Page 130 of Swept for Forever
“Still alive, aren’t I?”
I muttered something unrepeatable and kept going. My boots slipped on a gravel patch, and my shoulder slammed into the rock wall.
“Shit!” Pain flared through me.
A hand shot out. Noah, braced a few feet above, yanked my line with enough force to stop the slide.
“Got you,” he said, his voice taut.
I found my footing again, my heart racing. Thank God Autumn hadn’t landed here. She must’ve kicked her pack off just in time. If it had dragged her further, I’d have found a body.
We reached the bottom at the same time, our breath fogging from the effort. We unhooked and scanned the area.
The debris field ahead was scattered but dense, with fallen trunks splintered at odd angles, branches tangled, and bark stripped in places by wind or water. It was not a solid wall, but it was enough to slow you down, to hide something if you weren’t looking right.
“It’s here somewhere,” I said. “If the tree that caught her pack is still down here, we’ll find it. We have to.”
Noah gave a tight nod and veered left while I moved right, my eyes sweeping the debris field.
We kept calling out. “You see anything?” I shouted over a thicket.
“Nope,” came Noah’s voice. “But this place is a damn maze. You think the pack could’ve slid deeper?”
“Maybe. Keep going.”
Minutes passed. I checked under splintered trunks, around brush piles, and beneath limbs that could’ve caught a strap. But nothing.
Then,snap.
It was not from me and not from Noah either. It came from too high, too far. My head lifted, my spine going stiff. The ridge overhead was choked with shadow.
I reached for my Glock, my eyes sweeping the tree line above. Noah caught the shift instantly. Without a word, he angled his rifle toward my line of sight. His feet padded carefully, tracing the ridge in a wide arc as he scanned through his rifle’s scope.
We met again beneath the crook of a leaning tree, our backs against the bark.
“Who’s there?” he whispered.
The trees didn’t move. No sound came back. No movement, no bird flight.
“Don’t know, man,” I murmured. “The sound came from the west, I think.”
“Toward the trailhead?”
“Maybe it was someone trying to catch up. Or an animal.”
Noah didn’t argue, but he kept the rifle raised.
“Let’s keep moving,” I said.
Light was draining out of the sky, fast.
35
AUTUMN
The kitchen at The Lazy Moose smelled of rosemary, garlic, and comfort you couldn’t bottle. Elia moved with the ease of a man who cooked not for credit but for the people he loved.
Claire, Maya, and I were gathered around the long, wooden dining table, each of us with a glass of something Maya called “huckleberry fizz,” a homemade mix of soda water, foraged berries, and a dash of Vodka. Baby Atlas slept soundly in a sling against Maya’s chest, his tiny fists curled.
