Max climbed out of the river and turned Reed over to find him still alive. With his head and shoulders out of the water, he couldn’t drown himself if he tried, so Max took a moment to put on his dry clothes.

From there, Max dragged Reed into the tree line and, while it seemed impossible that Reed might wiggle his way into the river, being still tied to that pole, Max made sure that his captive would stay put by tethering him to a birch at the edge of the woods. Then Max walked upstream to where Pip lay in the bivvy, pulled Lyle’s sleeping bag from his pack, and carried it back to where Reed lay bound and gagged. It was more than Reed deserved, but Max wrapped Lyle’s bag around him.

Reed was beaten and exhausted, his face darkened with bruises, his nose broken and crooked, but in the dim light of the half moon, Max could still see his rage.

Max walked back to where Pip lay asleep in the bivvy, listening for his near-silent breath.

Max wrapped his sleeping bag around his shoulders and dug into his pocket for the GPS communicator, pulling it and Jenni’s bracelet out together, the gold chain wrapped around his knuckles. He fingered through the charms of the bracelet, stopping on the one with no name. He closed his eyes so that he could see Jenni’s face. He tried to conjure his child, the eyes he’d seen in his dream.

Max kissed the charm, held it to his cheek, and whispered, “I miss you.” Then he pushed the SOS button, and leaned against a tree to wait.

CHAPTER 74

The sound of the plane woke Max from a shallow sleep. The sun had not yet broken the horizon, but there was enough light to see the break between land and sky. The plane came in low from the east, dropping to tree height as it followed the river past him.

Max slipped out of the warm sleeping bag and stood, feeling the pain from his knee and the cut in his side. He limped upstream to a clearing, and when the plane flew by for a second pass, Max waved his arms. It circled and came in for a landing, turning in the river so that it could push against the current as it angled to shore.

A door opened on the copilot’s side and Henry stepped onto the pontoon. The SOS must have gone to his shop. Henry unhooked a short rope and tossed it to Max, who pulled the plane as far into the sandy shallows as he could.

“You okay?” Henry said as he walked to shore through ankle-deep water.

“Not by a long shot,” Max said.

The pilot, a woman in her sixties with rust-colored hair, stepped onto the pontoon. “How many do you got?”

“How many?” Max didn’t understand the question.

“People,” she said. “I assume we’re here to evac some people.” She pulled a longer rope from the cockpit and tied it to the pontoon leg. Then she waded to shore in search of a place to anchor the plane.