“Let’s tighten our grid,” I say. “Even work into the woods.”
“What’s that?” CJ squats down, his light catching a flash of color.
I rush over the uneven cobbles toward it, CJ at my side, both of our flashlight beams bobbing in time with our hurried steps.
When I crouch down, my hip screams and a cramp shoots intomy groin. I grimace, but the pain has claws. Fuck! I don’t have time for this right now.
CJ snatches the object, but it’s tied to a low-hanging hemlock bough, and rainwater cascades over us.
“What the hell is that?” I shout, lowering my left knee to the cobbles so I can breathe some relief into the joint space.
“I don’t know.” CJ turns over the colorful woven object. “We made these in Sunday School. Only ours were made with popsicle sticks.”
A memory fires—Keo saw one of these too, on one of her long hikes. The one that inspired those two paintings.
CJ flips the object back. “They’re supposed to symbolize protection, I think.”
I huddle in closer. “What’s it doing out here?”
CJ shines his flashlight beam slowly at the gently rising bank and the understory of the forest beyond it while my mind whirs.
Protection.
Sunday School.
Why would these two very similar objects be hanging from tree branches located at a creek’s edge in two completely different and very remote areas?
“Wait a sec.” CJ snatches his phone from his pocket. “That day we went to Sons of Eden. When you were inside the houses, I took some pictures. Some video too.” He scrolls quickly through his photos, raindrops splattering on his screen. “I think I saw one of these.”
He plays a video, which sweeps from the main road and farmhouse to the left, taking in the barn, the snowy pasture and black dairy cows, then the woods. He pauses the video and zooms in. “There.”
Though my vision is shit, there’s a blob of color tucked into the sea of green forest.
I close my eyes because too much information is bouncingaround and I need to focus. Something that’s been bothering me about Colton’s escape. It started with Luke’s comment about him covering nearly forty miles. He couldn’t have wandered aimlessly and survived. So how did he know where to go?
I tried once before, but I lost the path, and they found me.
Could Colton have meant that literally?
“I think it’s some kind of trail marker,” I say. “Like a waypoint.” During the underground railroad, safe houses were marked by certain types of quilts that were hung in windows or on clotheslines. “I think the kids who have made it out of Sons of Eden follow them to safety.”
I stand, my thoughts running too fast to explain. I should have never let Linnea come out here alone.
CJ stares up at me. “You think they were patrolling, and they ran into her?”
I sweep my light again, panic filling my chest. “It’s possible.”
“But then what?” He jumps to his feet. “It’s not like she’s out here to hassle anyone.”
“What if they suspected she’s helping kids escape? Or what if they thought she’s a cop?” Our IDFW jackets are identical, tan with the dark green patch on the shoulder, plus Linn most likely wore her army surplus wool pants today due to this weather. She could have easily passed for someone in law enforcement.
CJ’s nostrils flare and his look turns pleading. “Do you think they’d…”
“We don’t know that’s what happened,” I interrupt. “Let’s keep searching. We’ll tighten our grid. Head into the woods from here. If we still don’t find anyth?—"
“Where’s Bruneau?” he asks.
I whistle, sweeping my light until his silky brown coat flashes into view.