See John write

The sky was a brilliant orange. Shafts of hazy light filtered through the trees. Ethan’s forehead was beaded with sweat as he limped as quickly as he could. The reality of not finding camp before dark was hovering in the back of his mind like a thundercloud. He came to a little gully that was blocked by tangled branches and bushes. Ethan paused and glanced around quickly for a clear path to pass.

Fifty yards to Ethan’s left, Vince lay motionless in the pine needles and dirt. As Ethan pulled on a branch to open a gap between the trees, Vince silently slipped the revolver from the waistband of his pants.

Ethan stepped down into the gully, snapping a small branch that had caught on his sweatshirt. Quickly, he scrambled up the other side of the gully on his toes and hands. As Ethan came into view again, Vince carefully stood up and ducked behind a large tree trunk.

Ethan glanced up at the darkening sky. He took a long, unsteady breath and then looked around. The forest was growing so dark. Everything seemed now to be shapes and shadows. Quickly, he rubbed his eyes.

I can still make it. I can’t be far away now.

Ethan took one step forward and out of the corner of his eye he saw something unusual. He took another two quick steps and bent down to the ground.

It’s a tent!

A wave of emotions swept over his twelve-year-old frame. His hands trembled as he quickly began to scramble down the little hill toward the red nylon tent.

From behind, Vince slipped quietly from tree to tree. He raised the revolver, taking aim at Ethan’s head.

Ethan blinked hard as he drew close to the tent. His eyes began to search through the trees for other tents, for picnic tables, for kids and fishing poles. He squinted, bending over to look low, then standing on his toes to gain any advantage.

As he reached the tent, he softly cleared his throat. “Hello?” he timidly called out.

“Hello?” he repeated as he stepped into the little clearing.

The tent door was open and Ethan bent down and looked inside. No one.

Ethan turned in a circle, his eyes still searching through the trees for the other campsites, for people. He paused and held his breath for a moment, straining to hear anything.

“Hellooooh!” he called out loudly. “Is anybody out there?”

Vince’s heart pounded as he peered around a large pine. His long hair was matted to his sweaty face. He kept his eyes and the revolver locked on Ethan.

Ethan’s eyes began to well up. He staggered backward away from the empty tent.

Just as the stench of the rotting squirrel reached his nose, his foot stepped on something slippery. Startled, he jumped forward and looked behind him on the ground. In the faint light, he could see the mangled corpse, the gray fur, and the dirt darkened from the blood.

Ethan’s hand went to his mouth. His stomach heaved and he felt dizzy.

A heavy gust of wind sliced through the trees at the edge of the meadow. Ethan remained on his knees in the grass, half praying, half crying. He sat up and ran his fingers fitfully through his hair.

Camp has to be that way, he thought, pointing his eyes toward the setting sun in the west. I know I left camp heading East.

Ethan gathered himself, brushing some wet dirt from his pants.

If I head West, toward the sun, I should be OK.

Over and over, he ran through the day in his mind, retracing his steps, wondering how he missed the trail to Peterson Lake.

Where is the stupid Mt. Baldy? If I could just see it …

Ethan had reached the edge of the meadow. He paused for a moment and then stepped into the shadows, keeping his eyes fixed on the setting sun filtered through the branches.

~~~~~~

Vince awoke with a shudder. The image of his parent’s home through the window of the police cruiser was fresh in his mind. The memory seethed like an infected wound. He cursed under his breath and climbed out of the tent.

Stumbling forward, he ran his right hand along the waist of his pants. Not finding the revolver, he spun around and looked at the ground. Then returning to the tent, he found the gun and quickly slid it back into his pants.

He began to mutter in a low, growling tone. “What it feels like to be a thief … don’t you take that tone … you’re a liar and a thief … you’re nothing but a disappointment … you’re nothing … nothing.”

It seemed the darkness was closing around. Vince stared ahead, through his sweaty hair. His eyes—wide open but focused on nothing. His feet—trudging forward, stumbling over roots and rocks.

“What it feels … what I feel … what do you know about what I feel …”

~~~~~~

Ethan could see the western sky growing more and more red. His chest felt tighter and his ankle throbbed.

