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That really is our biggest fear. We surveyed the area as well as we could, making sure there were no active mining operations or hunting cabins or any sign that people—even a lone seasonal trapper—used the area. That doesn’t mean we couldn’t find ourselves in the middle of a route that suddenly became internet famous among dedicated hikers.
Even then, the land still isn’t free for the taking. It’s Crown land and Indigenous land, and we’re squatting on it, only hoping that our altruistic intent at least mitigates the trespass.
I survey my surroundings. It’s boggy to the east, where the moose had been grazing. To the north, low mountains are barely visible through the tall pines.
Dark shadows on the mountains promise cave entrances. I consider climbing a tree for a better look, but pines really aren’t as climbing-friendly as the maples and oaks of my youth. Still, I eye a possible contender, also as a way to get a better look at the landscape while I’m waiting for Dalton.
I said I wouldn’t leave this spot, and yes, I’m an adult, capable of walking twenty feet and returning to this location, but I won’t give him the heart failure of returning to find my spot empty.
I’m still eyeing the tree—thinking that when he comes back, he can boost me to the lower branches—when I realize I’m alone. Oh, obviously Dalton took off, but a moment ago there’d been a Newfoundland beside me, and now there is not.
“Storm?” I say, swinging around in alarm as I scan the trees.
She whines, and that has my heart tripping faster until I finally spot her half hidden behind brush. She lowers her head and whines again.
I exhale and stride toward her, presuming she walked away to do her business, that whine telling me she knows she shouldn’t wander, but she had a reason.
She’s not crouched to relieve herself, though. She’s snuffling the ground.
“Tell me you don’t smell blood.”
She cannot, of course, tell me anything of the sort. I’m concerned because her whine tells me she hasn’t just picked up Penny’s scent, which is all around.
I take out the scent markers. I open Bruno’s bag to ask if that’s what she smells—our other missing person—but she doesn’t lift her head even when I call her. She just whines another apology for disobeying.
I glance in the direction Dalton went and then over at Storm. She’s about fifteen feet away, and if I can see her from here, then he’ll be able to see me if I go to her.
I walk over and bend beside her. She lifts her nose and paws at the ground. A tree fell here, and the earth is covered with dead branches and moldering leaves. I dig with one hand, but only find dirt.
I straighten and look around. Then I take a step back for a better angle, trying to see what might be bothering her, and my foot slips.
I presume I’ve slid on those rotting leaves, so I’m only paying half attention as I adjust my balance, but my boot keeps sliding backward, and the next thing I know, I’m falling, arms windmilling as I topple.
I don’t hit the ground. I keep going, Storm giving a bark of alarm as I plummet, the earth disappearing above me.
