She let go of the mushrooms and focused on Clete, who stood before her with his hands gripping her raincoat.

“What did you hear?” he asked.

She broke away, and picked up his chainsaw. “Is there still gas in this? Can you use it to take the bark off a tree?” she asked.

“What?”

“Come here.”

“Nicky, this wind and rain is only going to get worse. We need to get out of the forest. And I need to tell my father what I did. He’ll be furious.”

She took the chainsaw over to one of the logs she had seen glow. “Just take off the top layer.”

“Why?” he repeated.

“Just, please.”

Clete pulled the cord on the chainsaw, which snarled back at him, coughing smoke. He lowered the saw into the damp, moss-heavy bark, taking off a strip. Bright blond wood shined so hard it hurt her eyes. She tapped it with her knuckles. Hard and smooth.

“Instruments,” she shouted to him. “These trees, they’re instruments.” Clete just stared back at her, his idling chainsaw in one hand.

“We need to get back to town and tell Josie and Veronica.”

“Tell them what?” Clete said, confused.

Nicky climbed the log, slick with rain, to cross the river. Just a faint print remained in the sand. The river below didn’t frighten her at all. “We need to tell them that the mill can be kept in business without cutting down the valley. That there’s a better answer.”

“Lars will never let that happen,” Clete said, following behind with his chainsaw. “I doubt my dad will either.”

“C’mon,” Nicky said, pushing through the bushes. “We only have until daylight.”