5
WILLOW REFUSED to let today’s hike end in epic failure. Even if Sam’s words contained an eerie, haunting prophetic doom.
What could go wrong?
She could start with the arrival of Quinn Starr, who was dropped off by his senator father at the PEAK ranch just as they were leaving.
The fact that Quinn had other plans became evident the minute he got in, pulled out his cell phone, and began to text. Even Josh Blessing’s attempt at a name game got little response.
At least the rest of her youth seemed on board with today’s agenda—get to know Josh, enjoy nature, maybe even be inspired.
Seven kids in total. Dawson Moore, sixteen, son of a local doctor, and Vi, his twin sister. Gus Blumer, senior nose guard starter for the Mavericks, a youth group faithful. Zena Lynch, tall and dark, from her dyed hair to black fingernails. She probably came simply to escape a Saturday at home. Whereas Riley Rigs, video gamer, was most likely forced into the light. Maggy Nichols sat eating a bag of Cheetos in the back. The daughter of the choir director, she never missed an event.
They played the game with Josh as Willow drove them into the park, Sam riding shotgun. He’d offered to drive, but she knew exactly where she wanted to take them today.
Except, that turned out to be the next fateful mishap.
“What does it mean, ‘Closed Due to Grizzly Danger’?” Josh asked as they parked in the gravel lot at the Huckleberry Mountain trailhead.
Sam shot him a look.
Willow suppressed a smile. “Don’t worry, I got this.”
Which only meant she had a reason to take them to a better hike, one she’d always wanted to take them on—the Numa Ridge Fire Lookout.
“Are you sure?” Josh asked as she drove them north, past the town of Polebridge, her old haunts, and of course, the commune.
“Yes. It’s a steeper hike, but so worth it.” She glanced over her shoulder, met eyes with Quinn.
He still bore the scars of last week’s terror—not only on his body but in his eyes. Shame, and she wanted to shake it out of him.
Show him that he didn’t have to let his mistakes consume him. Sorry, but she still didn’t believe he’d meant Bella harm. She had it on good authority that he’d camped outside Bella’s room at the hospital for three days until she was discharged.
Willow could only imagine what Bella’s mother thought of the senator’s son hanging around. She couldn’t put a finger on why the senator had dropped off Quinn for the day, but if she could nudge Quinn out of his funk, get him to talk about it—even with Sam—she’d count the day as successful.
“Eyes on the road, Willow!”
Sam’s voice jerked her back to the moment, to the fact she may have edged over to the side a smidgen. About six miles into the park, they were gaining altitude, with Bowman Creek falling into the valley below them. Pine trees intersected the rocky debris, and the road wound through forest and along the cliffside.
Spectacular.
“Sorry,” she said.
Sam folded his arms over his chest, stared out the window.
Which hinted at the third disaster of the day. Because she’d heard Sam’s call to Sierra as they’d left Huckleberry Mountain, and the fact that it went to voice mail. He hadn’t left a message.
Worse, when he’d called Jess, Pete had picked up her cell phone and told him Sierra wasn’t there.
Sam turned dark and moody.
Willow wanted to offer the easy explanation—Pete had decided to show up at Jess’s house, and seeing that he had it covered, maybe Sierra had gone to the ranch to catch up on administrative work.
Although, it had her feeling a little dark too.
So much for her grand plan to give Sierra and Sam a magical day.
Her spirits lifted when they reached the trailhead. The day was bright and the air was crisp. The kids seemed eager to get out, stretch, embrace the challenge of the hike.
A slight wind bullied them as they walked along Bowman Lake, with Rainbow Peak rising in majestic glory, her ridges covered in rich green pine and spruce.
They reached the ridge, and the panorama began to open up, tiny glimpses of the lake below, a deep turquoise blue surrounded by the rich glacier forest. The terrain turned rough, and they stopped for lunch in a field with a view of golden larch and aspen.
Sam sat away from them.
Quinn, too, didn’t join the group, though his phone was now useless with the loss of signal.
“He’s been really upset since Bella got hurt,” Maggy said as she peeled back the wrapper on her cheese stick.
Zena took snaps with her phone. Vi read a book on a boulder nearby. Josh sat with Gus and Riley, and Dawson stood not far away, nursing his water bottle.
So much for bonding, but Willow planned an inspirational speech when they reached the tower.
Yet, when they reached the Lookout Tower, her exhausted crew barely noticed the glorious view—Rainbow Peak, already snowcapped, the falling scree-side of Kintla Ridge, and the blue radiance of Bowman Lake, now a puddle in the distance. Yes, she noticed the gray clouds to the west, tumultuous and dark, tasted the menacing bite of the wind, but she refused to let it deter her words.
Josh didn’t seem eager to take ahold of this moment, so she dove in.
