Page 32 of Love Me Fearless

The downhill side of the road falls away, gradual at first, to a slope of granite boulders and stubby pine trees and alders. A few white patches of snow remain from last night in the shaded areas, which keeps tricking my eyes. Since we mustered at the weigh station, low clouds have moved in from the west, likely bringing rain, which won’t help the search.

“Do we know what Marin’s wearing?” I ask.

“Her blue coat was missing from the house.”

Hopefully she wasn’t dressed like Beth last night. From the radio in my pocket comes a burst of chatter, but it’s just the team leaders checking in. I turn the dial to a low murmur.

“I saw her outside the bagel shop at like seven yesterday morning,” Troy says. “She was wearing her usual. Jeans and a hoody.”

“Did you talk to her?”

He shakes his head.

I trace a set of deer tracks into the grass where they disappear over the edge. “Where was she headed?”

“She’s taking classes at Bitterroot.”

“Has anyone seen her since then?” We continue walking, both of us keeping our eyes on the roadside.

“Nobody’s come forward,” he says.

“Did she show up at her classes?”

“No.”

Shit. Not good. “Any reason she would take off?”

“Not that I can think of.”

We continue in silence to where the road curves sharply to the right. A light drizzle starts falling, adding a layer of earthy scent to the air. I pull on my rain jacket but leave the hood down so I can hear better. We’ve covered maybe a mile, enough that I no longer hear Captain Greely or the sparse traffic on the main road. That I don’t hear birds or thetskfrom a squirrel starts to tug on my subconscious.

At the first bend in the road is a giant rock outcropping and pullout. Broken glass from beer bottles litters the ground. There’s enough space for two cars to pull off the road but it’s empty. Still no footprints, but it’s rocky, and I’m no tracker.

I skirt the tire tracks and scramble up the wet rock outcropping to the flat area on top edged by two sturdy pine trees on its left side. Troy follows, slipping a little, huffing. Up here, thanks to decades of use, the flat slab is bare of lichen and the cracks where grass could sprout are also bare. Below us, the outcropping falls away to a jumbled, rocky slope broken by clusters of thick pine. The rain has darkened the tops of the granite boulders, adding more texture to the jumbled landscape. I’m about to start a slow scan when a flash of color below us, just outside of one of the shadows, catches my eye.

“Oh shit,” Troy says in a rush. “Marin!”

I can’t be sure at this distance, but it looks like a sweep of dark brown hair across the rocks and a bare arm. Her being exposed to the elements like this sends alarm bells clanging in the back of my mind.

“Marin!” Troy yells again. “We have to get down there,” he says to me, his eyes pained.

I slip off my pack and hand him the radio. “Call it in.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get down there.”

“How?”

I flake out my static line into two equal piles then wrap half of it around the base of both trees. With a quick toss, both ends of the rope are draped over the rock outcropping. After the initial drop, the slope lessens but I’ll need to stay on the rope as I navigate the boulder field.

Troy’s eyes widen. “Is that safe?”

I sling my backpack on and clip the waist belt. After snugging everything tight, I wrap the rope between my legs and over my shoulder. “Call it in,” I repeat.

“Right,” he says as I lean back over the lip and start my rappel.

Bits of rock and grit stirred up by my boots drops away, bouncing over the granite blocks below me. Moving swiftly, I descend to the boulders, then use the tension in the rope like a handrail to make big steps over the jagged rocks.

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