Max still had his headlamp in his pocket. He strapped it to his head and turned it on. Reed’s nose was bent to the side. His forehead was red and swollen, and blood trickled out of his mouth. His eyes didn’t move behind his slitted eyelids.

Max carried the shotgun and Reed’s Glock to where Reed’s backpack lay. There he unclipped a bundle of paracord attached to the outside of the pack. He used the cord to tie Reed’s elbows behind his back, then rolled him over and tied his wrists together in front of his stomach. With plenty of cord left over, he knotted Reed’s legs and feet together. He checked Reed’s pockets for blades and found a Leatherman, which Max pocketed.

Then he dragged a groggy Reed to a tree about as big around as his leg. He removed Reed’s belt, leaned him against the tree, and wrapped the belt around both the tree and Reed’s throat. This was the same way that he had tied Mikhail three and a half years ago. For a moment, the similarity filled Max with sadness, as though he had learned nothing in that time. But that notion fell away as Max thought about the child waiting for him at the top of the ridge.

Satisfied with his effort, Max picked up the guns and Pip’s sleeping bag and headed up the hill to keep his promise.

CHAPTER 71

Pip hadn’t moved, just as he had agreed. He sat cross-legged, hunched under the pine trees, with a look of concern frozen across his face. Max realized that Pip was blinded by the headlamp and didn’t know who was walking toward him.

“It’s me, Pip,” Max said. “I got your sleeping bag.”

Pip walked out of the trees and Max lifted him into his arms.

The trek down the ridge took some time. Max could see well enough with the headlamp turned on, but finding a route that didn’t require them to duck or crawl was a challenge. He had to backtrack a few times, but his feet were light and his mood buoyant as he descended the hill and entered the clearing at the side of the river.

Lyle’s backpack still lay where he had dropped it. Max had hoped to see Lyle waiting on the other side of the rapids, but the woods were empty. Max wadded Lyle’s coat and Pip’s sleeping bag into the straps of the pack, lifted Pip onto his shoulders, and carried the pack in one hand and the shotgun in the other as he crossed the river.

In the dark, the sound of water churning over the rocks sounded more ominous than it had in daylight, and walking at that slower pace, with a child on his shoulders, made the crossing more treacherous.

Max put Pip down at the river’s edge and they walked thirty yards upstream to the place in the woods where he had dropped his pack. It lay just inside the tree line, and just as he had dropped it—Lyle was nowhere around. The dry clothing hadn’t been pulled out. The first-aid kit remained untouched. Max’s heart became as heavy as a stone.