Page 32 of One Last Chance

Please let it not be that Axel had drowned.

She picked up her radio again. “Axel, are you there? Axel?”

Nothing, and she set the mic down and got up, running her hands behind her shoulders, kneading them, then moving to her neck.

She stepped outside for a breath of air despite the nip, knowing she should go to bed. But how, exactly, was she supposed to sleep with him out there, maybe—hopefully—fighting for his life?

But in all likelihood, the ham radio had gone down with the ship. So even if he was alive . . .

He was alone.

She picked up the radio again. “Peyton, come in.” Nothing. “This is Flynn. For the love, come. In!”

Nothing.Shoot.

The sun had set—or the closest it came to that in Alaska at the height of June. Really, it simply hung just below the horizon, turning the sky to blood red, dotted with deep magenta clouds, scarred by the jagged thrust of the faraway Alaska Range. The rays glistened on the river, turning the water into a molten lava flow. In the east, the moon also hung, pale and ghostly, muted by the light of the sun.

It felt like twilight, shadows climbing out of the forest. The makings of a horror movie. How had she ever thought this might be a good idea?

Except, if shehadn’tbeen here, then Axel would have been completely lost. Now . . .

Now what?

If he’d made it into the sea, and if it hadn’t already gobbled him, maybe . . . Well, he had said he was the top of his class.

C’mon, Axel. Don’t die on me.

She went inside. Picked up the mic, tried to call him again.

Nothing.

Then she picked up the bear gun and went outside. Peyton had said she would only be a couple miles away. Maybe . . .

She pointed at the sky and pulled the trigger.Aw,the stupid gun made a silly pop. And with the river . . . but she shot again. And a third time, just in case someone thought it might have been a mistake.

Then she stood in the yard, listening to their conversation about hope.

“You don’t believe that?”

“I think I used to. Or maybe a missing part of me does.”

Maybe she needed to channel the part of her that was Kennedy.

Or, rather, Sparrow.

She went back inside, paced. Okay, maybe she could walk out. Or . . . follow the trail of the four-wheeler to Peyton’s camp?—

“Hello? CQ, CQ?—”

What—She swept up the mic. “Axel! Is that you?”

“Just hanging out in the tub.”

She closed her eyes, holding the mic to her chest. Breathed. Then, “Where have you been?”

Crackling, then, “Fighting the high seas, Sparrow. Good call on the life raft.”

She sank into the chair, fighting the crazy urge to weep. She barely knew this guy, and yet . . .

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