Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
I t’s night two of our fourth—or maybe fifth—shift; it’s all a blur at this point. The camp feels unsettlingly quiet, so much so, I can hear neighbours snoring through thin tent walls, and the scrape of Emma’s toothbrush just a few feet away. After weeks of nonstop planting, everyone’s hitting that wall.
I’m zipping into my sleeping bag, mentally bracing for tomorrow’s fly-in block—my first helicopter ride—hoping the cricket chorus will drown out my nerves. But before my eyes can shut, something outside jolts me upright.
“Kiska!”
Logan’s voice slices through the stillness. It’s more than just his regular holler when he’s calling him to bed—it’s tense and urgent, the kind of edge you get when something’s wrong. Then I hear Emma’s footsteps booking it toward the sound.
I unzip my tent and poke my head out into the dusky half-light. Everything looks calm, but my gut says otherwise—a bear on the prowl, or worse, a cougar dragging Kiska off.
That’s when I spot Emma, who’s already in the gravel area by the mess tent, looking freaked out, headed toward me.
“What’s going on?” I ask as soon as I’m within whisper range.
“Logan can’t find Kiska,” she says, breath hitching. “He just asked if anybody saw him. I said I’d help search—I was hoping you might too.”
“Of course,” I say, heart pounding. No way I’m sitting this out. Kiska’s the camp mascot—chubby, half-blind, and dumb as a rock, but in the best way. “Just gimme a sec to grab my flashlight and actual shoes.”
I duck back into my tent, rummaging through the chaos of my gear until I find my cheap plastic flashlight. My boots are half-buried under my jacket in the vestibule, so I yank them on, laces done up haphazardly. Close enough. I’m about to dash out again when Emma’s voice creeps through the thin nylon.
“You ready?” she asks quietly.
I step out and nod, then follow her toward the kitchen tent. There’s a faint smell of leftover soup in the air, but the low hum of the generator gives everything a weird, kinda eerie vibe.
“Kiska’s pretty old, right?” I say, opening the fridge and grabbing a slice of lunch meat. Always good to have a snack to coax Kiska back to you. “Maybe he just wandered off and got confused. He can’t really see much—he probably didn’t go far.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” Emma murmurs, taking the lunch meat from my hand and shredding it into smaller pieces. “But it’s getting pretty dark, and Kiska’s half-deaf at this point. If he’s stuck or—” She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together. I’ve always known she loves that dog, but I’ve never seen her this rattled.
We hurry past the mess tent, where Dan sits reading, sipping tea. I quickly explain Kiska’s missing, and he jumps up, eyes on the darkness beyond camp. “I’ll go with Soleil,” he says.
Emma and her spare flashlight head toward the creek to catch up with Logan, while Dan and I take the gear-drying tent and the firepit area further north.
We fan out in a slow sweep, calling Kiska’s name every few steps. Dan pushes out a high-pitched whistle, one of those ear-splitting ones I’ve hated since day one of planting. I just assumed he was blowing his Fox 40 whistle, but nope, that’s all him. Usually, it makes Kiska come running—knowing he’s going to get leftover scraps from Dan’s breakfast or dinner. Tonight? Nothing. Just branches rustling in the faint breeze.
“Poor Logan,” I mutter. “He’s practically glued to that dog.”
Dan nods. “Yeah. Kiska’s technically his mom’s, but Logan’s been bringing him out here for years. That dog loves it out in the bush. He must be freaking out.”
We step carefully over a damp stump—I nearly lose my balance. If we had daylight, I might see better, but the night is starting to grow thick and shadowy. Even with the flashlight, it’s easy to miss dips in the terrain.
We pass a cluster of tents where a few planters are getting ready for bed, so we keep our voices low.
“You out there, buddy?” Dan calls to the darkness.
Our flashlights sweep across the grass, the tent edges, the path leading out of camp. No movement.
I’m about to suggest we check the southern side near the old logging road when I hear footsteps and voices in the distance, faint but clear enough in the stillness. Logan and Emma’s voices. They’re moving on the other side of camp, near the creek.
“C’mon, let’s split up here. You go left along the creek, and I’ll go right,” Dan says, leading me behind the main supply trailer. “We can meet them on the far side.” Rounding the corner, I spot Emma’s flashlight bobbing near the creek; Logan’s with her, shining a second beam into the brush.
Suddenly, my flashlight catches on a sudden movement, where Logan and Emma are walking. A flashlight beam dances over the ground, bouncing shadows.
