Page 63 of Searching Blind

Zelda led the way, her nose to the ground. Sawyer kept his hand on her harness, the two of them moving as one. Lucy followed, watching as he navigated the uneven terrain with confidence. He trusted Zelda implicitly, and it was heartwarming to see their bond in action.

Despite their slow pace, they managed to cover a significant distance before the need for a break became apparent. Both she and Sawyer were gasping by the time they found a decent spot—an ancient redwood as wide as a large truck, its hollowed-out trunk offering a sheltered place to rest that wasn’t readily apparent to anyone who might wander by. They crawled inside, the cool dampness of the mossy floor seeping into their clothes.

Sawyer rested his back against the tree, eyes closed, face pinched with pain, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Zelda lay down beside him, resting her head on his thigh. His hand absently stroked her fur.

“I’ll check the phones,” she said, breaking the silence. Hopefully, by some miracle, they’d be dried out and working again.

She took the waterlogged phones from her bag, her heart a heavy stone in her chest. She turned on her phone first. Nothing. Dead.

Her heart sank further.

She lifted Sawyer’s phone, flicking the power button with a trembling finger. Nothing.

She tried the other phones and got more dead screens. Bea’s phone flickered on, but there was no signal.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, regret and helplessness washing through her as she stuffed the phones back into her bag and sank down beside Sawyer.

His hand sought hers, his fingers warm and reassuring against her cold skin. “We knew it was a long shot.”

“Without the phones, there’s no sense in us continuing. We should go back to the fire lookout. We’ll be safer there.”

Sawyer was silent for a heartbeat. “Except there’s a killer back there.”

She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. “So ‘safer’ wasn’t the best choice of words. But someone in the forest service will eventually remember that Ethan is stationed there and send a rescue team for him. We need to be there when they do. Without the phones, it’s our only option now.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his fingers still idly tracing circles on the back of her hand. She watched as he mulled over her words, his eyes staring blankly ahead as his forehead creased with worry. She could practically see the gears in his head turning.

“Okay,” he finally conceded, voice barely a whisper in the enclosing darkness. His grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly. “Okay. We go back.”

Lucy felt an unexpected wave of relief at his agreement. But that relief was short-lived as reality crashed in. Going back meant potentially crossing paths with the shooter. And if they somehow miraculously survived to make it back, there was still the problem of Maya’s killer—if it wasn’t the same person.

“We’ll rest here for tonight,” she decided. “We need to regain our strength before we can attempt the trek back. We’ve pushed ourselves enough.”

She was careful to keep using “we” rather than “you.” The last thing she wanted to do was tap into that stubborn streak of his. He needed to rest. The fact that he was too exhausted to argue or crack a joke told her just how close to his limit he really was.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sawyer murmured, voice raspy with fatigue. Zelda let out a soft whine and nuzzled her head into Sawyer’s lap. He responded by laying down and wrapping an arm around the dog’s body, pulling her closer against his side.

The quietness of the forest felt thick and heavy, pressing in on them from all sides. Lucy listened to the rhythm of their breathing as it filled the silence—Sawyer’s shallow gasps gradually slowing to match the steady rise and fall of Zelda’s flank.

Eventually, exhaustion tugged Lucy down into a fitful sleep. Even in her dreams, the image of the shooter loomed over her like a specter—faceless, nameless, but very real.

She burst awake from the nightmares before dawn and automatically rolled over to check on Sawyer.

He wasn’t beside her anymore.

Her heart lurched in her chest, a frantic wave of fear washing over her. She shot up, glancing around the hollowed-out trunk. It was empty. Zelda, too, was missing.

“Sawyer?” she whispered.

There was no response.

The pit of dread in her stomach deepened. She scrambled to her feet, wincing at the sharp, shooting pain that traveled up from the wound on her back.

“Sawyer!”

Louder this time, but there was no response but the rustling of foliage in the early morning breeze.

A sob stuck in her throat as she frantically scanned their surroundings, but there was no sign of either Sawyer or Zelda. The early morning fog was thick and soupy, making it nearly impossible to see anything beyond a few feet ahead.

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