He tread softly in the direction Brown had fled, gripping the rifle with both hands. Once he was far enough away, there was only one thing he could do, vengeance drumming his heart.
He ran.
CHAPTER NINE
Groaning, Ben stretched. Where—
With a jolt, he opened his eyes, pushing up to sitting, stiff and cramped, remembering. He choked back a sob. Oh, Maggie. I’m so sorry.
The ground beside him by the lean-to was empty. “Jason?”
His only answer was the sway of leaves overhead. All was peaceful and still. Too still. Where was Jason? In sunlight blinking through the trees, he scrambled to his feet. Maybe Jason went to piss. Straining, Ben listened for any sounds of life in the nearby bushes. He could only hear the thump of his own heart.
“Jason?”
Ben circled the lean-to and searched the surrounding area, calling out. There was nothing. It was as though Jason had simply vanished. Where could he have gone? They’d both been utterly drained, but Ben hadn’t intended to fall asleep. He’d just wanted Jason to rest, but now here they were.
Well, here Ben was.
“Shit, fuck, fuck!” he muttered, searching farther from the lean-to and calling Jason’s name again. Should never have fallen asleep! But the urge to escape the terrible reality and give in to his exhaustion had overwhelmed him.
Guilt pricked his skin, and he rubbed his face as he neared the river. Then his knees almost buckled as a terrible thought occurred. He raced to the river’s edge, the roiling, silver-tipped water a good ten-foot drop from the bank.
Of course there was nothing there, because if Jason had jumped, he would be long swept away now. Long dead.
Ben’s empty stomach clenched, bile in his throat. In his despair, would Jason have tried to end his life? He gazed about frantically, screaming, “Jason!”
The thought of both Maggie and Jason dead eviscerated him, his guts spilling out as tears sprang to his eyes. He’d only met them less than a week ago, but now they felt as vital as oxygen.
“Jason!” He ran back to the lean-to, circling it again as if Jason would magically appear.
Then he staggered to a halt, staring at the ground. The rifle was gone.
Relief flooded, sweet and pure. It was possible Brown or someone else had taken the weapon and kidnapped Jason without waking Ben, but unlikely. Much more likely was that Jason had slipped away and taken the rifle, chasing after Brown for revenge. Or maybe he planned to shoot himself and end his misery.
Have to find him!
Ben jerked on his pack, cursing himself for his failure.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted a piece of paper in the shadow of the lean-to, skittering a few inches this way and that in the late-afternoon breeze. It had been crumpled and then straightened out, and his breath caught as he took in the drawing of him and Maggie on the Road to the Sun.
Yes, Jason had left this. He had to have. Now that Ben was looking more closely at the ground and not for a person, he noticed a backpack by the deflated raft. It was Jason’s, the sketchbook torn and abandoned nearby.
Carefully, Ben tucked the drawing of him and Maggie inside the sketchbook and stowed it in his own pack, praying Jason didn’t have too much of a head start. His skin prickled at the thought of Jason out there alone, grief-stricken. If only he could fly over the trees and scoop Jason up to bring him somewhere safe. Somewhere Maggie was still alive.
His radio battery would run out soon, so he kept his report brief and was told helicopters were in the air, but there wasn’t much daylight left. The river rushed by on his left, obscuring any sounds Jason might have been making in the forest. Would Brown have stuck close to the river’s path? Would Jason? Ben could only guess. He hedged his bets by staying near the river while still exploring the endless forest.
He kept a careful watch, conscious of the fact Jason might shoot blindly if he realized anyone was close by. As he tried to formulate a plan to get the gun away from Jason and bring him back to safety, thoughts of Maggie tugged incessantly.
He’d only known the girl for days, yet bottomless grief spiraled. He supposed it was only normal to feel such sadness for a dead child, but the thought of never seeing that sweet smile again, never hearing a clever question or excited answer, stabbed at him with every step. It wasn’t fair.
A twig snapped nearby, loud and sharp. Ben froze, his breath in his throat. His eyes darted left and right, but he saw nothing. A moment later, some kind of small animal—he didn’t see which—scurried by in the underbrush.
His breath whooshed out in a rush, and he turned in a circle just in case. No, he was still alone.