If I can keep on moving, camp has to be this way. It has to.

He scrambled up a little rise and over a fallen tree. Gingerly, he limped down a small hill. Between a couple of towering pines, Ethan paused and squinted, searching for any sign of camp through the trees. Seeing nothing, he pressed on.
~~~~~~

A dark shadow passed between two trees. Instinctively, Vince dropped to the ground and gripped the handle of the revolver. In an instant, all of Vince’s senses were heightened. His eyes darted back and forth, his ears strained to hear. He held his breath and listened.

The voice was nothing more than a whisper. Vince strained.

This is it, Vince. It’s the end. They’ve come to find you. They’ve come to haul you away. You know why. You know why.

Ethan scrambled up and over three large fallen trees. The roots sticking up out of the ground were taller than Ethan. The little stream had washed away at the soil until these towering trees had nothing left to hold onto. It was probably nothing more than a gentle breeze that knocked them over.

As Ethan carefully cleared the last trunk, he looked down the hill, trying to see through the thick trees. It seemed, here and there, that he could see glimpses of blue and green.

Still limping, he hurried along the bank. A smile spread across his face. His ankle seemed to hardly hurt at all. Another glance up. Yes, there was definitely a clearing up ahead. He could see green grass.

His stomach growled.

I wonder if mom saved any pancakes for me. Hope she’s not mad.

He wanted to run, but his ankle still felt a little unstable. With a little hop, he started skipping. One tender step on the sprained ankle, two hops on the good foot.

The slope began to flatten out. Ethan bobbed his head from side to side, his eyes searching through the trees. A flash of blue.

There it is. Mirror Lake.

He slowed down to a walk and took a deep breath.

The little stream emerged from the thick trees into a large meadow. The grass was tall and green in the marshy, muddy soil. The stream wandered across the meadow, pooling here and there.

As Ethan emerged from the trees into the meadow, he was still smiling. Immediately, his eyes began darting back and forth across the clearing. The smile turned to confusion. He limped several steps out into the clearing and then stopped dead.

His heart began to pound. He drew in a sharp choppy breath. His legs felt weak. He spun around taking in his surroundings.

The towering pines were so thick they seemed like a giant wall. Green grass and mud. But no campers. No tents. No lake. Nothing.

Slowly, Ethan wandered out into the middle of the clearing. His eyes searching up above the trees. He spun his head back and forth, circling all around the limited horizon.

Where’s Mt. Baldy? It doesn’t make sense.

His eyes continued to search for the distinctive peak that rises to the west of Mirror Lake. It is the tallest peak in the whole area. A large grayish brown peak that rises above the tree line, the only peak around that’s completely barren. Stephen had pointed it out to Ethan as they first arrived and began setting up camp. Ethan knew if he could spot the top of Mt. Baldy, he could head in the right direction.

Where is it!

Suddenly he felt dizzy. As he continued to turn, he lost his balance and stumbled, falling down on his hands and knees. Leaning down until his elbows rested on the ground, he dropped his forehead into both hands. He wanted to vomit.

Oh, man. What am I gonna do?

Ethan stayed on his elbows and knees for several minutes. Slowly he rocked back and forth. His tear-filled eyes shut tightly, his jaw clenched.

~~~~~~

The standard government issue telephone on Gabe Kealoha’s desk in the Summit County Search and Rescue office rang. Gabe leaned forward and pulled his large frame out of the chair where he’d been waiting.

“Gone and got his-self lost,” he said to himself. “Had a feeling.”

The phone rang again and he snatched the receiver up, “Yeah, this is Gabe.”

“Gabe, it’s Lloyd again,” the voice on the other end was serious.

“We’ve got a lost boy, don’t we.”

“I’m afraid so. It’s been at least 6 or 7 hours since anyone has seen him.”

“No sign of him up at Peterson?”

“No and there was a couple camping up there who would have seen him if he had been there at all,” Lloyd answered.

