He found a silver emergency thermal blanket and the thing he was looking for—a large, sheathed, serrated hunting knife. He pulled it out and affixed it to his belt. It wouldn’t do him much good against an animal, but it was handy when it came to tangles of vines or illegal traps, if there was such back in this forest.

Mitch brought him the backpack. The kid’s eyes were scared as he handed it to Dylan, so he crouched and ruffled the kid’s hair. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “We’ll find him. Now can you go get me a couple of bottles of water from the cabin? Please?”

He nodded and ran to the task. Dylan loaded up the little backpack. It was much too small to wear on his back, but he could sling it over one shoulder. It wasn’t a good idea to go more than a hundred yards into unknown territory or strange forest without a little emergency gear handy—you never know when you might have trouble finding your way back.

“Water?” Katie said, having overheard him ask Mitch. “You’re taking water? Oh, my God!”

“Katie! Easy! It’s in case I get lost. I don’t know this area any better than you do! Did you call Conner?”

“He’s coming. Jack said he’ll round up some people. Oh, God. That knife!”

“It’s for stubborn branches or tight spaces. Now you can call to Andy from the clearing close to the house but I want you to keep Mitch close—we don’t want two of them lost.” He looked at his watch. Had it been almost a half hour? Not good. “I want you to tell whoever comes first that I’m going that way—the direction we saw the bear and her cubs go. There’s a path, a little overgrown, and it’s not near a road. Tell them Andy’s been missing from the front yard since just before five.” He walked toward the porch and Mitch bolted out the door with two bottles of water. He smiled and gave Mitch a pat on the shoulder. “Thanks, buddy. Stay with your mom, please.”

“Can you find him?” Mitch asked.

“Sure we’ll find him.” Then he turned to Katie. He gave her a quick kiss. “Keep your head. Don’t panic. Just stay close to the house with Mitch. If Andy turns up before I do, try blasting the air horn as a signal.”

“Please, Dylan,” she said softly. “Please.”

“If I’m any judge of this place, pretty soon there will be a bunch of guys helping. You can keep calling to him—maybe he’ll get turned back in the right direction and hear you. Listen carefully in case he calls back, but if he does, don’t go running into the woods. Sounds bounce around in the forest and you might go in the wrong direction. We don’t need you and Mitch lost. If you hear him, just call back so he has something to walk toward. Got that?”

“Got it.”

He turned and loped into the forest, a five-year-old’s backpack slung over one shoulder. It had been a long time since he’d ventured into uncharted territory like this and about ten years since they’d had someone lost in the mountains around Payne. Never a little kid.

He pushed on, going mainly uphill. He could hear Katie calling Andy’s name, her voice getting more and more faint as he walked. When he could barely hear her, he began to call out Andy’s name. After each time, he would stop and listen, but nothing came back at him.

He had nothing to go on except a narrow, overgrown path, but all around it was thick overgrowth and he thought if he were a little half pint like Andy, he’d take the path rather than tackle the thickness of the woods on each side. He went up, then around, then down, then up, leaving markers along the way—three stones in a triangle, a branch cut with the knife, a pile of pine cones. The path was winding upward around a hill. It was getting dark back in the trees and he couldn’t hear Katie anymore; there were no other voices calling out.

His watch said six; some of the trees were so tall the sun was almost completely blocked. He got out the flashlight and began to step a little more softly, carefully, shining the light on and off the trail, calling Andy’s name, telling him to make a sound. “Say something so I can find you,” he encouraged. And sometimes he just said, “I’m coming, Andy. I’m coming.”

Dylan thought he should’ve been ready for something like this—Andy was the curious and impulsive one. Adventurous. Mitch was more methodical; a plotter. Mitch was the thinker, Andy was the doer. Andy was the one who would get some harebrained notion like finding out where the bear lived and then just walk into the forest. He could’ve gotten turned around, tried to go back to the cabin but instead went deeper and deeper. He wasn’t sure when he came to know them so well, but he knew he was right.

He looked at his watch. Six-thirty.

