her brand-new Birkenstocks, Selene was the quintessential New Age faux-hippie, a wannabe flower child who worked as a fortune teller. At least, that was Elna’s read of her. Her age was impossible to gauge. The combination of big cheeks with a lined forehead made her seem both childlike and weathered with age. She had big brown eyes, but crow’s feet sprang from the outer corners.

As always, the woman had her tiny white Bichon Frise dog tucked in the crook of her right arm. Selene’s profession alone went against everything Elna believed in, but under the “peace and love” vibe, there was a deep anxiety or unhappiness that showed in the tightness of her facial features.

“Right now?” her father said. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle—?”

“Yes, right now,” Elna said. “It doesn’t matter what you’re in the middle of doing. Everyone needs to hear this.”

Something in her voice must have gotten to him, because his annoyance melted into a gape-mouthed look of alarm. As he turned toward the television, Malin, another one of the guests, pulled his phone out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket and held it up.

“My God,” he said. “Look at this! We’re dead meat.”

Malin Weber was the kind of guy who wore colorful t-shirts and cargo shorts with a suit jacket—a gold-ring-with-white-sneakers type. He turned in his seat and showed his phone to the man sitting next to him, his best man. Both of them were stuck on the island after oversleeping and missing their flight home, refugees from Malin’s bachelor party the day before.

“Garret, are you reading this?” he said.

Garret was a stockier fellow in a lime-green polo shirt. “Missiles from Korea?” Garret said, as if he’d never heard the words before. “Impacting all of North America? No way. Dude, it can’t be real.”

By then, her father had found a national news network, which was in the middle of broadcasting a CGI depiction of the missiles being launched from North Korea and crossing the Pacific. Dozens of missiles.

This is really happening, Elna told herself, waiting for the reality of it to sink in. This is happening right now!

“Pop, we have to round up the other guests,” she said.

As always, her first instinct was deal with the problem. Even if it hadn’t sunk in yet, her analytical mind was already looking for solutions. Her father read the captions on the muted television a moment longer before turning to his daughter and nodding.

“The other three are outside,” she told him. “They were strolling around the vineyard while I was pruning.”

“I’ll go and get them,” he said, stepping out from behind the bar. His voice was shaking. George Pasqualee’s voice never shook. “Everyone, please stay here.”

He rushed out of the room, smoothing his thinning hair back as he went. Immediately, all three guests turned and looked at Elna.

Waiting for someone to tell them what to do, she realized. It was a bit more responsibility than she was comfortable with.

“Okay, uh…let’s wait until the others get back,” she said, moving across the room to stand at the end of the bar. “It won’t take more than a few minutes. Then we can decide what to do.”

Selene shook her head, loosening the sisal flower scrunchie holding her long brown hair. She held her dog a little tighter. The Bichon Frise gave a bark of disapproval. “Are we not going to consider the possibility that this is some kind of prank? When someone gets on TV and says that all of North America is about to be nuked, are we just supposed to accept it? Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

“It’s not one person,” Malin said, flipping through screens on his phone. “It’s every single news source on the web, plus a message from the Emergency Alert System.” He turned the phone to show her the screen, but she didn’t look at it. “It’s real.”

“But we’re on an island,” Selene said. “Surely it won’t reach us.”

“We’re ten miles off the California coast,” Malin said. “They’re saying the EMP blast could reach all the way up to Northern Canada and as far south as Mexico City. I don’t think ten miles of water is going to protect us.”

“EMPs are bad news,” Garret said. He picked up a half-filled glass of red wine and downed it in a single gulp. “I’ve read a thing or two about them. How did this happen without us knowing in advance? What has the CIA been doing? Twiddling their greasy thumbs?”

“I don’t know,” Malin replied, “but I’ve gotta get back to the mainland. I need to be with Claire.”

He stood up, as if he intended to leave right then and there.

“Just wait,” Elna said. “Don’t go anywhere. Let’s get everyone together first, okay?”

He glanced at her, frowned, then sat down again, defeated. “Thirty minutes would get me across the causeway to the mainland, but then what? I’ll never get on a plane in time. Oh, man, this is bad.” Following his best man’s example, he downed his glass of wine.

A few quiet minutes passed before she heard the door in the lobby open and close, voices moving down the hall toward the tasting room. Soon, her father came into the room, leading three chattering guests.

They had just turned toward the bar when the lights flickered rapidly—as if someone were turning them on and off repeatedly. After a couple seconds, they went out completely. Then the refrigerator behind the bar gave a soft sigh and went silent, and a flash of yellow shone through the east-facing windows. Outside the windows, Elna saw a shower of sparks raining down from the power lines that fed into the guesthouse.