Gabe paused. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. His mind choosing carefully the next step.

“OK, Lloyd, I’ll tell you what. You’re gonna have campers packing up and leaving the Mirror Lake campground. You gotta talk to them. We need their names, phone numbers, and addresses. Find out if any of them saw anything.”

Although a lost child in the rugged wilderness of the Uintahs was not a regular occurrence, Gabe and Lloyd had been in the search and rescue business long enough to know the routine well. There were the immediate needs: a good description, determining precisely where and when he was last seen, and defining the grids to be searched. The next hour would be absolutely critical.

“I’ll get a hold of the on-call searchers. And I’ll call the media,” Gabe explained.

“And I’ll make the rounds at the campground,” Lloyd added.

“What about the family? Think they could they get some volunteers who could drop everything and come up here to help search?”

“I’ll check. Maybe extended family or people from their church.”

“OK. Call and give me an update every twenty minutes.”

“Will do, chief.”

~~~~~~

Stephen Jacobs felt a huge lump forming in his throat. He held Lloyd’s satellite phone up to his ear and listened to the distant ring. Another ring.

Please be home!

Ring … Ring … Click, “Hello?”

“Dad, it’s Steve.”

“Steve? I can barely hear you.”

“Yeah, Dad, we’re still up in the Uintahs.”

“How’s it going?”

Stephen paused for a second, uncertain of how to say what he had to say. “Dad … Ethan is lost.” A wave of emotion swept over Stephen as the words came out of his mouth. His chin began to quiver.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. Steve, what happened?”

“We really don’t know right now, Dad.” Sniff. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.”

Stephen gave his dad several names. Samantha’s brother, a couple of neighbors, some people from their church. Stephen’s dad wrote down the names in complete silence. Then he wrote down the instructions for the searchers. Again without a word. The two men paused.

When Stephen’s dad finally spoke, his voice was choked with emotion. “We’ll be praying for you, Steve.”

Stephen swallowed hard. “He went fishing early this morning. Then he was gone … We thought he probably hiked up to another lake nearby. But he wasn’t there. I don’t know where he could’ve gone, Dad.”

~~~~~~

Vince fumbled with the tent pole, turning it around, sliding it into the fabric of the tent. He pushed the pole trying to bow it up into place. The tent slipped away from him and the pole fell to the side.

Vince grabbed the second pole and threw it down into the dirt. He turned his back on the tent and walked down the hill.

Why wait, Vince? You don’t need a tent. You didn’t come up here for this. You know why you came up here.

He shook his head violently. “Shut up!” he screamed.

Vince wandered aimlessly for several minutes. He kicked at the dirt and swore under his breath. Making his way in a large circle, he soon found himself back at the crumpled tent. He stood over it for a minute or two. Finally, he grabbed the pole and gave it a second try. This time, the pole bowed up into place and Vince quickly secured the end of the pole to the base of the tent. The second pole slid easily into place and in another minute, Vince had his pack and sleeping bag tossed inside. After unrolling his sleeping bag, Vince cracked open another warm Coke. Then he laid down and stared at the shadows swaying on the side of the tent. Gradually, his eyelids grew heavy. He blinked slowly, then he was asleep. The memory came as a dream.

The scoutmaster’s old van was full of gear and boys. The smell of sweat, dirt, and campfire from a full week of camping was almost overpowering. The boys were franticly trying to find a sign or license plate that contained a “Z” to declare a winner to the alphabet game they had played most of the drive home. As they turned off the main road into their neighborhood, they all screamed in desperation.

Vince sat slumped against the window, pretending to be asleep.

Suddenly, all the boys went quiet and they stared out the front of the van.

Danny nudged Vince. “Hey, Vince, wake up. Something’s going on at your house.”

Vince opened one eye. Parked in front of his house were two police cars. Slowly, he sat up.

The scoutmaster slowed down and came to a stop in front of the Spackman home. “What do you suppose is going on, Vince?” the scoutmaster asked.

“I don’t know,” Vince answered as he squirmed with embarrassment. “Can we get my stuff out of the back?”