“I brought you here to make a point—that when we were down in the valley, we had no idea of the beauty of being on top of the mountain. Bowman Lake looks tiny, and even Rainbow Peak feels close enough to reach out and touch. Psalm 61 says, ‘From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I.’ The reason David asks God to lead him to a higher rock is so that in his weakest, most overwhelming moments, he can get a new perspective. A divine view of his problems. See, when we’re stuck in our everyday troubles, we can get focused on them, and that’s all we see. We don’t see God at work in our lives, just the darkness around us. But if you turn it around, look up, start finding a way to thank God, even praise him, you’ll discover a different view.”
Quinn sat with his back to the lookout tower, not looking at her. Gus leaned against the rail, and Dawson and Riley threw rocks off the tower, watching them crumble below. Zena played with her phone, taking shots of the view. Only Maggy and Vi seemed to be listening.
Strangely, when Willow glanced at Sam, he looked like he was frowning at her, although he’d put on his sunglasses, so she couldn’t be sure.
“A different view can also show you the truth of your situation. And a path out. Just remember, God has this view all the time. No detail of your life is unseen by him. He is your guide and your protector through life’s journey. The great part is that he says ‘don’t worry.’ He’ll take care of us. All we have to do is be still and know that he’s God.”
She thought it went well, given the fact that Josh looked up then, nodded, gave her a tight smile.
Epic day achieved.
Except for the sleet that hit on the way down. Willow had checked the forecast before the hike, saw the chance for rain that evening, long after they would have returned. Willow had never seen a storm cloud roll in so quickly, the wind change, the temperature drop.
Only a mile from the lookout, tiny shards of ice began to pepper them.
“Faster!”
This from Sam, who was practically running down the path, but with the boulders and rocky ledges—and Josh’s pitiful Converse shoes—she refused to let them go too fast.
“We are not running. We’re going to be fine.”
Sam slowed, but with his long legs, she still felt like she was sprinting to keep up.
Quinn, however, decided to keep up with Sam. Probably as eager to escape this dismal day as Sam was.
By the time they reached the forest cover, they were shivering, soaked through. Worse, halfway down the trail, Dawson had tripped and fallen into Josh, who slid and skinned his knee.
She gave him points for being a trouper and not whining, especially when he started limping.
Willow caught up to Sam. “I didn’t know it would sleet,” she said. “I’m really sorry.”
He looked at her, did a double take. “This isn’t your fault,” he said quietly, walking steadily on the path.
“It sort of is. I pushed us all to come here. If we’d turned around to go home, we’d all be at a movie right now.”
This got the slightest tweak of his mouth. “Yeah, well, we wouldn’t have heard your inspirational talk.”
Funny how his words could light her from inside. “Did you like it?”
Or not.
“I just wanted these kids to know that God is watching over their lives, even if they feel like they’re lost, or alone, or overwhelmed.”
That made his smile vanish, his mouth tighten into a grim line. He nodded.
Sped up.
There went her opportunity to tell him that maybe he needed to give his relationship with Sierra another chance. That just because they’d had a rough start didn’t mean they didn’t belong together. That if he could just hang in there, he’d discover that she was an amazing, kind, patient, awesome human being.
Although probably Willow was the last person he would listen to, because even in her own mind, her words sounded pitiful. The girl who kissed him telling him—practically begging him—to date her sister?
Clearly she had issues.
By the time they reached the van, the sun was nearly gone and the brisk wind was snaking through the trees and into their bones. Willow couldn’t feel her hands and fumbled with the keys in the lock.
“I got this, Willow,” Sam said and took the keys from her hand. She let him, because frankly, she couldn’t take any more failures today. She just wanted to climb inside, blast the heat, and dry off. Maybe curl in her seat and hope that Josh wouldn’t report her sad, barren youth event results to the church board.
Sam fired up the van, let the heat blast.
“Seat belts,” he said, and glanced back, waiting.
Even Quinn obeyed. Sam put the van into gear and started back to the main road.
Miserable silence descended.
Willow simply couldn’t take it. The darkness, the pinging of the sleet on the windshield, the shiver that shook her entire body—
Sam glanced at her, shook his head.
Well, he didn’t have to sing anything—and really, she didn’t want him to. Not with the road slick and his headlights cutting through the sleet like he might be in the Millennium Falcon, about to zap into warp speed.
But he wasn’t a sixteen-year-old youth in need of cheering up. She pulled out her iPhone and cued up her playlist. “Okay, how about ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’?”
Fourteen eyes looked at her like she might be speaking another language.
“Seriously, you don’t know this? It’s an epic eighties song my mom loved. C’mon, I bet you do.” She pressed play, began to sing.
“Just a small town girl . . .”
Nothing.
“Livin’ in a lonely world . . .”
She kept going, turning up the volume. Noticed Maggy bobbing her head, Vi frowning.
