I’d told them about the SAR orientation I’d done with Tommy. How one of the places we’d looked at on the map was a hike on a ridge half an hour south of Greenville. It was a fairly straightforward trail, good for beginners. But another hike branched off from it. That one went up to the top of the ridge. It was rough. Rocky and narrow the whole way up. Despite good signage, dozens of people had gotten lost over the years.
Why thehellwould Dad choose that one after I’d beentalking about how dangerous it was? Did he have something to prove?
I hit the speaker button on my phone and threw it onto the passenger seat, doing a u-turn to head in the direction of the ridge.
“When did he leave?” I demanded.
“This afternoon. I think around two.”
“Mom!” I couldn’t control the panic in my voice. That was more than eight hours ago.
“I’m sorry! Sometimes he meets Peter after his walks. I thought maybe they got carried away.”
Peter was my uncle. They sometimes walked together, but Peter was in a wheelchair, which means he wouldn’t have gone with Dad on the trail. It was easy, but not accessible. “Did you call him?”
“He hasn’t seen him. Oh Sam, I’m really worried!”
No shit.
“Okay Mom, it’s okay. I’m going to need you to stay calm, and call 9-1-1, okay?”
“9-1-1? Samuel, is he dead?”
“Mom! No! We don’t know anything. But he’s been missing for quite a few hours. Please call them. Then call Mrs. Patel so you don’t have to be alone.”
“I can’t do that. It’s so late.”
I couldn’t even begin to sort out how my mother’s brain worked. I took a breath. “She won’t mind. Not if you tell her what’s going on. Okay, Mom? Can you do those things?”
I finally got her to agree to all of it and hung up the phone. Then I drove as fast as I could toward the trail. None of what I was doing was smart. Planning on searching a trail at night? With no supplies? I’d be tossed out of SAR if I was still leading it. But everything went out the window when it wasyourmissing person. All I could think about was my dad lying in a gulley with a broken leg in the dark. Or worse.
Alone and scared.
I pulled into the parking lot a half-hour later, empty, except for Dad’s truck. The sight made my stomach lurch. Mom had the right place, which was good, but the foolish hope she’d made a mistake altogether—that he was somewhere safe and warm and had just forgotten to check in—was no longer possible.
I checked the truck just in case, but of course it was empty and locked. I looked around, just in case, calling his name. When that proved fruitless, I took stock of what I had in my vehicle. There was a pocket-sized aid kit under my seat. It had only a few antiseptic wipes and small bandages, but it was better than nothing. I dug around in the glove box, a flutter of relief in my chest as I found the little flashlight I was pretty sure was in there, working well when I turned it on. The only other thing I could think of was a half-empty bottle of water and a hoodie from the trunk—the same one Ellie had worn that day in the park. I’d been a weirdo about it and hadn’t wanted to wash it after she wore it, which was great in hindsight, because if I’d been normal about it, it would be at home right now.
I tied the sweatshirt around my waist and jammed everything else into my pockets. Then I slammed the truck door and looked round.
I felt very much like throwing up.
The woods were a wall of darkness. The kind of dark where you can’t see past your nose. The quiet, too, filled me with dread. It was like being underwater. There weren’t even any crickets.
It didn’t matter—I was going in. Even if it took me all night, I was going to find him.
“Dad!” I called.
Nothing at all, of course.
I turned on the flashlight, pointing it at the trees.
Therewas nothing to do but start walking.
My hip was fine when I started walking.
It wasn’t now, two hours later.
I’d walked the entire length of the easy trail, my voice hoarse from calling Dad’s name. The trail looped around about a mile from the parking lot. Which was also where the more difficult trail branched off from.