“Sure,” answered the scoutmaster as he put the van in park. He climbed out of the van as Vince slid the side door open. It took a minute to pull Vince’s duffle bag out from under some of the other gear. The scoutmaster kept glancing up at the house for any sign of movement. But all the blinds were drawn and he couldn’t see a thing.

“Well, at least the cop’s lights aren’t on or the sirens—so hopefully it’s not an emergency.”

“Yeah,” Vince replied weakly as he gathered up his sleeping bag and duffle. He glanced up to see all the other boys with their faces pressed to the van windows. Jimmy looked like he was laughing.

“Do you want me to stay and make sure everything’s OK?” the scoutmaster asked.

“No, that’s OK,” Vince answered as he scooped up his gear and headed into the house.

“Well, alright then,” said the scoutmaster still staring at the house. He shook his head a little and then looked at Vince walking across the front lawn. “Hey, Vince, thanks for coming to camp with us.”

Vince didn’t respond. His head was down and he whispered under his breath, “Just get outta here. Freak show is over.”

The front door squeaked loudly as Vince pushed it open. Marshall met Vince immediately at the door. Marshall reached down and took the duffle bag from Vince’s hand. “Hey, Vince, trouble’s brewin’,” he said quickly. “The cops want to talk to you.”

“To me?” Vince asked incredulously. “What for? I’ve been gone for a week.”

“It’s all gonna be cool. You’re OK.”

“Where are they?”

“In the kitchen.”

Vince spun around and started back for the front door. Marshall stepped in his way. “Vince, I told you, it’s OK. Dad’s lost his stupid ivory-handle knife and he thinks it’s been stolen.”

Vince took a quick step to get around Marshall. “VINCE! Is that you?” Mr. Spackman bellowed from the kitchen. “Get in here now, son.”

Vince froze. He looked at Marshall’s face for a second. Marshall stared blankly back.

“VINCE!” Mr. Spackman yelled again. Vince dropped his gaze to the floor and turned to go into the kitchen.

Seated at the kitchen table were two uniformed police officers. Mr. Spackman sat across from them. On the table were several official looking forms. One officer was writing, the other stood up and motioned for Vince to take a seat at the table.

“Hello, Vince. I’m Officer Johnson and this is Officer Nelson.” The other man looked up from his writing and nodded at Vince, then went back to writing.

“We have a few questions for you,” Officer Johnson said as Vince took his seat.

“I’ve been gone for a week,” Vince offered immediately.

“We know,” Officer Johnson replied.

“Don’t you take that tone with the officer,” Mr. Spackman scolded.

Officer Nelson looked up again from his paperwork. “Look, son, here’s the situation. Your father has discovered that he’s missing something that’s worth a lot of money.”

Officer Johnson broke in. “It’s standard procedure to talk to everyone who knew where it was kept to see if we can piece together when it was last seen.”

“What are you talking about?” Vince asked.

“Your father owns an ivory-handled knife. Do you know the knife we’re talking about?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it.”

“Can you tell us where he keeps the knife?”

“I think he keeps it in the top of his closet.”

“Have you seen it sitting in the top of his closet?”

“Well, he keeps it inside a box.”

“What kind of box? Do you remember?” Officer Johnson jotted down a quick note.

“Just a box. Why the hell does it matter what kind of box?” Vince answered nervously.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Mr. Spackman slapped the back of Vince’s head. “I told you not to take that tone, boy.”

“Would you know the box if you saw the box?” Johnson pressed.

“Yeah,” Vince answered.

The officers paused and glanced at each other.

“Let’s go in the bedroom,” Officer Nelson said as he stood up. Vince looked up at him and Nelson gestured for him to stand. “Lead the way, Vince.”

Vince began to shrug his shoulders and glanced over at his dad. Mr. Spackman glared back at Vince without even blinking. Vince stood and lead the officers down the hall to his parent’s bedroom.

When they reached the closet, Vince pulled the door open. Glancing up at the top shelf, he saw the box. “It’s that one,” he said pointing at a black shoebox.

