He made a funny sound, as if blowing out his horror. “Then it was just there! Just—there. Raging. It smelled like wet dog and just roared at us—”
He leaned over, gripped his knees, breathing hard, as if he might vomit.
Huh.
Pete looked at Sam, one eyebrow raised.
Okay, granted, the kid sounded truly terrified. Maybe his desperate tone could be attributed to the high adrenaline of life suddenly turning raw, out-of-control, devastating.
Sam well remembered that feeling.
“Breathe, kid,” Sam said. “Are you sure it was a grizzly?”
Quinn looked up then, his expression grim. “Yeah. It had that ruff of fur between its shoulders.” He stood up. “I yelled at Bella to run, and then I picked up a rock and threw it.”
Sam might give the kid some props for trying to save his girlfriend.
“It grunted, and I just ran. Bella was climbing a tree, and I thought maybe I could give her time. So I ran toward the pit, hoping the bear would follow me.”
Sam eyed him, his mouth tight. Probably panic had taken ahold of those running-back legs and set him sprinting.
What was the old adage? You didn’t have to be faster than the bear, just the guy—or in this case, the girl—behind you?
Especially if said girl was wearing a homecoming dress.
Which only made climbing a tree that much more difficult.
“This tree?” Sam shone his light upward.
That’s when he spotted a broken branch the size of his arm. As he dragged the light down, he made out claw marks peeling back the bark.
A cold hand wrapped around his heart.
Quinn pushed toward him, stared up at the tree. “Bella!”
“Here’s Quinn’s pack.” Gage’s light fell on the torn, mangled debris of a lightweight day pack. Nearby, a sleeping bag lay torn to shreds, the down lifting into the air like snowflakes against the harsh panes of night.
Which, if they didn’t find the girl soon, just might turn real. Despite the late September air tinged with the scents of campfire, the breath of winter hovered.
“I found something!” Pete, banging around in the bushes, lifted a strip of fabric. A swatch of silky yellow.
“It’s her . . .” Quinn’s voice hitched. “Her dress.”
“This way,” Pete said and headed out, the ax easy in his hands.
Sometimes Sam forgot that Pete had spent the past seven summers as a smoke jumper for the Jude County wildland firefighters.
They followed the broken branches and bits of silky fabric into the tangles of the forest. The pine trees closed in, shaggy arms clawing at them, the spindly, crooked fingers of poplar saplings slapping his face, his arms.
Please, God, let her be alive.
The prayer felt too familiar—too futile.
“Bella!” Quinn tried to push ahead, but Sam caught him, shoved him back. “We got this, kid.”
He heard sniffing and ignored it.
There would be plenty of time for blame and grief later.
“Bella!” Pete’s voice boomed out.
“Here! Help me!”
The high voice shrilled into the darkness, and Sam turned, cast his flashlight over the limestone rocks, mossy-edged boulders, the ravine—there. She was huddled into a ball, wedged so far back under a ledge of rock that they might have never found her except for her call. Her bright yellow dress, neon under his light, dripped out from under the ledge.
Quinn raced over to her, hit his knees. “Bella, are you okay?” He reached in to tug her free, but she cried out.
Sam crouched next to Quinn. “Bella?”
Filthy, her hair matted with leaves, her dress torn, Bella appeared as if she had fled into the forest, come what may. Her mouth bled from the corner and her eye was blackened.
And then he saw the blood. It pooled into the loamy soil under the enclave.
“You’re hurt.”
She had her arm curled into herself. Sam shone his light on it.
A long, nearly bone-deep laceration.
He winced and, not knowing what else to do, reached for his jacket.
But Quinn had his shirt off, had wriggled in next to her and was now wrapping the shirt around her shredded arm. “C’mon, baby. I got you.” He took her into his arms and eased her out of the hole.
She whimpered, her breathing falling over itself, her pretty brown eyes wide with terror. “I tried to climb like you said, but my dress—it caught, and I fell. And then there was the bear, and I didn’t know what to do—so I ran. I just . . . ran and ran . . . and . . .”
Quinn sat behind her, his arms around her, holding her as she shook.
“How did you find the hole?” Sam crouched down and examined the wound. So much blood had started to congeal around the edges. The rip in her skin—Sam guessed a claw rather than teeth—started at the shoulder, curled down in front of her bicep, and ended in the forearm. As if she’d been holding it up to protect herself.