“Ow!” Emma’s voice, sounding distraught.
“Emma, are you okay?” Logan calls, sounding more concerned about her than about Kiska at that moment.
I can’t quite see them through the thick brush along the creek, but I hear Emma’s voice soften against his, and Logan’s protective tone answers back. The realization hits me—there’s more going on between them than mutual concern over Kiska.
I creep a little closer, and in the slice of moonlight, I see Emma holding her knee, Logan crouched beside her, checking if she’s okay. He stays there for a second, close. Then he helps her up, and they don’t move apart right away. They just kind of… stay there. Still touching, not saying much-the mood has obviously shifted.
And yeah, I feel like a huge creep just watching all this unfold when I’m supposed to be out here yelling for Kiska. But it’s obvious—whatever happened between them before, it’s not gone. Something’s sparking again.
I’m just about to turn back and give them some space when Dan yells from somewhere behind me, “Logan! I found him! He’s over here!”
Logan reacts instantly, head whipping up like he’s been caught off guard. Emma turns too, and her flashlight beam hits me straight in the face. I freeze like a total creep, then panic and try to duck down—but end up right next to a massive ants’ nest. Awesome.
Now I’m crouching there like a raccoon caught in a garbage can, swatting ants off my pants and trying not to scream. Classic rookie move, Soleil.
Not even twenty seconds go by before Logan rushes up to the clearing I’m standing in, and I’m still whacking away at the final ants. “You guys find him?” he asks, a little out of breath.
“Dan did,” I say, just as Dan appears from the shadows hunched over while holding Kiska’s collar.
Emma is a few paces behind Logan, cheeks still a bit flushed, but that could be from labouring through the bush with a banged-up knee.
Logan’s face is unreadable, a mix of tension and hope. “There you are,” Logan murmurs, relief threading through his voice. “Buddy, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Where’d you find him?” he asks.
Dan hands Kiska over by the collar—a wriggling bundle of black and white, tail swishing like mad, blank-eyed and totally unbothered by the chaos he caused.
“He fucking reeks!” Dan groans, flinging an elbow over his face. “I caught him rolling around in something disgusting.”
Logan immediately kneels to ruffle the dog’s fur. “You absolute menace,” he grumbles at the dog, and Kiska just looks up at him—tail thumping like crazy.
I feel a wave of relief hit me—thank god it wasn’t a worst-case scenario. No bears, no injuries, just a gross dog being… well, gross.
I glance over at Emma, who is watching Logan. She catches me looking, and I give her a little smile, like, yeah, I see you. She flashes one back—yep, we’re definitely on the same page here.
“Guess I’ll have to wash him in the creek now,” Logan says with a grimace, holding Kiska’s collar. “Bear shit, by the smell.” He rises, still keeping a gentle hand on the dog’s scruff. Then he looks at Emma. “How’s the knee?”
Emma waves him off. “I’m fine—it’s just a scrape, Logan.”
“I can walk you back if you want, once I rinse this little monster off.”
Emma glances at me, and for a second, I think about offering an easy out—but Dan’s already jumping in.
“I gotta crash,” he says, stretching his arms over his head. “Soleil, need an escort?”
I grin awkwardly. “Of course.”
“Appreciate the help, guys,” Logan says, looking around—but his eyes land on Emma and linger just a beat too long.
It’s so obvious—how did I not notice this before? I try not to grin. A tension hangs in the air, the kind that says there’s more to talk about. Dan and I exchange quick looks, and we collectively decide to step aside.
“Alright,” Dan says. “We’ll see you guys in the morning.” He nods to me, and we shuffle away, leaving Emma and Logan to gather themselves, Kiska panting at their feet.
“You heading to bed?” Dan asks as we approach my tent, stretching his arms in a comical yawn.
“Yeah, I think so. This little escapade definitely helped me get my mind off flying tomorrow, though, so there’s that.”
“Pffft. You’ll be fine. It’s safer to fly than drive.” Dan muses. “And besides, there’s only about thirty helicopter crashes a year. Your odds are pretty good.”
I nod nervously, knowing that Dan’s factual tidbit does nothing to ease my worries. “I hope there’s already been thirty then.”
“No, most of them happ?—”
“Dan, good night,” I snap with a serious, ‘stop talking’ tone.
He chuckles, hands up like okay, okay . “Night, Soleil.”