“Do you think you could reach it for us?” Johnson asked.

Vince reached up in a half-hearted effort and shook his head.

“C’mon, Vince. You’re tall enough to reach that,” Nelson said forcefully. “Really reach for it.”

Vince got up on his toes and got a finger on the bottom corner of the box, scooting it forward. Then he used his fingertip to scoot it out far enough that he could grab the end of the box. As he wrapped his fingers around the top of the box, Officer Johnson reached out and took the box from Vince’s hand.

Officer Nelson stepped forward and examined the fingerprints in the dust on the top of the box. Vince’s hand had matched almost perfectly the prints that the officers had already seen on the box.

“Where’s the knife, Vince?” Nelson said, taking a step toward the twelve-year-old who was scrambling backwards.

“You took my knife!” Mr. Spackman was about to explode in full rage.

Vince snapped his head back and forth from the officer’s face to his father’s face. Officer Johnson put a big hand in the middle of Mr. Spackman’s chest to hold him back.

“What? Did you gut fish and carve sticks with a $10,000 knife?” Mr. Spackman struggled to get past the officer and get a hand on Vince.

“Calm down, sir,” Johnson said firmly.

“Vince, where is the knife?” Officer Nelson was clearly growing impatient with the whole situation.

“You never even asked me if I took it. … I’d have told you it’s right in my duffle bag in the living room,” Vince said cowering in the corner.

“You better show it to us. Come on,” Nelson said as he wrapped his hand around Vince’s elbow and pushed him toward the living room.
Twenty minutes later Vince was sitting alone in the living room. His father was outside on the porch arguing with the officers.

“I know I got my knife back,” Mr. Spackman shouted for the tenth time. “But I’m telling you I want to press charges. How’s he gonna learn if you don’t do your damn job and show him what it feels like to be a thief!”

“Do you really think that’s necessary?”

“Yes, I think it’s necessary!” Mr. Spackman bellowed. “I want you to take him. Now!”

Ethan’s head bobbed down and then snapped back up. He blinked several times and shook his head. The patter of the rain and the whooshing of the wind were terribly monotonous.

I wish this storm would pass. I’ve got to get going. Mom’s probably really freaking out.

The longer Ethan sat, the colder he felt. His ankle was beginning to swell and his whole foot felt tight inside his boot.

He carefully scooted out from under the boulder and looked up at the sky. The clouds seemed lighter. Ethan grabbed his shirtsleeve and pulled it up while extending his hand. He felt the rain with an open palm. The storm was letting up and the sky was clearing.

Finally!

He sat there for several minutes under the edge of the boulder. Slowly he flexed and pointed his toe, trying to loosen up his stiff ankle. He felt his elbow gingerly and found it still very painful.

With both hands he grabbed the bottom edge of his sweatshirt. He tugged on it and felt that it was still quite wet. Then he pulled the sweatshirt up and examined his t-shirt. The t-shirt had stayed a little drier than the sweatshirt. He reached a hand up and checked his hair. It was still soaking.

No wonder I’m so cold.

~~~~~~~

Lloyd’s four-wheeler with Stephen riding on back bounced down the trail. Stephen’s mind was deep in thought. He seemed oblivious to the rugged terrain.

Expertly, Lloyd negotiated a tight turn. Stephen grabbed onto the rear rack and braced himself to keep from sliding off the side.

At the trailhead, southeast of Mirror Lake is a small parking lot. Lloyd’s four-wheeler rumbled off the trail and onto the pavement. Lloyd brought the ATV to a stop and shut down the engine.

“Thanks so much, Lloyd,” Stephen said. “It would have taken me all day to get up there, search, and get back.”

“Yeah,” Lloyd agreed.

“What do you think we ought to do now?”

“Well, the first thing, we go to your campsite. You never know, he may have been walking around and has come back to camp on his own.”

Stephen nodded, but the expression on his face showed he was less than hopeful.

“Now, if he’s not there, I’m gonna need you to do your best to remember what he was wearing. Then a description of his height, weight, hair, and eyes.”

“My wife is so much better at that stuff. Can we go find her?”

“She was going to wait at the campground ‘til we got back. Let’s head over there,” Lloyd answered with an understanding nod.

