In an Instant(28)

“We had a lighter, a sunglasses case, and the novel Pride and Prejudice,” he says, still with no mention of Mo. “Thank goodness Jane Austen was so long winded.”

Small chuckles from the audience.

“Very ingenious,” the woman says. “You’re a real Indiana Jones.”

“Not really,” Uncle Bob says with a blush. “When you’re in a desperate situation, you figure things out. You have to.”

Behind Uncle Bob, Burns frowns, but remarkably it is Natalie who steps forward and says, “Dad, we should go. I’m tired.”

Uncle Bob snaps back to reality, and a shadow of shame crosses his face. “Of course, baby,” he says, his eyes not quite meeting hers as he wraps his arm around her shoulder and gives her a supportive kiss on the side of her head. Then he readjusts his crutch and finally does something right. Turning to the cameras, he says, “Three kids are still out there. The search resumes tomorrow. Please send your prayers and any support you can to find them.”

With Natalie beside him, he hobbles away. Looks of admiration follow from everyone there, except for Burns, whose eyes reveal nothing but whose mouth is drawn tight, the corners pulled down in a look of suspicion and distrust.





28

I spend the night with Chloe. I checked on Oz, but I could not stay, his cries for my dad too much to bear. He is still on the rock where he stopped to rest with Bingo, though Bingo is gone, fading paw prints traveling back toward the camper.

Chloe huddles in the crook of the hollow tree, her hooded head buried against her knees. She makes no noise at all. I feel her cold, her pain, and her misery, and I know she has given up. If it were up to her, she would stop her heart from beating and her lungs from breathing. But despite her wish, her blood continues to pump, and air continues to flow.

I sit beside her and pray that my soul still has energy and will give her some warmth, and as I wait with her, I talk. I tell her what it’s like to be dead and what happened to the others. I tell her about Uncle Bob’s stupid news interview and what a schmuck he is even in the face of disaster. Chloe has always disliked Uncle Bob, so she will appreciate this.

When I run out of serious things to talk about, I tell her about Charlie’s text. I confess I was thinking of green for my dress because it would match Charlie’s eyes, blushing at admitting to my girliness. Don’t tell, I warn her. Don’t want to ruin my badass reputation now that I’ve made it to the finish line.

I tell her how I hoped Charlie would wear his cowboy boots: the black ones with the red stitching, not the brown ones. Then I apologize for all the things I did that weren’t nice. I tell her I’m sorry for ratting her out to the principal when I saw her smoking pot behind the gym. Then I bark at her to stop smoking pot, telling her how stupid it is and that she’s way too cool for that. I tell her that the sunglasses she thought she lost are in my bottom drawer beneath my practice shirts. One lens is broken from when I borrowed them without telling her and then sat on them by accident.

I talk and talk and talk, then abruptly stop. Voices, not mine, followed by the bark of a dog. Chloe doesn’t hear. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t realize she is being saved.

Over here, I scream. Here, here, here.

A husky or a shepherd or some sort of amazing beast with long gray hair sticks his muzzle into her hood, causing Chloe to whimper. The dog pulls his nose out and howls. Two minutes later, two men in orange parkas are squatting beside us. One talks into a walkie-talkie.

“We found her. We’ve got the girl.” His voice is brittle with emotion.

The other presses his fingers against Chloe’s neck and gives a thumbs-up.

“She’s alive,” the one with the walkie-talkie says.

“Copy that. Chopper’s on its way,” it squawks back.

I cheer and clap and spin and whoop and holler, and I don’t care that no one can hear me. They found Chloe. My sister is going to be okay.





29

I go to where my mom is. I want to be there when she gets the news.

I’m not surprised I end up at the staging area instead of the hospital. My mom sits in the same spot she sat yesterday, in the back of an ambulance, stone still and staring at nothing. Beside her, holding her red, chapped hand, is Uncle Bob.

Uncle Bob’s plea for help worked. Over a hundred volunteers and personnel from various agencies have joined the search. There are ambulances, fire trucks, sheriff’s cars, and dozens of jeeps and vans from the Forest Service.

In the distance, dark clouds heavy with unfallen snow threaten but for the moment hold their load.

Over the valley, two helicopters circle. I hold little hope for them to spot Oz. He is hidden beneath a thick canopy of trees, and because of Uncle Bob’s misinformation, the search is focused in the opposite direction from where he walked.

Burns opens the door to the ambulance, and a gust of wind blows in with him. My mom leaps up, her eyes trying to read Burns’s expression.

“We found Chloe. She’s alive,” he says, a smile cracking his weathered face.

My mom throws her arms around him. “Thank you. Oh God, thank you. Where is she?”

“They’re flying her to the same hospital as your husband.”

“Is she okay?”

His pause is a pulse too long, and the hesitation sucks the air from the ambulance. “She has a pretty severe concussion, and they’re not sure about her hands and feet,” he says.