There would still be light on the roads and in town, but back here it was deep dusk, quickly growing darker by the minute. He called, then listened, then walked, then called again.

And he finally heard something. He shined the flashlight into the trees and what did he see but the bear family on the left side of the trail. Shit. Mama glared into the light, her eyes reflecting yellow. She made a sound. It didn’t sound like an angry sound, more like a bored I dare you sound.

And there, on the right side of the trail, not nearly far enough away, he saw him, facedown beside a dead tree, burrowed half under the rotting trunk. He could be dead, he was that still.

Dylan crouched, sitting on one boot heel, partially concealed by a big bush, watching Andy and Mama Bear and her cubs. He knew she could smell him, but as long as he didn’t get any closer she apparently didn’t much care. He turned off the flashlight and listened carefully so he could hear if she approached him, but they all just waited in silence. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and there she was, surrounded by her three big balls of fur, right on the other side of the path. Andy wasn’t separated from the bears by more than twenty feet. He might as well have been right on top of them.

And then Andy lifted his head briefly. He tried to move but it appeared his foot was caught by the heel, stuck in a crack in the dead tree, holding him there. Dylan smiled—Andy was playing dead. Although it must’ve hurt to have his ankle twisted as it was, he was facedown and still. He didn’t see Dylan. He put his head back down and Dylan didn’t move.

Another half hour passed while the night darkened and Mama settled herself in a semisheltered batch of bushes, rotting trunks and big trees. She was licking her pads and claws like a contented zoo animal. And finally she quieted. Dylan gave her another ten minutes. Then he dared to do the only thing that came to mind. He tried to get to Andy.

He took the longest and quietest strides toward the boy that he could manage—a good twenty long strides through the growth. He fell to the ground, covering Andy with his body. “Don’t move, no matter what,” he whispered.

“Dylan, I—”

“Shhh,” Dylan shushed.

And then he heard her; sticks were breaking, leaves were crunching. Was she curious or angry? Then he could smell her, like she’d been in the garbage somewhere. And he heard her sigh and snort. She was dangerously close and he prayed Andy wouldn’t move or speak. And then there was a movement, a rustle very nearby, and then a sharp, scalding, terrifying streak of pain shot across his back and he reared suddenly in agony, a loud “Ahhh!” coming out of him despite his intention to be silent. He heard lots of rustling, but no additional clawing—thank God! That once was about all he could take. He heard the bear talking, cubs mewling. Their sounds didn’t seem to be getting closer; he prayed she felt invaded and was moving away.

Andy was trembling beneath him; he must be frightened to death.

“Don’t move,” Dylan whispered. “Play dead.”

Andy stilled. There was not the slightest movement beneath him. The poor kid, only five and faced with life or death.

Dylan held positively still despite the pain that blasted across his back. The bitch had gotten one good swipe and it hurt like bloody hell, but his heart was still beating. He had not posed a threat; she probably just slapped him to see if he was alive, then hustled away, but until he waited her out he couldn’t be sure. He tried to slow his pulse so he could be sure of what he was hearing. She could have gone back to her cubs and settled in to sleep, in which case she was far too close and getting Andy out of here might wake her.

“Andy,” he whispered. “I have to move a little. I have to see if she’s near us. Don’t you move, no matter what.”

“My foot’s stuck,” Andy whispered back.

“Shhh,” he said. Then he listened. Nothing.

He lifted his head slowly, looking over the thick trunk of the felled tree carcass under which they hid. He glanced into the surrounding forest in her direction, but he didn’t see her. She could have moved a little and still been near, but he couldn’t smell her. He lifted his head further and looked in other directions, but there was no sign of her. That didn’t mean she was gone. In fact he could run into her on his way back to the cabin. But he was hurt and so was Andy; they couldn’t stay here any longer.

“I’m going to move,” he said softly. “Don’t you move a muscle.”