~~~~~~~

The bullet was still rolling back and forth between Vince’s thumb and finger. But his gaze was somewhere far away. His eyes were glazed over, unaware that the storm had let up. His arms were wrapped around his knees which were up against his chest.

The sun was poking through the clouds in small patches, but the breeze still had a cold bite.

Fifteen yards directly in front of Vince, a large squirrel slowly inched his way around the trunk of a tree. In one quick burst, the grey squirrel whipped over a root, then froze. With his head up and eyes alert, he sniffed the air and glanced back and forth. Then when all was clear, he bounced over to the next tree.

The flash of grey fur caught Vince’s eye. He blinked. Then blinked again. Without moving, he focused on the small animal as it scuttled between trees. Carefully, Vince reached down and picked up the last bit of bread crust from his sandwich. When the squirrel slipped behind a tree, Vince tossed the bread out onto the ground in front of him.

The next second, the squirrel’s head appeared around a tree. Its nose twitched and his head bobbed up and down a few times.

Vince waited, hardly breathing. Slowly, he slipped his hand into his pack. He felt the grip of the revolver and slid his finger onto the trigger.

In the blink of an eye, the squirrel retreated out of sight. Vince quickly pulled the gun out of the pack, took aim at the crust of bread, and froze. His heart began to beat faster.

For several long seconds the squirrel stayed hidden. Vince waited. Then the squirrel’s head poked around a tree not more than twenty feet away from Vince’s outstretched pistol. The squirrel sniffed, advancing toward the morsel of bread, then retreating back. Forward, then back again. Forward a third time, then a quick scamper right to the bread. The squirrel’s little paws grabbed the bread and he stood up on his hind legs and froze again, sniffing the air.

Vince’s dark eyes narrowed and ever so carefully he squeezed the trigger. BLAM!

Grey fur, red blood, and dirt seemed to hang in a small cloud. The limp little creature lay twisted on the moist ground.

Vince lowered the gun and cocked his head to one side. He waited to see if his prey would move. As he watched, a small pool of dark red began to form underneath the squirrel’s lifeless body.

Vince laid down the gun. Then staring intently at his kill, he reached his hands out and placed them on the ground. Without ever standing up, he crept over, staying low to the ground.

Leaning over the squirrel, Vince drew in a deep breath. He moved slowly around the body, taking in the detail.

The head and front paws were face down in the dirt. The animal’s spine was grotesquely twisted around so that the hindquarters were facing upward. The bullet had ripped open the belly and almost completely removed one back leg. Only a small strand of stretched fur kept the leg connected at all, leaving the leg in an awkward, unnatural position pointing straight up in the air.

Vince watched the blood ooze from the wound.

He could make out the edge of the rib cage. A round pink bulge protruded out from under the ribs. Dark strands of unrecognizable innards spilled out of the wound and lay on top of the white underbelly fur.

Vince drew in another deep breath. It smelled of bloody meat and feces.

Damn stupid animal. Got everything it deserved.

Vince reached down and grabbed a hold of the nearly detached leg. Slowly he pulled and twisted the leg. Small bits of sinew and cartilage snapped and the wound opened up farther.

Vince looked deep into the cavity left as the bullet ripped through skin and flesh. He could see shattered pieces of bone where the hips should have been.

More blood oozed out of the lifeless creature. Vince took a finger and touched the pool of blood in the dirt. He dipped his finger twice then rubbed the warm liquid against his thumb. He raised his hand to his nose and smelled the mixture of mud and blood.

He looked down at his hand. The blood was all over his fingers now, like it was spreading on its own. Vince felt a strange sensation like he had been completely bathed in blood. He shuddered. Quickly, he glanced over at the tree where the revolver still sat in the dirt.

Vince stood up and looked down at the pile of grey and red at his feet. Suddenly it looked so small.