Quinn looked away, and Josh was shaking his head.
Gus, however, began to hum. “I know this one.”
“Right?” Willow said. She kept singing. Louder.
And then, miracle of miracles, next to her, “Just a city boy . . .”
No. Seriously?
Sam glanced at her, and the slightest of smiles creased his face as he sang along with her iPhone.
With her.
And she couldn’t help it. She wanted to kiss him all over again. Especially when he raised his voice on the chorus.
And caused Dawson and Riley to sing along, Dawson reaching dangerous off-tune decibels.
“Some were born to sing the blues . . .”
And that’s when it happened. Maybe Sam drove too close to the edge and overcorrected. Maybe he hit an ice patch, tapped the brakes too hard.
Maybe he simply stopped thinking about the road, got distracted.
Suddenly they were sliding down the highway, toward the edge of the embankment.
Willow screamed, grabbed the armrest as the van hit the ditch, barely shuddered, then with a sickening crunch on gravel, spun out over the edge.
Then they were rolling. Hard edges, stunning blows, chaos, and broken glass as they careened down the mountainside.
Needles in his skin, so cold they found his bones, turned him brittle. Sam fought the darkness, lashed out, heard a scream, maybe his own. He could feel the snow on his face, the heat of his own tears on his lips, the desperation clawing at his chest.
Dad!
“Sam!”
The voice reached in. “Sam!” A hand on his arm, squeezing.
He jerked, the voice familiar enough to arrest his panic, and he struggled to catalog it.
“Sam, wake up!”
He shook himself free of the darkness.
Just a dream.
Or . . . no, something else. A gasp and suddenly he jerked awake.
Darkness still folded in against him, ice pinging his skin, his face, but the cold air filled his lungs and he realized.
Not dead. And not lying in his room in the wee, brutal hours of the night reliving a familiar nightmare.
For a second, the final moments before the crash flashed—singing, a quiet stir of surrender as he’d turned to Willow, her smile reaching in to loosen the darkness—
“I’m here,” Willow said, her voice shaky. “Are you hurt?”
Someone in the van was whimpering; maybe others were moaning, even crying, but in the darkness it all felt jumbled, chaotic. He put his hand to his forehead, found a bump blooming. His hand felt cool against the heat of the hematoma. He tasted blood and ran his tongue tentatively over his lip, found it tender.
They’d ended up with the passenger side to the ground. His body dangled over the armrest of his captain’s chair, his seat belt imprisoning him. He let out a moan against a bone-deep ache, the spur of pain in his side.
His hand went to hers, found her fingers. “I’m okay.” Maybe. “How hurt are you?”
“My shoulder’s a little banged up, but . . .” Her voice caught, and it seemed she might be about to cry.
That seemed the perfect way to end this miserable, disaster-wrought day. Sure, he could have tried harder to make it a win for Willow, but when Quinn Starr had shown up, it yanked Sam right back to his frustration with Pete, accentuated by the fact that it looked like Sierra had lied to him.
So much for her staying home to help Jess. Pete, the hero, had arrived and, judging by the laughter behind the phone call, Jess had clearly forgiven the jerk.
He didn’t care what Jess did. He just wanted to get them home, track down Sierra, and get to the bottom of why she didn’t want to spend time with him. Why they couldn’t seem to get their relationship off the ground.
It didn’t help that Willow’s inspirational talk had driven a knife into his gut. And now Sam had nearly gotten them killed. So much for Sierra’s assertion that the kids would be better off with him on this trip.
Sam’s vision began to adjust to the darkness. From what he could tell, the front windshield was still attached, although spider-webbed. The acrid odor of gas hung in the air, but he didn’t smell smoke, didn’t hear sparks.
“I’m going to unbuckle,” he said, letting go of Willow’s hand and reaching for his seat belt. He winced, leveraging his feet against the floorboard, glass crunching as he wrestled with the latch.
He forgot, however, to brace himself and nearly fell into Willow’s lap. He caught himself on the dashboard, his other hand clinging to the armrest.
Her hands came up to brace his chest. “I got ya,” she said, her voice shaky.
“I’m okay,” he said and carefully scooted down, stepping on her door, then moving so he crouched on her passenger side window. She lay crumpled against it, but he could barely make her out in the swath of dark shadow, night falling fast with the storm.
“I have a flashlight in my backpack,” she said. “Under my seat.”
He carefully moved his hand through the rubble and found the pack. He fumbled with it, then opened the zipper and reached inside. His hands closed on a small cylindrical object, and he pulled it out, found the rough edge of the Maglite and turned it on.
Light pieced the darkness, and Willow winced, averting her eyes.
“Sorry,” he said and flicked the light over her body, making a quick assessment.
She lay on her side, of course, her shoulder wedged hard into the door. She offered him a tentative smile, courage in her eyes.