In the silence that followed, the late afternoon sun seemed to burn with a peculiar strength, casting the room in a fiery orange light. The silence was broken when Selene suddenly screamed and pushed away from the bar, stumbling backward with her dog wrapped in both arms.

“No, it hasn’t been thirty minutes,” she said. “They said thirty minutes. It can’t happen yet! It can’t be real!”

This set her dog off, who began to bark like he was being killed. The frantic barking was ear-piercing in the small room, and Elna had to fight an urge to cover her ears.

“Please, someone shut that dog up,” Garret snarled. “It’s hard to think with all that yapping.”

“He can’t help it,” Selene said. “He’s afraid!”

“We’re all afraid,” Garret snapped, “but we’re not screaming at the top of our lungs for no reason.”

As Selene petted the dog in an attempt to get him to calm down, Elna reached under the bar and picked up the landline phone that was stored on a shelf there. She lifted the receiver to her ear but got no dial tone. She turned on the nearby FM radio, but it didn’t work either. No static, no response, the little red light didn’t even come on.

“I’m telling you, that dog is driving me nuts,” Garret said.

Malin placed a hand on his best man’s arm, but Garret shook it off. Elna’s father pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and stared at the blank screen, as if he were unaware of the tension. Clearly, he still intended Elna to take charge of the room. With a sigh, she stepped up on a small footstool behind the bar so all of the guests could see her. She wasn’t sure what to say, and her heart was pounding so fiercely that she’d become light-headed.

Pop, say something. Do something. Put away the stupid phone and get a handle on this situation.

“Um…okay, everyone,” she said, but her voice cracked. “Let’s not panic.”

The barking of the Bichon Frise had finally stopped, but only because Selene had covered her dog’s mouth with her hand. Elna heard muttering, whimpering, and cursing all over the room. Only Malin was dead silent now, clenching and unclenching his fists on the bar top.

“We need to come up with a plan,” Elna said. A task which would have been a lot easier if there hadn’t been so many chattering people in the room. She could scarcely think.

Her father tossed his cell phone onto the bar. “It’s dead,” he said. “Can’t call out. Can’t even get the screen to light up.”

She was about to ask him what they should do when he signaled for her to continue.

“We need a plan,” she said again, all too aware that every eye was on her.

“Can we get off the island?” Malin asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Elna said. “The drawbridges are designed so that if the power goes out, counterweights cause them to automatically rise. It’s so boats can pass.”

Malin clapped a hand to his own forehead. “So we’re stuck here for how long?”

“Until power is restored,” Elna said.

At this, the room went dead silent. Even the dog had finally stopped making noise, as Selene paced back and forth in front of the west-facing windows, drawing her long shadow across the room. Afternoon was giving way to evening all too quickly, the orange light taking on a slight purplish hue.

“We need a—” Elna almost said it a third time but caught herself.

“It’s no use,” Garret said, interrupting her. “It’ll be night soon. We can’t do anything but light candles. If the power’s not restored by tomorrow morning—and it won’t be—then we can take inventory of what you’ve got on the island.”

“We have a powered water pump system,” Elna said, “with a backup generator. We’ve got canned food.”

“How much?” Garret asked.

Elna pictured the food pantry in her mind. How much would it last the handful of people on the island? “Maybe a week’s worth,” she said. “Plus, we have a stocked freezer and a small garden. We’re not a big operation here, as you all know, but we’re not without means.”

“And we have plenty of wine,” her father added.

Selene groaned loudly. “So we just have to stay put for the night with no idea what’s happened in the rest of the country? With no electricity? No phones?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Elna replied, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. She almost succeeded. All of this would have been so much easier without the guests. She dreaded having to deal with them if the problem persisted. She wasn’t good around people. “I’m afraid so. I think Garret’s right. In the morning, we can figure out what to do.”

“We get off this island is what we do,” Malin said. “We swim, we float on a log, we do whatever we have to do, but we get off this island. That’s it. I have a fiancée to return to. She’s all the way in Las Vegas, and she’s waiting for me.” To punctuate his point, he smacked the bar with his hand loudly enough to make Elna flinch.

Dabbing a sheen of sweat off her upper lip, she gazed through the west windows. The sun was dropping too fast. Night was in a hurry to arrive, ready to cast them into its hopeless dark. She shuddered at the thought.

Reassure the guests, dummy, she scolded herself. That’s your job.

“It’s okay, folks,” she said. “We have comfortable accommodations for you tonight. We’ll figure this all out in the morning.”

Her father had an uneasy smile plastered on his face, but he nodded at her and gave her a thumbs-up. Clearly, he wanted to reassure her that she’d handled it well, but she didn’t feel reassured. Not at all.

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