Vince walked over to the tree, picked up the gun, and checked the cylinder to make sure it still had a round. Then he walked back over to the dead squirrel. Kneeling down over the lifeless mess, he cocked the hammer of the revolver.

Taking careful aim at the tiny head, Vince’s face grew gravely serious.

Only one good way to go.

BLAM!

Ethan spotted the outcropping of rocks through the heavy rain. As he continued to limp down the hillside next to the stream, he kept glancing at a dark shadow underneath one of the largest boulders. The closer he got, the more it appeared like there was room to take some shelter underneath.

His sweatshirt was completely soaked, as were his pants. Fortunately, his boots were waterproof.

An ear-splitting clap of thunder made Ethan jump. He shook the water dripping from his hair out of his eyes and hurried toward the rocks. He scampered up the little slope and found precisely what he had hoped. There was enough room to get up under the overhang of the boulder. It was dark but it was out of the rain.

Camp can’t be too much farther. I’ll wait for a break in the rain and then hurry the rest of the way.

Ethan watched the rain pour down. The large boulder protected him somewhat from the gusts of wind. But now that he was sitting still, his body began to grow colder. He pulled his hands inside the sleeves of his sweatshirt and crossed his arms across his chest.

Minutes passed and the storm continued. A couple of times, the intensity of the rain seemed to be letting up. But as Ethan would be about ready to stick out his hand to see how much it had slowed, an enormous surge of wind and rain would make it clear that the storm was far from over.

Ethan began to grow restless. He could feel his ankle getting tight. But he couldn’t bring himself to give up the shelter of the boulder quite yet.

“Mom’s gonna wonder where I am with all this rain.” Ethan said to himself. “Probably sitting in the tent and watching for me to come back.”

He thought for a few minutes about Sarah and Brandon being cooped up in the tent. Better to be out here for sure. … But I sure wish I had my coat.

Thunder rolled across the mountain side. Ethan pulled his hands farther inside his sweatshirt and tucked them under his armpits.

~~~~~~~

Gabe Kealoha sat at his desk in the Summit County Search and Rescue office. His massive hands forcefully pecked at his computer keyboard. Everything about Gabe seemed too big for a desk job. At six foot three and 260 pounds, he dwarfed the government issue office chair. Broad, thick shoulders offered no taper toward his waist, but continued in almost a straight line down to his double-e wide feet.

Dark, dark eyes glanced back and forth from screen to keyboard. His face bore the trademarks of his Polynesian heritage, including an easy grin and a broad forehead. Thick black locks covered his head without even the slightest hint of gray. His weathered, dark skin testified of a career spent in the sun. But for Gabe, he was a world away from the sandy beaches of paradise where almost all his relatives enjoyed the sun. His life had been spent in the thin mountain air. And he loved it.

As Gabe grumbled and hit the delete key repeatedly, the phone on his desk rang.

“This is Gabe,” he answered in his genuinely friendly tone.

“Gabe, it’s Lloyd,” the voice on the other end said. “We have a situation up here at Mirror Lake.”

“What is it?”

“We have a twelve-year-old boy who went fishing early this morning and now his family is not sure where he’s gone.”

“OK. What’s the boy’s name?”

“Ethan Jacobs.”

“Who was he there with?”

“His whole family, mom, dad, brother, and sister. Dad is hiking up to one of the smaller lakes looking for him right now. Thinks he might have gone off to fish at Peterson or somewhere else.”

“And what time do they think he went fishing?”

“They aren’t really sure. Maybe 5:30. Maybe as late as 6:30. They were sleeping.”

“And how long have they been looking?”

“Well they’ve been all around Mirror a couple of times, checked rest rooms, parking lot, the whole bit.”

“Well, Lloyd, it sounds like he hasn’t been gone too long. He still might come walking down the trail any minute. How’s the mom holding up?”

“She’s pretty shaken up. It’s raining really hard up here and has turned pretty cold. The boy didn’t take a coat, only a sweatshirt they think,” Lloyd answered.

“OK, tell you what, Lloyd,” Gabe said, “take the four-wheeler and run up to Pet