“You’re cut,” he said, holding the light near, but not in, her face. He reached out to move her hair away from the wound just below her hairline. Broken glass was embedded in it, but he didn’t want to touch it, fearing digging the glass in deeper. The blood had matted her hair.
“The kids,” she said then and he nodded.
“Call out when I say your name!” He flashed the light into the back and called out their names, one by one.
Thin voices, shaky, a few hiccupping back sobs as they called back, but everyone was awake, albeit scared. He flashed the light on each one of them as they answered.
As a whole, they lay crumpled together, still buckled in their seats. Vi sat closest to him, her hands over her face, whimpering but otherwise okay. Maggy, next to her, had her arms wrapped around herself, her expression stricken.
Behind them, Gus and Quinn and Riley were trying to untangle themselves.
“Don’t unbuckle yet,” Sam said, glancing behind them to Zena, Josh, and Dawson in the last row. Zena, nearest the window, seemed dazed, with Dawson trying to push himself off her.
Blood ran from Josh’s nose. He pinched it, held his head back, moaning.
“Okay, everyone stay put.” Sam looked again at Willow. “I need to see how bad it is.”
Willow nodded but grabbed his sleeve. “Come back.”
He frowned at her request. “Of course.”
But she held on, so he gave her hand a little squeeze. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”
Then he stood up, put the flashlight in his teeth, and using her seat as leverage, pulled himself through the broken driver’s window.
The sleet and wind whistled outside the van, blinding him, and he nearly slid off down the roof.
He grabbed the mirror, clamping down hard on the flashlight to stifle a grunt, and scrabbled back to the side of the van.
His heart jammed into his throat as he cast his light around.
They’d come within two feet of careening off a cliff. Save for the shaggy arms of a white pine which, to his quick survey, had saved their lives, they would have slid all the way down the side of the mountain and into a black abyss. Now, the van lay in the embrace of the tree, its nose jutted out into thin air.
How long the tree could hold them, he couldn’t guess. He couldn’t see anything beyond the precipice, the cloud cover obscuring any moonlight.
Working his way over the slick body of the van, he slid toward safety into the bushy grasp of the tree.
The tree cracked, and he froze, his heart in his ribs. The van didn’t budge.
He shined the light on the trunk of the tree.
The van had taken it out at the roots, which were thick and twisted and jutting from the ground. He took one step—the tree held—then another, and finally scrambled along the length, the needles pricking his face as he wrestled free of its grip. He tripped out onto the rocky ledge and stood up, breathing hard.
Taking the light from his mouth, he walked over to the edge of the cliff, not too close, and flashed the light into the gorge.
The tree obstructed his view, but from what he could tell, the drop could be fifty feet or more. Despite the ice in his hair and his eyes, a thin, hot trickle of sweat beaded along his back.
“Tell everyone to stay perfectly still!” he shouted to Willow. He didn’t want to tell her why.
He shined the light toward the road. The light couldn’t peel back the darkness enough to spot it, but he guessed they’d slid nearly fifty yards, maybe more, taking with them saplings, boulders, and not a few bushes.
It left a trail that any good SAR team could follow.
Which meant that if they just stayed put, the team could find them.
That was, if they knew where to look, or even that they were missing. Maybe he should hike up the hill and get help.
Come back.
Willow’s voice, soft and plaintive, whispered in his ear.
What if he tried to get the kids out? The emergency pack contained climbing rope, webbing, carabiners—everything he’d need to rig up a belay system.
Or maybe he could simply try to secure the van, buy them time.
But if he didn’t go for help, they might all freeze to death. With the cloud cover closing in and the wind gusting, the sleet could turn to snow. An early season blizzard.
He was standing there doing the math on his options—distance to help, time of exposure, probability of the van going over—when he heard the shout.
“Vi, come back here!”
He flashed the light to the driver’s window, and his entire body jerked when he spotted Violet Moore edging her way out. Sobbing, nearly hysterical, she screamed, struggling hard as she fought to free herself. The van shook with her efforts.
“Violet!” Sam climbed onto the tree, trying to get back to the van. “Get back!”
Even as he broke through the branches, he spotted Quinn Starr behind her, pulling her in.
Sam’s feet steadied on the back door handle, and he launched himself to the upward side of the van.
“Quinn—get her inside!”
His gaze connected with Quinn’s one brutal second before he heard a great, ripping crack. The tree shuddered.
Sam scrambled over the top. Come back.
Quinn pulled Violet inside, and Sam lunged for the door.
The tree started to give, and he slid forward, toward the front of the van.
Toward the edge of the abyss.
The tree began to tilt.
Sam dropped the flashlight and grabbed for a hold. His hands closed over the side mirror.
With a deafening crack, the tree surrendered and heaved the van over the edge, into the black, steel-edged night.