He gingerly pulled himself off Andy and knelt beside him. He wiggled the little tennis shoe, stuck in a slit in the tree trunk, and as he moved Andy’s foot, Andy tried to stifle a cry. Then with a quick motion, he just pulled the boy’s foot out and left the shoe wedged there. He moved the boy’s ankle. “Hurt?” he asked. And Andy nodded, not even turning to look at Dylan.

He leaned down and whispered, “I’m going to try to carry you out of here—no talking. At. All.”

Andy nodded, his head still facedown. Dylan slowly and cautiously rolled Andy over onto his back, then lifted him into his arms. With great effort, he rose to his feet, wincing with pain. He just had to stay upright long enough to get Andy home and fortunately it was mostly downhill and not steep. He gripped the flashlight in the hand that was under Andy’s knees, but he didn’t turn it on until he’d made his way down the path for a few minutes, each step slow and careful so he wouldn’t trip, then he lit the way. “Andy,” he said softly. “If anything happens, if we run into trouble, take the flashlight, stay on this path down the hill—it winds around, but leads back to the cabin.”

“’Kay,” he said softly.

As Dylan walked a little farther, his breath came harder and he grunted a little with the effort.

“I can walk,” Andy said.

“Not with one shoe and a sore ankle,” Dylan pointed out. “You’ll cut up your foot and make your ankle worse.”

“I can go piggyback,” he suggested.

“Not gonna work, buddy,” Dylan whispered. “I have a scratch on my back.”

“From the bear?” Andy asked.

“She must’ve been scared that I’d hurt her cubs or something,” Dylan said. “We have to rest a second, Andy,” he said, setting the boy down briefly. He was dizzy and hoped it was from anything but blood loss. His watch told him it was eight o’clock. He’d dropped the backpack back by the dead tree and thus the water, so he’d have to keep going without it. He could feel the wet and cold on his back. The best thing, he thought, was to get where he was going as quickly as possible; get Andy to his mother, get some medical attention. “Okay, bud, let’s go,” Dylan said.

“I want to walk,” he said.

“The sticks and stones on the path will tear up your foot,” Dylan said, attempting to lift him again.

“I can walk until it starts to hurt my foot,” Andy said.

Dylan thought about this briefly. “All right, walk in front of me.” They proceeded that way, but it didn’t take Andy two minutes before he started limping, trying very hard to conceal it. “Okay, pal,” Dylan said hoarsely. “Come on, let me give you a hand.” Andy turned and Dylan picked him up, but this time he pulled Andy up facing him and Andy wrapped his arms around Dylan’s neck and his legs around his hips. He held him up under the rump. “That’s a little better,” Dylan said. And they set out again.

Dylan’s watch told him it was eight-thirty and just as he read that, he noticed a glow up ahead. They’d be coming to a clearing and the final rays of the setting summer sun would have lit the way—he just hoped it was the right clearing. He didn’t feel lost and he had seen what he thought were his markers, hoping they weren’t someone else’s.

“Getting there,” he said to Andy.

He felt Andy lean away from him and wipe his cheek; the kid didn’t even cry out loud.

“Do you have any idea how brave you are?” Dylan asked him. “You were still and quiet with that big old bear practically on top of you. You’re the bravest kid I know.”

“I was backing away like you said and tripped over that stupid tree,” he grumbled.

Dylan actually chuckled. “You did good,” he said.

“I’m gonna be in trouble,” he said.

“Aw, you might escape trouble—your mom is going to be so glad to see you. Never do it again, though. Never.”

“’Kay,” he answered. “I have to pee.”

“Hold it,” Dylan said. “Really, I see light. If it’s not the cabin, we’ll take a break and a whizz.”

“’Kay.”

The path came down the hill right behind the blackberry bushes and he saw that it wasn’t the setting sunlight, but headlights. The clearing was full of trucks and SUVs, all with their headlights trained on the forest in every direction. There were only a couple of men in the clearing, among them the town doctor and Conner. Jack’s wife was there, too, probably anticipating Andy’s possible injuries. Wouldn’t they be surprised. Katie was in the clearing, pacing. Leslie was on the porch, doing likewise. He put Andy down.