The line went quiet, and Liam kept his eyes on the smoke, mind racing. They were in a non-camping area, but the North Rim’s trails were less trafficked than the South Rim. Sometimes folks got confused about where they were allowed to be. But permits were nonnegotiable. If these people were out here without one, they were either lost or deliberately ignoring the rules. Neither option sat right with him.
Noah’s voice came back. “Liam, I’ve got nothing. No permits issued until next week. You sure about the location?”
“I’m looking at them right now. I’m heading down to check it out.”
“Be careful. Let me know if you need backup.”
Liam clipped the radio back to his belt and hurried to his truck. He popped the tailgate and rummaged through his gear, pulling out a coil of rope, a harness, and a water bottle. Basic rappelling kit—nothing fancy, but it would get him down the sixty-foot drop to the trail he’d spotted below, which should lead right to the campers. He slung the pack over his shoulder and returned to the edge, tying off the rope to a sturdy juniper, its gnarled branches twisted from years of harsh winds and scorching sun.
He clipped into the harness, double-checking the carabiners, and stepped backward over the edge. The rope hummed under his weight as he descended, boots finding purchase on the uneven cliff face. The air grew warmer as he dropped, the canyon’s walls closing in around him, their red and orange hues streaked with purple shadows. He glanced left, noting the thicker foliage here compared to the South Rim—pinyon pines and scrub oak crowding the slopes, their branches clawing at the sky. A faint scent of sagebrush filled the air, mingling with the dusty warmth radiating from the rock.
His boots hit the trail with a soft thud, and he unclipped from the rope, securing it to a tree for his climb back up. Hejogged down the path—narrow and winding, cutting through the rugged landscape. The smell of smoke grew stronger as he closed the distance, the sound of his footsteps muffled by soft dirt underfoot.
When the trail opened into a small clearing, his jaw clenched. They were gone. A thin wisp of smoke curled up from the still-smoldering fire, embers glowing faintly in the ash, but no tents, no sleeping bags, no people. Liam knelt beside the firepit, poking at it with a stick he picked up from the ground. The embers pulsed with heat, a flame flickered to life but quickly died—they hadn’t been gone long.
He grabbed the radio, voice even, but he couldn’t keep the bite from it. “Noah, it’s Liam. I’m down at the campsite. Fire’s still going, but the campers are gone. Left a mess—beer cans, wrappers, the works. Looks like they cleared out quick. Guessing they spotted my descent.”
“Copy that. Any idea who they were?”
Liam snatched a beer can from the ground—high-end craft brew with a fancy label, the kind you’d find in a trendy city bar, not the cheap stuff most kids hauled into the backcountry. These weren’t your average hikers. “No. But this isn’t exactly budget beer. I’m going to keep looking.”
“Copy. Over.”
Liam pulled a trash bag from one of the pockets in his bag and started gathering the litter. He picked up one of the cans but paused, turning it over. This can was different from the rest—same brand, but the label was faded, the lip crusted with dirt and time. It had been out here for more than a night, maybe weeks. His mystery visitors might be regulars, coming back to this spot again and again.
He straightened and turned in a slow circle, gaze sweeping the terrain. The ground was flat here—which might seem perfect for a tent, but when it came to the desert, that just meant it wasthe path water would take in a big rain. These kids had no idea that one unexpected storm could wash them right over the edge.
He itched to hunt them down, but the trail stretched in three directions, and the dirt was too dry, too rocky to hold clear prints. A hot breeze stirred the dust at his feet, and he squinted against the glare of the sun, now high overhead. He glanced up to where he’d rappelled from, the rope a faint line against the cliff, barely visible from this angle. That bus nagged at him again. If he’d really seen a camera, maybe they’d captured something, a glimpse of the campers, anything. Too bad it was long gone.
Liam tied the trash bag to his pack. Whoever these people were, they’d moved fast, and they hadn’t wanted to be found. So much for hoping they were just lost hikers. Reckless kids couldn’t be ignored. It wasn’t about the rules—the desert was unforgiving, and so was the canyon. Liam refused to let these kids live with regrets from not respecting the dangers that came with this land.
He started back up the trail toward his rope. Old Liam would have rappelled faster, reckless but efficient. Old Liam might have arrived in time to talk to them, gotten the job done.
Old Liam wouldn’t have let Nimue disappear into the crowd today without getting her number.
He started the hike back up toward his rope. Somehow, he needed to find old Liam again. Until then, he’d do what he could to keep others from living with regrets. If he had his way, there would be zero casualties this summer. Which meant he needed to find these kids—they were a disaster waiting to happen.
Not on his watch.
This was exactly why she needed to be parked at the edge of the canyon and not buried under the canopy of trees. But after her encounter with Ranger Liam yesterday morning, she needed to stay away from curious eyes a few days more.
Nimue gripped the handlebars of her electric bike, the motor’s hum vibrating through her hands as she navigated toward an open clearing about five miles north of the rim.
Two days in hiding, and it only told her how cut off she was.
Emberly had tried to contact her again, but her signal had been too weak for a call—just the text made it through. Why would Emberly risk contact for the second time in a week unless something was wrong—reallywrong? Nimue’s pulse hammered against her eardrums.Lord, keep Emberly safe.Nimue didn’t pray enough lately, but maybe it was because she was too busy not dying.
When the clearing provided a wide enough sky, Nimue dismounted and quickly retrieved her satellite gear from her backpack—a mini foldable dish she’d rigged herself. It wasn’t Big Bertha, but it would have to do. She set up the dish and the signal flickered, weak but steady—just enough to make the connection. She punched in the encrypted code, trying not to hold her breath as she waited for the line to connect.
“Nim?” Emberly’s voice held concern.
“I got your message. What’s going on?”
“Me? What’s going on withyou?” Emberly shot back. “Who’sLiam?”
Nimue froze, her grip on the receiver. “What are you talking about?”
Her sister’s sigh echoed over the line. “There’s a viral video making the rounds. Liam Kingsley, some ranger at the North Rim, rescuing a little girl a couple days ago. Sound familiar?”
