Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
HUX
I had been contemplating what the chances were of getting shot if I showed up at the Croft house, throwing my fists at the front door and pleading for Everly to come out when my mother called me.
My father still hadn’t returned home, and she had been awakened by a bad dream.
My mother takes her dreams very seriously.
“Something’s not right, Huxy, I can feel it. Something is off.” I assured her that my dad knows how to handle these conditions in the woods, which probably had slowed him down.
Maybe he just wandered farther than he had expected and miscalculated the time it would take to return. I told her if he didn’t show up sopping wet on her front porch, hollering for some warm coffee by the morning, I would head out looking for him.
She begged me not to, to stay put, and we would call the wardens when the sun came up and set up a proper search. But I feel it too. Something isn’t right, and I know I won’t be waiting until daylight hours.
Over the last two years, any time my dad even tried to tell me about his search plans, I would immediately shut down the conversation, and eventually, he stopped bringing it up. His absences were not something we discussed.
Still, growing up in the woods, our family knows how dangerous it can be, and my dad still religiously leaves a map of where he planned to search before every outing.
There was a silent agreement that if he wasn’t back within a few days of his intended return date, I was always ready to come looking for him.
The entire Maine’s North Woods encompasses over three and a half million acres, and although the vast majority of it could be ruled out as too far for my dad to have gone, thousands of acres of wildland still could be probable search areas.
There is a reason why the hundred-mile wilderness is considered the most challenging part of the Appalachian Trail.
You are completely secluded, miles away from food and help while on that section.
Once your supplies are depleted out here, it becomes perilous territory.
That’s only part of why I find it an extremely unlikely pipe-dream that Storm has somehow survived living off the land, especially for this long. However, my concern is now my dad and whatever trouble he might have encountered.
With no chance of sleeping, I immediately started gathering my supplies, organizing my backpack, and spending some time looking over his route.
It looks like he had planned to follow part of the Appalachian Trail for a while and then veer off into some very dense forest that I’m not at all familiar with.
I notice about twenty miles west of the trail is a small river. I have a feeling that’s where he was headed. My dad is determined to check every riverbank he can. He knows that if Storm could survive, he would need to have found a water source.
Part of my dad’s theory that Storm had gone into the woods to live in complete solitude and not slip away was that we still hadn’t found his fishing rod.
Sadly, I never shared the same hope as my dad, and although I’m not ready to admit that Storm is gone forever, the probability that he’s out there surviving seems like a juvenile idea to me.
As for the fishing rod, there are a million places it could be, including in the still-destroyed cabin that Storm left behind.
I left my cabin an hour before sunrise, as soon as there was enough light to see my feet in front of me. I have my dad’s map in hand to guide my search.
I’ve been out in the pouring rain for over twenty-four hours. Last night, I spent the night under the overhang of a boulder, trying to keep dry, but the wind shifted, and I ended up just as wet as if I had laid down in the middle of a field.
Still, despite the rain, I’m making good progress through the thick underbrush.
Even my best rain gear barely keeps the wetness off me.
I think I can make it to the riverbank by nightfall at this pace.
Even then, the river meanders for miles, and it would take weeks to explore the whole thing.
I have no real plan for when I get there.
I need to keep moving, one foot in front of the other.
I try to push thoughts of Everly out of my head as I walk, but being out here alone with only the sound of rainfall makes it impossible.
All I have is time to think—too much time.
I’m starting to regret my choice to not leave a note.
Everly will most likely have left by the time I get back, and my unexplained absence makes any chance of getting her back slim to none.
It killed me to say what I said to her, to watch her whole body crumble in front of me. The physical anguish I felt at hurting her like that, leaving her standing there, heartbroken as I just walked away with my own heart turning to ash? Unbearable.
I have to tell myself that it was the right decision to try to cut her loose.
My life is too fucked up. I mean, look at it.
Right now, I am out stomping around the woods looking for my father, who could be anywhere or seriously hurt, all because he thinks my dead brother is out here playing camp.
This isn’t one of her movies, and we aren’t magically going to find some way to make everything work.
She needs to go back to the city, and I sure as hell shouldn’t be the reason to derail her life.
That doesn’t change how badly my body aches for her with every step I take.
