Max’s eyes clouded. “A compass, a walking stick, and lunch, and no flashlight. I distinctly recall offering him one, but he laughed and said he’d be back way before it got dark. My God, what if something…” Max reached for the phone and called the house. “Anna, get Jose and call Bob, get all the men you can round up. Zachary isn’t back. We’re going up the mountain and look for him. Tell Jose we’ll need the largest flashlights we’ve got and something to carry the boy down on, if he’s been hurt.”

Zachary gathered his wits and shifted to a less uncomfortable position. He studied the terrain. The stream he thought he heard was perhaps his imagination, for there had been no sign of water close at hand as he descended, and he craved water. All about him the land fell off steeply. The earth he rested on was peppered with rocks of various sizes and degrees of sharpness. Removing his torn shirt was painful and seemed to take forever. Once it was off, he managed to remove his undershirt, which he tore into strips. Small stiff branches of a nearby bush provided what he needed for a splint for his leg. His ankle throbbed as if struck repeatedly by a hammer. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! What had he been thinking? What kind of a big shot had he tried to be, starting out without first-aid supplies and a flashlight?

Back on Cove Road, men gathered: Charlie Herrill, Frank Craine and two of his sons, Jose, Fortino, Bob and his son Russell arrived with flashlights, blankets, ropes, and knapsacks filled with water and food. After a short period of indecision about which direction to strike out in and whether to remain as one group or to split into two, they decided on two parties. Taking divergent routes, they started up the hillside. Through an old foghorn, which sent eerie echoes bouncing off of the hills, Max repeatedly called his son’s name.

The moment the men departed, Hannah dialed 911. The mountain behind them was steep and dark; they would need all the help they could get. She identified herself and the address, and said, “We’ve got a man lost on Anson’s Mountain on Cove Road in Covington. There’s a search party out—two parties of four—but it’s seven hundred acres, and they’re gonna need all the help they can get.”

“I’ll pass this to Search and Rescue,” the operator said.

Relieved, Hannah sank into a chair. That was the name, Search and Rescue, that for the life of her she couldn’t remember when she had picked up the phone.