Pip curled his hands and arms into his chest, his eyes fixed on the rushing water in front of him.

“Don’t look at the water,” Reed called out. “Keep your eyes on the tree trunk.”

“I can’t,” Pip said.

“Yes, you can.”

“I’ll fall.”

“One step at a time.”

“I’m scared.”

“Damn it, Pip. I’m getting tired of you disobeying me. Take a step.”

“I’ll take him,” Spud said.

“No! He’s gonna do it on his own. He’s not a baby.”

“He’s a little kid, Reed. For God’s sakes.”

Spud lifted Pip and held him tightly to his chest, Pip’s face tucked into Spud’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around Spud’s neck. Spud whispered into Pip’s ear and Pip turned his head so that the light from his lamp lit up the pale surface of the log.

“Goddammit, Peter!”

It was the first time he had said Peter’s name in Pip’s presence. They had been using the nickname Spud because Reed wanted him to believe that at the end of the journey they would part ways. Using the nickname was to ease Peter’s mind; the boy would never be able to identify him. Reed mentally kicked himself for the slip.

Spud stepped sideways along the fallen tree, shuffling a few inches at a time. Pip didn’t move a muscle as the two made their way across the log.

Spud’s defiance burned hard in Reed’s chest. He moved to the next rock to make way for Spud and Pip, and by the time they joined him on the opposite bank, Reed had almost convinced himself that the time for Spud’s departure had come. That kind of defiance called for swift and decisive correction.

But they had a long way to go, and Reed still needed his pack mule.

Reed bit back his rage and untied the paracord from Pip’s belt. He didn’t say a word for fear that he might lose his shit. He had to keep his head together. He had come too far to let impulse overrule his plan. He tucked the cord away and headed upstream toward the cascade, walking on the rocks that lined the river and beckoning for the other two.

They would leave no footprints to follow.

CHAPTER 56

When Max could hear the rush of water from the Devil’s Cascade, he slipped off his pack, and Lyle followed suit. They had both tied their headlamps to the end of their guns, so they turned them off and removed them, Max stuffing his into his pocket. The bloated half moon barely lit the path around them, but up ahead, where the trees parted against the pewter sky, Max could see that they were approaching the knob of a hill.

“I’m going first,” Max whispered. “You stay back a ways. If Reed shoots me—take him out.”

“I should go first,” Lyle said. He was about to say more, but Max didn’t stick around to debate the issue. Lyle had a wife and a grandson. Max had no one.