Forever Wild (Wild 2.50)

To Agnes, Jonah promises, “Don’t worry. We’ll find her. No matter how long it takes.”

This is reminding me all too much of that night back in August when I sat in this house, powerless, waiting to hear about Jonah, unable to do anything. I thought I’d lose my mind.

I can’t do that again.

“Wait!” I rush for my coat and gloves.

I warm my hands by the fire as I listen to the buzz of voices around me, feeling like a visitor in my own house. Agnes is off to one corner, on the phone with the state troopers, giving as many details about Mabel as she can recall—her height and weight, what she was wearing. Muriel has dug up a map of the area from her glove box and Jonah is marking with a yellow highlighter the trails we spent two hours combing in the blistering-cold wind. Toby is rounding up a small army of friends—all of whom grew up with him and Kelly’s father—to congregate by the hangar with their snowmachines in twenty minutes. Teddy is at home, gathering supplies so they can join us in our search.

It’s almost six p.m. on Christmas Day. Dinner is getting cold in casserole dishes and on platters. If it were under any other situation, I would feel bad for all Simon’s hard work gone to waste. But all I can think about is how dark and frigid it is out there, and how Agnes cannot lose her child to the harsh realities of life in Alaska. She has already lost so much.

“Glen said they probably went north along the river.” Toby traces the line on the map with his index finger. “In this weather, even I’ve gotten turned around a few times up there, and I know that area like the back of my hand.”

Björn frowns at the map. “What about west?”

“Nah. They’re not allowed to go that way. Too easy to get lost up in there, even in good weather, especially for a bunch of kids.”

“Then that’s the way they went,” Björn says matter-of-factly.

Toby’s brow furrows. “Kelly’s pretty good about sticking to the rules.”

“Teenagers don’t always do what they’re told. I’ll bet they went west,” Björn presses.

“This isn’t a horse race—” Jonah cuts himself off, gritting his teeth to bite back whatever else he’s about to say.

“Of course, they could have started north, got twisted up, and ended up goin’ west, like those kids a few years ago,” Muriel says. “Remember them? Found them eighteen miles away, frostbitten to hell.”

Not helping, Muriel.

“We’ll start by following the river north and then fanning out along those trails,” Jonah states, sparing Björn nothing more than glare—as if to dare him to counter—before heading over to me. “You gonna stay here?”

“No. I’m going with you.”

He shakes his head. “It could be a long night, Calla.”

“I don’t care.” I reach for him, squeezing his hand. “If you’re out there all night, then so am I.”

He nods. “Okay. But you should add another layer or two.”

Björn walks over, his coat and hat in his hands. “What machine can I take out?”

Jonah frowns, with surprise or irritation, I can’t tell. “There isn’t one. We only have the two, and Mabel’s got one of them.”

“Where can we find another?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t have time to look for one for you.” Definitely irritation.

“What can I do, then?”

“I don’t know. Keep the fire burning.”

Björn scowls. “But—”

“I don’t have time for this.” Jonah tugs his hat over his head. “Calla, you got two minutes.”

I run up the stairs to find more layers.

Jonah’s body is rigid against mine as we sail up the driveway toward the house, and I know it has nothing to do with the chilling cold that has seeped into our bones.