Five soaking and miserable hours later, I’m about to give up. It’s freezing, and I’m tired. Ranger Cade had to return to the station for his shift change. I said I’d follow him in but wanted to check the Blue Dash trail before I came in for the night. It’s starting to get dark, and while the snow has stopped, the wind is bitter as ever. Blue Dash is barely a mile-long loop. If I were running from my responsibilities and the police, I would definitely pick something longer and more complicated.

But my dad preemptively mailed a letter to his probation officer. One that made it seem like he was looking for a quiet place to fade away. Permanently. He’s unstable, and that, paired with the cold temps, could mean he’s not thinking clearly.

If nothing else, I can check this off my list of places to try in the morning.

But three quarters of a mile in, Cash hits on something. I follow him off trail into the brush another several hundred feet, and something bright catches my eye. Cash barks and points, the way he’s been taught, and I lean over to look. It’s a dark knit hat. With the recent snow, and this hat resting on top, it has to be my dad’s, but it’s alarming that it’s not on him.

I straighten, making a full circle and scanning the woods for any clue as to what direction he might have gone in. I squint, my breath making clouds around me as Cash’s hackles rise. I whip around at the sharp sound of his bark when a blinding flash of pain throbs at the back of my head and everything goes dark.

I open my eyes to blackness, and for a panicked moment, I think I’ve gone blind.

Cash whines and licks my face, and finally, I see a dull flicker of light on the ceiling. I blink a few times. I’m in a cave.

My skull feels like it’s going to split in two, but I raise myself on my elbow, groaning. And there he is. My father. Fanning a small flame that’s more smolder than light. He looks terrible. If I didn’t know it was him, I’d have never picked him out in a crowd. He’s older, and smaller looking somehow. Shriveled. Sunken in on himself as he’s hunched over his pathetic fire. My dad was never much of an outdoorsman.

“What are you doing?” I croak. “You’re going to kill us. There’s no air vent in here.”

“Ah, he’s awake.”

I rise up the rest of the way and squint against the sting of smoke.

“Where’s the vent?” I ask. Hacking.