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“How far is the fort?” Cruz asked, slamming his car door and jogging to Chet’s side.
Chet tucked the gun into its holster and surveyed the land. “Not far. No more than a mile. We need to go on foot. I don’t want to alert him to our presence. Let him think we’re still in town, chasing our tails and wondering where they are.”
“We might be chasing our tails,” Lincoln said. “I like our odds—this location makes sense for multiple reasons. But we need to be prepared to find this place empty.”
Bang!
A distant gunshot rattled the sky and sent Chet’s heart up his throat. “What do you think about our odds now?” A bite of sarcasm dripped from his words.
Otto, who lingered at Tucker’s side, stood tall, nose pointed in the direction the gun had fired, then howled before taking off toward the back of the cabin.
Chet gave chase. He trusted Otto’s training and his ability to find his man. The fat drops of water slowed to a dull sprinkle. Mud splashed up from the ground with each footfall and splattered his pants. He sprinted forward, his lungs burning and dots of sweat mixing with the spray of water still spitting from the sky.
The muscles in his legs screamed as he struggled to keep up with Otto, but he fixed the dog in his sightline. The cleared piece of land transformed, and he pushed into the thicket. He shielded his face with his forearm, the branches reaching out as if to grab hold of him and throw him out of the dense forest. The sound of twigs snapping behind him told him everyone else was close behind, but he didn’t slow to spare them a glance.
Otto stopped short and lifted his head to sniff the air then turned and shot off again. Chet pursued him, keeping his eyes peeled for any movement. As he crept deeper into the woods, the terrain became more and more familiar. Memories assaulted him as camping trips and picnics with his friends, then later Laurie, crept into his mind.
The smell of a campfire reached his nose and he slowed. He glanced up, but the cluster of trees made it impossible to see smoke curling into the sky.
“We’re getting closer,” Tucker said, jogging to his side. “Otto’s circling, the smoke is strong. Hard to believe Eddy could keep a fire going out here in this rain.”
“Or why he’d want to,” Cruz said, as he and Lincoln joined them. “If he grabbed Mia from the store on impulse, why the need to keep a fire lit in the woods during a rainstorm?”
“We’ll find out soon. How much longer?” Lincoln sucked in large gulps of air as he caught his breath.
Chet dipped his chin forward, indicating the direction they needed to go. “Not too far. We should split up. Each approach at a different angle.”
“Agreed. Otto and I will come in from behind.” Tucker snapped his fingers and Otto trotted back to him.
“Chet, you approach from the front. Lincoln and I will come in from the sides. Be quick. Be quiet. Be careful. We don’t want to spook him into doing something even more stupid.” Cruz made eye contact with each of them as if to make his point clear.
Chet nodded then pressed forward, his ears tuned to anything that could point him to Mia. Wet moss covered the rough bark all around him, and his feet squished down on fallen leaves and weeds. He stepped slowly as the overwhelming ashy smell of burning logs.
A spark of light caught his attention, and he stared through the thick foliage. A fire pit encased with stones, smoke billowing then trapped under a green tarp, sat in front of the age-warped little fort covered in moss and dirt he’d built with his own two hands and the help of his friends. His pulse beat against his veins, faster with every step he took. He darted his gaze around him, unable to spot the other men, but also not spying Mia or Eddy.
A body sprawled face-down on the dirt caught his eye and he charged forward. Terror squeezed his lungs, taking all the breath from his body.
Bobby.
Blood pooled out from his motionless body. Chet placed two fingers along the vein of his neck and found a thready pulse. Relief poured through him. Bobby was alive, but barely.
And where was Mia?
The crunch of dead leaves and debris rang in his ears, and he spun around.
Tucker and Otto bounded through the trees.
“Bobby needs an ambulance. Now.” He gingerly ran his fingers along the crimson-stained shirt, not wanting to hurt him but needing to find the wound in case there was something he could do. “Gunshot wound,” he yelled out.
He rose to his feet and swallowed the lump of fear clogged in his throat. His hands shook, and he racked his brain for another location where Eddy could have taken Mia. He couldn’t be far. Not by the looks of Bobby.
Tucker ran forward, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I’ll make the call. Look around for signs of Eddy and Mia.”
A figure approached from the corner of his eye, and Chet spun to face Eddy. A gruesome wound was burned on his cheek—the brand. The skin angry and red, puss oozing from the open skin. Blood soaked through the side of his shirt.
And a gun pointed at Chet.
“It’s time to end this once and for all,” Eddy said, his voice weak and shaky.
