Sabotaged. Still, those last words between him and his father dug in, an old ache.
They lifted off in a swirl of snow, the ground falling away. Up here, perspective shifted. The familiar landmarks of his childhood rearranged themselves into something both strange and beautiful. The glacier’s ancient face caught the weakening sunlight while shadows pooled in valleys, the snow untouched.
His father had loved this view. Had taught Jericho to read thelandscape like a story, to see how each piece fit into the larger whole. The way wind sculptured snowdrifts. How avalanche paths carved scars through the timber. The delicate balance of wilderness and civilization.
They flew north, following the highway, then east, toward the mountain range and the lakes now blanketed with snow.
“There.” Harley pointed, her voice crackling through the headset. “Winter’s plane.”
The Cessna 172 sat on the lake ice, its blue-and-white paint bright against the snow. No visible damage, no signs of impact. Just a perfect landing on an imperfect surface.
Dodge brought them down near the shore, fighting the crosswind. “The ceiling is falling. I need to bug out.”
“We can bunk in the hunting cabin,” Jericho said, grabbing the walkie.
Harley and Jericho piled out into knee-deep snow, Orlando bounding to shore ahead of them.
The helicopter’s downdraft pelleted ice crystals into Jericho’s face as Dodge lifted off again, the sound echoing off the surrounding cliffs like thunder.
When the noise faded, the silence fell, thick. The kind of quiet that swallowed men whole.
Orlando’s harness jingled as Jericho knelt beside him on shore. The dog’s dark eyes were alert, focused.
“Ready, buddy?” He looked up and his gaze fell on Harley. The way she scanned the tree line, her breath frosting in the air. The familiar determination in her stance.
Some things would never change.
He straightened, adjusting his pack. “Let’s find them.”
Above them, the clouds gathered, not quite boiling over, but soon. They needed to find Winter and the others and get out of here. Soon. Because the wilderness didn’t forgive mistakes.
The wind knifed across the lake, sharp enough to steal breath.Snowflakes swirled in the air, catching what little light filtered through the heavy clouds. Jericho crouched next to Orlando, the Bernedoodle’s black-and-brown coat already collecting snow. “Find.”
The dog bounded off, circling, searching.
“I need the ball.”
Harley dug the red rubber toy from her pocket.
“When he finds them,” he went on, “he’ll come back for this. Lead us to them.”
She handed over the ball without comment. The rubber was warm from her pocket, a small spot of heat in the gathering cold.
They started up the shoreline, following Orlando’s jingling bear bell through drifts that came to their knees. The snow crust almost held their weight, then betrayed them with each step, the kind of conditions that could drain even experienced hikers. Their boots punched through with sounds like breaking glass.
“There.” Harley pointed at a set of tracks, already half-filled with fresh powder. “Multiple people. Recent.”
“The cabin.” Jericho pulled his scarf higher against the wind that seemed determined to freeze his lungs. “How far?”
“Should be just over that rise.” Harley’s breath created a small cloud in the frigid air. “About a hundred yards from shore. Dad picked the spot because—”
A branch cracked somewhere in the dense spruce forest. The sound echoed off the cliffs like a gunshot, startling a bird into flight, its harsh call cutting through the stillness.
Then from the forest, a yelp lifted, high and frightened. Orlando came crashing back through the underbrush, all forty-five pounds of him barreling toward them, his tail tucked.
“Hey, hey.” Jericho caught him, ran his hands over the trembling dog. No injuries, just spooked. Snow fell from Orlando’s curly coat as he shivered. “It’s okay, boy. You’re okay.”
He pulled out the ball to let him play, tossed it, but Orlando sat, trembling.