I never thought I would make the same mistake Storm did.
I didn’t think I would be stupid enough to fall in love with a doe-eyed, high-strung, clumsy, sensitive, and insanely caring college sophomore who is only up here to help out and have fun for the summer.
But here I am, wishing like hell I could change the outcome of our story.
I have been out here for almost two days, and there is no evidence of him.
I make it to the river bank just as I lose the last of the gray, misty sunlight that hasn’t seemed to change all day.
The only positive thing is the rain seems to have stopped, at least for now.
I rinse my face in the river, remove my soaked clothes, and start a small fire.
It takes a while to get a spark going, but eventually, I have big enough flames to warm myself up and, hopefully, dry some of my clothes.
I make dinner with the pocket-size hiking stove I packed and hope the rain holds off so I can get some sleep.
Tomorrow, I will head up the river and pray that I find some sign of my dad.
He should have been on his way back, and it’s making me anxious that he would still be this far out unless something was seriously wrong.
I push the uneasy feeling down, determined not to let my brain go there, and I finish cleaning up my dinner.
I pull out my phone, but of course, there is no service, and all I see are the letters SOS in the top right corner of the screen. I type out a message to Everly anyway.
I’m sorry.
I love you.
I push send, but the message immediately turns red and displays, failed to send .
Probably for the best, and I appreciate the irony.
I don’t need to confuse her anymore. I laugh to myself when I think of her reaction to me saying “I love you” for the first time over text message.
It would be full of sass, and I’m sure it would be amusing if I had enough service to receive it.
I look up at the night sky, but there are no stars tonight, just a deep black abyss.
It’s late afternoon, and I feel like I have been along this riverbank for years.
The rain has started again, a never-ending steady drizzle keeping me soaked to the bone.
My mind is catching up with my exhausted body, and the fear is pushing in hard now.
I don’t want to give up, and I can’t leave another family member in these desolate woods.
There is a good chance my dad has already shown up back at home. There is no way to know if he stuck to this map or had seen something that triggered him to go a different way.
Wouldn’t that prove my mother right, that I had been hasty to come out here alone instead of leaving it up to the professionals. She already had two of the men she loved out here missing, but selfishly, I needed the space. She begged me not to be the third. What an ass I have been.
I see a point up ahead with some rapids swirling around the rocky, sharp edges. I stop and stare, completely drained. I think this is it. I’ll get to that point in hopes that I’ll be able to see far enough up the river, and if there is no sign of him, it’s time I turn back.
Mom has most likely called in the wardens or some kind of rescue by now. When talking me out of it failed, she warned me that if I wasn’t back soon, she’d call the wardens.
“Where are you, Dad?” I say out loud, half expecting him to come out of the woods, zipping up his fly and asking if I had caught dinner yet.
I regret how angry I have been with him over the last two years.
I can’t even begin to imagine what it must feel like to lose a child.
Then there’s me, the only son he has left, and instead of being there for him, I’ve repeatedly pushed him away.
I scramble across loose rocks as I reach the point, and right as I crest the steep incline, a bald eagle swoops down into the rapids beside me. Wings outstretched, it lifts a large fish from the water, sharp talons piercing it.
My eyes glaze over with tears. Being out here, in such an emotionally desperate state, I am reminded of how small we all are and how magnificent this secluded land is—reminded of how lucky I am to have been raised here.
To have been taught the ways of the land, and to share the same love for nature with my brother and father.
I miss them. I miss how it all used to be.
A guttural scream escapes my lungs and my body collapses.
I sob into my hands, something I haven’t done since I was a child.
I have wasted so much time being angry with everyone.
I wasted time with my brother when I didn’t know it was going to run out so soon, wasted time with my dad when he could have needed my support the most, and with Everly, who came here and saw something in me I didn’t even see in myself.
When I get back, I’ll figure out a way to fix it. I will fight for her. People make all kinds of situations work in tougher circumstances. We can find a way.
I drag my hands down my face, wiping the tears and taking a breath. I’m physically and mentally exhausted, but that’s when I see it.
Smoke. Downstream, a small fire, maybe. I immediately feel hope course through my veins. Proof of life: someone was recently there. I don’t know if it’s my dad, but I move toward the smoke as fast as my legs can carry me.