Redwood Bend (Virgin River #18)(89)

He found a silver emergency thermal blanket and the thing he was looking for—a large, sheathed, serrated hunting knife. He pulled it out and affixed it to his belt. It wouldn’t do him much good against an animal, but it was handy when it came to tangles of vines or illegal traps, if there was such back in this forest.

Mitch brought him the backpack. The kid’s eyes were scared as he handed it to Dylan, so he crouched and ruffled the kid’s hair. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “We’ll find him. Now can you go get me a couple of bottles of water from the cabin? Please?”

He nodded and ran to the task. Dylan loaded up the little backpack. It was much too small to wear on his back, but he could sling it over one shoulder. It wasn’t a good idea to go more than a hundred yards into unknown territory or strange forest without a little emergency gear handy—you never know when you might have trouble finding your way back.

“Water?” Katie said, having overheard him ask Mitch. “You’re taking water? Oh, my God!”

“Katie! Easy! It’s in case I get lost. I don’t know this area any better than you do! Did you call Conner?”

“He’s coming. Jack said he’ll round up some people. Oh, God. That knife!”

“It’s for stubborn branches or tight spaces. Now you can call to Andy from the clearing close to the house but I want you to keep Mitch close—we don’t want two of them lost.” He looked at his watch. Had it been almost a half hour? Not good. “I want you to tell whoever comes first that I’m going that way—the direction we saw the bear and her cubs go. There’s a path, a little overgrown, and it’s not near a road. Tell them Andy’s been missing from the front yard since just before five.” He walked toward the porch and Mitch bolted out the door with two bottles of water. He smiled and gave Mitch a pat on the shoulder. “Thanks, buddy. Stay with your mom, please.”

“Can you find him?” Mitch asked.

“Sure we’ll find him.” Then he turned to Katie. He gave her a quick kiss. “Keep your head. Don’t panic. Just stay close to the house with Mitch. If Andy turns up before I do, try blasting the air horn as a signal.”

“Please, Dylan,” she said softly. “Please.”

“If I’m any judge of this place, pretty soon there will be a bunch of guys helping. You can keep calling to him—maybe he’ll get turned back in the right direction and hear you. Listen carefully in case he calls back, but if he does, don’t go running into the woods. Sounds bounce around in the forest and you might go in the wrong direction. We don’t need you and Mitch lost. If you hear him, just call back so he has something to walk toward. Got that?”

“Got it.”

He turned and loped into the forest, a five-year-old’s backpack slung over one shoulder. It had been a long time since he’d ventured into uncharted territory like this and about ten years since they’d had someone lost in the mountains around Payne. Never a little kid.

He pushed on, going mainly uphill. He could hear Katie calling Andy’s name, her voice getting more and more faint as he walked. When he could barely hear her, he began to call out Andy’s name. After each time, he would stop and listen, but nothing came back at him.

He had nothing to go on except a narrow, overgrown path, but all around it was thick overgrowth and he thought if he were a little half pint like Andy, he’d take the path rather than tackle the thickness of the woods on each side. He went up, then around, then down, then up, leaving markers along the way—three stones in a triangle, a branch cut with the knife, a pile of pine cones. The path was winding upward around a hill. It was getting dark back in the trees and he couldn’t hear Katie anymore; there were no other voices calling out.

His watch said six; some of the trees were so tall the sun was almost completely blocked. He got out the flashlight and began to step a little more softly, carefully, shining the light on and off the trail, calling Andy’s name, telling him to make a sound. “Say something so I can find you,” he encouraged. And sometimes he just said, “I’m coming, Andy. I’m coming.”

Dylan thought he should’ve been ready for something like this—Andy was the curious and impulsive one. Adventurous. Mitch was more methodical; a plotter. Mitch was the thinker, Andy was the doer. Andy was the one who would get some harebrained notion like finding out where the bear lived and then just walk into the forest. He could’ve gotten turned around, tried to go back to the cabin but instead went deeper and deeper. He wasn’t sure when he came to know them so well, but he knew he was right.

He looked at his watch. Six-thirty.

There would still be light on the roads and in town, but back here it was deep dusk, quickly growing darker by the minute. He called, then listened, then walked, then called again.

And he finally heard something. He shined the flashlight into the trees and what did he see but the bear family on the left side of the trail. Shit. Mama glared into the light, her eyes reflecting yellow. She made a sound. It didn’t sound like an angry sound, more like a bored I dare you sound.

And there, on the right side of the trail, not nearly far enough away, he saw him, facedown beside a dead tree, burrowed half under the rotting trunk. He could be dead, he was that still.

Dylan crouched, sitting on one boot heel, partially concealed by a big bush, watching Andy and Mama Bear and her cubs. He knew she could smell him, but as long as he didn’t get any closer she apparently didn’t much care. He turned off the flashlight and listened carefully so he could hear if she approached him, but they all just waited in silence. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and there she was, surrounded by her three big balls of fur, right on the other side of the path. Andy wasn’t separated from the bears by more than twenty feet. He might as well have been right on top of them.