Before long, they were slogging parallel to the impromptu river. It was at least ten yards wide, churning like a miniature Colorado. When it curved north—away from where they needed to go—frustration clawed up his throat.
Wrong direction. Getting farther from their target with every step.
His boots sucked into the mud with each stride, his shoulders knotting under the pack’s weight. Behind him, Nimue was struggling. She caught herself after tripping over a branch, but fatigue was winning.
“Lift your feet.” He slid his pack off one shoulder, water bottle appearing in his hand. “You need hydration. Drink.”
“I’m fine.” She brushed past him, chin set in that stubborn line he was learning to recognize. “Sorry I tripped.”
Great. Now she thought he was mad.
Not mad. Worried sick, but not mad.
“Nimue.” His tone turned sharp enough to make her freeze. He softened his expression, held out the bottle. “Drink. Please.”
The wariness in her eyes gut-punched him. Exhaustion was written in every line of her posture. She was fighting to keep up, just as he was fighting to keep them both safe.
She finally took the bottle, gulping water while scanning the canyon. “Is that a trail?”
He followed her gaze. A faint line of lighter dirt stretched across the wash—barely visible, but it sparked hope in his chest.
“Maybe. We could try crossing, but?—”
“What’s that?” Alarm spiked her voice. She was already moving, hurrying along the wash’s edge toward something yellow and sodden.
A sleeping bag. Waterlogged, heavy.
His pulse kicked into overdrive.
Someone else had been caught in this flood.
He scanned the area, his stomach lurching. Camping supplies littered the ground. Clothes. A backpack. The twisted remains of a tent. He jogged over, snatched up a gray hoodie.
Highland High Schoolimprinted the front in teal letters.
Probably different kids than the ones he’d been tracking, but kids nonetheless. Kids who’d picked the wrong spot to camp.
“They must have set up their camp in the wash.” His voice came out grim. “Easy setup…until the water comes.”
He scanned for bodies, praying he wouldn’t find any. Praying these teenagers had made it out alive instead of getting swept downstream like debris.
He needed to call this in. Which meant beelining to Phantom Ranch. But he also needed to search for survivors. And every instinct screamed at him to focus on Nimue.
The growing list of people he was supposed to protect was getting out of hand.
“Let’s move.” He shouldered his pack. “I went over the backcountry passes a few days ago, and this group wasn’t among them. No doubt they’re down here illegally—probably came from the South Rim.”
“Any idea where they went?” Nimue’s voice strained as she kept pace.
“Same place we’re headed. They’ll head for Phantom Ranch. The bridge is the only way to the South Rim from this side of the Colorado.”
She nodded, bending to snag an empty water bottle from the mud. “Breadcrumbs.”
How had it come to this? He was supposed to protect people—hikers, campers, the woman beside him. Instead, they were running blind through a canyon, chasing lost teenagers while dodging killers.
“You hear that?”
He froze mid-step. Sound cut through the wash’s roar—faint but unmistakably human.
