Ends of the Earth

Will they even find her?

He bent in two, his face in the dirt again, the metal of the rifle barrel freezing against his cheek.

Just shift it back a few inches and pull the trigger. It’ll all be over.

Jason was on the edge of a canyon, swaying in the wind. He wouldn’t have to feel this anymore. He wouldn’t have to live without her.

You have to find her first.

A sob tearing from his raw throat, he sat up. He had to find his baby. Give her a proper funeral. He was her only family. He had to take care of her to the end. It was his job.

What if she’s still alive? You haven’t seen her yet. He might have been lying.

A flare of hope ignited in the ruins of his chest, deep in the ragged hole where his heart used to be, and he grasped for it desperately.

“Please, God.” On his knees, tilting his face to the heavens, Jason promised to be a better father if Maggie could only be returned to him. He swore to never fail her again.

With a burst of manic energy, his breath coming harshly, he ran, not sure where he was going, but needing to move, muttering prayers and making bargain after bargain if this could not be happening.

He bulldozed through the trees, pushing onward desperately as the sun came up in a huge blue sky.

Ben, where are you?

Maybe he should turn back and find him. Ben would help. Everything would be okay if Ben was there.

Jason spun in a circle, trying to figure out which way he’d come. Where was the river? Which way was east? North? He stared up at the sun, heart beating too fast, throat dry. When had he last had water?

Where was he?

Where was Maggie? He had to find her! He spun again, staring up at the sky, trying to figure out the position of the sun. He staggered under a rush of dizziness, empty stomach heaving. Ben! Where are you?

Had he shouted it out loud? He wasn’t sure. His chest tightened, and he looked up again, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life. He had to find Maggie! She couldn’t be dead. He spun one way and then the other. No, no, no, no—

When the shot came, it echoed distantly, and he stared down at the rifle, expecting to see blood flowing over his hands. There was only dirt.

Another shot rang out, birds squawking in startled flight. Jason looked down again at the rifle. It wasn’t him. Someone else was shooting. Was it Brown? Oh God, what if Ben was in trouble?

Images flickered through his mind—Ben sitting by the campfire licking gooey marshmallow off his fingers, singing along with them. Buckling Jason’s life jacket, his blue eyes clear and close, cheeks creasing in a smile. Crouching by Maggie on the Road to the Sun, telling her all the things she wanted to know with endless patience.

Jason charged toward the sound. He hadn’t protected his baby. He wouldn’t fail Ben.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Heart thumping, Ben stared down at the body, cataloguing its features: greasy mess of brown hair, weak chin, bulky muscles and broad chest with a gaping, bloody hole torn through it.

Not Jason. Not Jason. Not Jason.

They’d heard the shots coming from the next search quadrant and had raced over, Ben running until his lungs burned even after the report on the radio said it was Brown. He just had to make sure.

“You’re trampling the scene. Move back,” an FBI agent ordered him, her tone brooking no argument.

Other agents spoke on radios, clipped voices buzzing around him. In the distance, the thumping of helicopter rotors drowned out the usual sounds of the forest—birds and insects and the scurrying of animals through the underbrush.

“We have to find him,” he said stupidly.

The woman nodded briskly, her short red hair falling over her forehead. “It’ll be easier now. Straight forward search and rescue. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry.

His bark of laughter had her eyebrows shooting up. “Maybe you should head back. You’ve had a rough couple of days.” She called to someone, “Jones! Let’s see about—”

Through the trees, a flurry of voices exploded like a grenade. “Put the gun down. Now!”

Ben shook off the agent and pushed through the foliage, leaves slapping his face. In the space between two ancient pines, Jason stood, the rifle in his shaking hands, pointing forward.

Pointing toward at least four agents, who’d pulled their weapons and barked commands, shouting over each other as Jason blinked at them, eyes wide in his dirt-streaked face.

“What?” Jason rasped.

Ben was in-between the agents and Jason in a heartbeat, reaching out as voices cursed and ordered him to move. He ignored them. “Jason, it’s me. It’s okay. They’re FBI agents. No one’s going to hurt you. Give me that.”

“Ben? Are you okay?” Jason stared, lips trembling.