Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
VIRGIL
H elen barrels into my yard so fast she nearly trips over the woodpile.
"Virgil!"
I straighten from where I'm splitting kindling. Something in her voice freezes me. It’s isn’t the childhood excitement I’m used to or even panic. Nope, it’s fear. Pure fear.
The ax hits the chopping block before she reaches me. "Helen."
Her chest heaves. Her red cape hangs crooked around her shoulders. "Bear."
That's all she gets out.
I move before she finishes the sentence. "Where's your mama?"
"At the house."
"Luke?"
She blinks.
For a second, I think she didn't hear me. Then she points toward the McKinley place.
"He was behind me."
My stomach drops. "Behind you?"
"He was."
The words come smaller now. Less certain. I don't like that. Not one damn bit.
I grab the ax and take off running. The cabin appears through the trees.
The first thing I see is Clara, standing in the yard. A broom raised over her head.
Thirty feet away, a black bear sow huffs and snaps her jaws. Two cubs scramble around the chicken coop.
My pulse slams into overdrive. “Clara!”
Her head whips toward me. Relief flashes across her face so hard it nearly knocks the air from my lungs.
Then the bear notices me. Good.
I grab the shovel leaning against the side of the shed and slam it against a metal garden bed. Then the ax, going for maximum chaos.
The cracks echo through the clearing.
The sow spins.
I make myself bigger. Louder. Meaner.
"Get!"
Another crash. Another.
The cubs scramble. The mother hesitates. For one long second, then two. Finally, she wheels around and crashes into the timber after them.
The entire mountain seems to exhale. For a moment nobody moves. Then Clara's knees buckle. I catch her before she hits the ground.
“Easy.”
Her fingers fist in my shirt. "They were so close."
“I know.”
“Kids got away?"
I nod. “She's safe.”
The words barely leave my mouth before something occurs to me. Something ugly and wrong.
I look over Clara's shoulder. Toward the yard, the coop, then the distant trees.
Only one child stands there.
Helen.
My pulse spikes again.
“Where's Luke?”
Silence.
The question hangs there. Helen's face drains white. “I thought he was with you.”
Clara goes rigid. “What?”
“I thought he was behind me.”
The broom slips from Clara's hand and hits the dirt.
Nobody moves. Nobody breathes. And suddenly the bear is a distant memory.
The search begins in daylight. Within ten minutes, it spills beyond the homestead.
“Luke!” Clara screams, stumbling through knee-high grass.
I search the chicken coop first. The woodshed. The root cellar. Under the porch.
Every place a five-year-old might think was a good hiding spot. Nothing.
My stomach sinks lower with every empty corner.
“Helen,” I bark, moving quickly toward her. “Where’s the last place you saw him?”
She wipes furiously at her eyes. “He was behind me.”
“How far behind?”
“I don't know.”
“Helen.”
Her chin starts trembling. “I don't know!” she cries. “I told him to come with me.”
The words break apart into sobs.
“I told him.” She covers her face with both hands. “I should've made him come.”
“No.”
The word comes out harder than I intend.
Her tear-filled eyes snap to mine.
“This isn't your fault.”
“But I was supposed to watch him.”
“You're eight.” The reminder doesn't help. “He should’ve listened to you.”
“No, he doesn’t,” she says instantly.
Despite everything, the truth of it almost makes me laugh.
“He doesn't listen to anybody.”
A watery sound escapes her. Stuck somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
I kneel down in front of her. “Listen carefully.”
She nods.
“Your brother is smart.”
Another nod.
“He knows these woods.”
She nods again.
“And your daddy taught him things.”
Now she’s listening… and concentrating hard. I watch it happen. The panic eases by a fraction.
“We're going to find him.”
“Promise?”
The question guts me.
I squeeze her shoulder. “Promise.”
By sunset, Roscoe and the other men from the veteran community scour the woods. So do women like Fawn, Bodie’s woman, and Hadleigh, Hudson’s.
Then Ginger. Then two deputies from town.
Flashlights appear. Radios crackle. Search grids get discussed.
The whole thing starts feeling too big. Too real.
Clara stands beside the truck while one deputy asks questions. Height. Weight. Clothing. Medical conditions.
The kind of questions nobody should ever have to answer about their child.
She makes it halfway through when her voice breaks. I intercept her before she can collapse. “Virgil.”
The sound of my name barely qualifies as a word. I guide her away from the others. Away from the radios and the questions.
The mountains glow purple in the fading light. Cold already settling into the valley.
“First Bryson.” Her shoulders shake. “Now Luke.”
I grip both her shoulders hard enough she finally looks at me. “Listen to me.”
She shakes her head, tears sliding freely now.
“Clara.” My voice hardens. “Look at me.”
Eventually she does. The fear in her eyes nearly breaks me.
“We're going to find him.”
“You don't know that.”
“Yeah.” My jaw tightens. “I do.”
“Virgil—”
“I won't stop.” The words come easy because they're true. “I won't sleep.” I glance toward the darkening forest. Toward the miles of wilderness waiting beyond. “I won't leave this mountain.”
My gaze returns to hers. “Not until your boy is home.”
For one long second, she just stares. Then her hands fist in my shirt. The gesture isn’t romantic or gentle. It’s desperate, like she's hanging on.
I let her. Hell, I hold on right back.
A radio crackles behind us. Someone calls my name. The moment breaks. But only partly.
Because Clara doesn't let go immediately. Neither do I.
Darkness falls. Searchlights cut through the trees. Voices echo through the forest. Every snapped twig sounds important. Every shadow becomes a possibility.
Hours pass. The temperature drops. Still no Luke.
Near midnight, I stop on a ridgeline overlooking the canyon. Exhaustion settles into my bones. I rest one hand against a pine tree and close my eyes for half a second.
Just one. That's when I hear it. A tiny sound. So faint I almost miss it. Not a cry or a scream. A sniffle.
My flashlight swings upward.
For one horrible second, my brain refuses to make sense of what I'm seeing.
Then the beam catches two small boots dangling from a branch in a tree about fifty yards off.
My heart stops. Then starts again. Fast.
I’m there, fighting through brush, heart racing. Until I’m looking up, ten feet above me. Curled against the trunk.
Batman cape tangled around the branches like he'd climbed higher and higher trying to get away from something.
Luke.