Page 75 of Shadowing You

Lord, lead us.

At this point, God’s guidance was their only chance.

The trail dipped, then climbed again, so steep that Mei Lin used her hands to help her. As they gained elevation, the undergrowth thinned. Somewhere beyond the thick mist, a stream trickled.

When they reached the top, she stopped.

“It’s okay to rest, sweetheart.” They would need to lie down. He could dig until he reached dry leaves, maybe construct a lean-to. He’d learned to do that back in Boy Scouts, a thousand years ago, but he remembered the basics.

Mei Lin lifted her gaze and scanned the area, as she’d done so many times before. But this time, she seemed to focus on something. “We made it.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s still here.”

He looked beyond her. The trees were sparser, silhouettes against a dark backdrop—a ridge, he guessed. But there was something else—a structure. It might’ve been a boulder or a trick of his exhausted eyes.

But a roof line came into focus.

It wasn’t a mirage conjured by hope and exhaustion. It was real.

They trudged closer to stone walls and clay tiles on the roof. Small windows were set deep, the glass behind thin iron bars.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Ranger station, only manned in fire season, and even then, only if the risk is high.”

“When does fire season start?”

Her thin shoulders lifted and dropped. “November, technically, but it’s not like it’s dry.”

It was impossible to imagine that this spongy place ever got dry. “You sure no one’s here?”

“No.”

Fair enough. He set his pack against a tree and eased her down onto it. “Stay here while I check it out.”

She didn’t argue, just rested her back against the trunk.

He crept toward the building, each step squishing audibly on the moist ground. He set his feet carefully, rolling weight from heel to toe, and worked his way around the building, keeping close to the trees that surrounded the small clearing on three sides. The fourth was indeed a ridge, probably a spectacular view in the daylight, but they’d lost that an hour before.

The walls were thick. Every window was barred, but they weren’t covered by curtains. He peeked through and could make out shapes.

He paused at each window, looked and listened.

He heard nothing and saw nothing. On the side with the door, opposite the ridge, a trail led down the mountain. There were no vehicles, though. If someone was here, he or she had come on foot.

After circling twice, he approached the door and tried the handle.

Locked. Of course it was.

He stood there, the cold pressing at his back. Unless he could tear the bars off the windows, the door was their only shot. He turned on his phone’s flashlight, not wanting to drain the battery but needing to see. The knob had a standard keyhole—no keypads, not even a deadbolt. All he had to do was find the key—assuming there was one hidden somewhere.

He ran his hand along the top of the door frame, which was gritty and sharp with rotting wood—he managed to avoid splinters, at least.

He crouched and started feeling around the base of the wall, lifting the loose stones one by one. The fear of getting locked out was a universal thing, wasn’t it? Especially up here, where there was nobody to call for help.

He inched aside a stone no larger than his fist and caught a glint of metal.

It was a small flat key.

Thank You. He wiped it on his suit pants, then fitted it into the lock and turned the knob.