But now that Evelyn was missing, Amarok wished he’d trained Makita as a search dog so that he’d be more useful in finding Evelyn. As it was, the dog kept returning to him as though asking when they were finally going to confront what he would consider a “pack” of hunters, so the fight could begin—especially because this was hunting season, the time of year they worked the most, in tandem.

“Evelyn,” he told Makita, having him smell her shoe. “Find Evelyn.” But the dog didn’t fully understand, and they didn’t turn up anything. Neither did Phil Robbins, a middle-aged local who helped out by clearing the roads in the winter and acting as a Village Public Safety Officer throughout the warmer months. Amarok had sent Phil to check the closest rivers at various choke points where broken branches and floating debris typically got snagged, but Phil had called on the radio just as Amarok finished to say that he was back and the rivers were clear.

Amarok was hoping to get better news from Shorty, who also helped keep the peace during the summer months when they had such an influx of rowdy hunters and fishermen. He’d sent Shorty to various hunting cabins in the mountains, and because of how long it took to get from one to the other, he hadn’t yet radioed in a report.

“Hey, I don’t like the look on your face,” Phil said as Amarok entered the small trooper post. “I can tell what you’re thinking, and it isn’t good.”

Amarok didn’t reply, just glanced up to see Phil with a paper cup at the water cooler as he closed the door behind Makita.

“We’ve been up against tougher things,” Phil added in an effort to encourage him.

Amarok shook his head. “No, we haven’t.”

Phil’s forced cheer crumbled beneath Amarok’s leveling gaze. Instead of continuing to act chipper and overly optimistic, he downed the water, crushed his cup and tossed it in the wastebasket as he walked over. “We’re going to get her back, Amarok. And she’ll be fine. That doc of yours has already been to hell and back. She knows how to survive. She’s tougher than all the rest of us put together.”

“How tough can she be at six months pregnant, Phil?” Amarok wiped the sweat from his forehead as he dropped into his chair. “She’s so tired at night, she falls asleep on the couch almost as soon as we have dinner. Sometimes, I have to carry her to bed. Her feet swell if she doesn’t put them up enough. Her back aches if she doesn’t change her position as often as she should. She feels nauseous if she doesn’t eat at regular intervals. And, sometimes, if she overdoes it, she starts to cramp, which the doctor has warned us could mean trouble. The stress alone of what she’s going through could bring on early labor and—” His voice cracked, so he shut up.

Phil squeezed his shoulder. “I understand what’s at stake. But she knows you’re out here doing everything you can to get her back. That’s what she’s clinging to. You have to believe you can do it, too. You have to keep fighting as though it’s a given—and thinking what you were thinking a second ago won’t help.”