Ren could hear the full-throttle brattle of a chainsaw as she rolled along the dirt driveway. She came to a ranch-style house where Buck Gafferty, a retired firefighter, was cutting firewood. Once he spotted her, he killed the chainsaw. In the soothing quiet, he removed his earphones, his goggles then approached Ren’s door.

“Buck, I have to get to Seattle. It’s Lee.”

“How’s he doing?”

Biting back her tears, she managed to say: “He’s taken a bad turn, he’s in the hospital. It doesn’t look good.”

Buck understood. He pulled off a glove and patted her shoulder.

“We’ll watch your place, Ren. You drive safely. Bella and I will say a prayer for Lee.”

Ren nodded her thanks and pulled away, grappling with her emotions. She went through a mental checklist as she rolled along Little Timber Road to the highway and Seattle where her son was dying.

No, he’s not! Don’t say that! He’s going to be okay! I’m not going to lose him! I can’t lose him!

On the highway, Ren saw that her fuel gauge was nearly touching the “E.” She wheeled into Grizzly’s Gas Station.

At the pumps, two men were gassing up their pickup. A stove and fridge were strapped in the bed of the truck, and the younger of the two men was adjusting straps while the other pumped gas. As Ren filled her tank, she looked up at a helicopter thumping by.

“What’s that about?” she asked one of the men.

“Haven’t you heard?” the man at the pump said. “All kinds of chatter on the radios. A plane crashed up near Ghost Ridge.”

“Oh no.”

“Going to be hard to get help up there on foot to do a proper search for survivors, that’s for sure.”

For an instant, Ren wished she had a helicopter to fly her to Seattle right now.

-Chapter 49-

Jade Falls, Washington

Fortin kept moving, drawing on all he’d learned from the survival and tracking courses he’d taken in the Northwest Territories and Nunavut.

As his blood warmed, he pushed himself harder, gaining speed.

The storm had cleared.

Miles in the distance he could see helicopters. He considered stopping and building a signal fire but dismissed the idea with each fresh track he’d discovered. For each broken branch, each muddied shoe impression confirmed he was getting close, fueling his determination to keep pursuing Yacine.

Fortin crashed through the thick growth with branches and needles tugging at his clothes, raking against his hands and face. The terrain was wild with scrub, small rocky cliffs and hills fractured with cracks waiting to swallow a foot, wrench an ankle, or launch him into a dark ravine.

Fortin moved fast.