Ends of the Earth

After examining their surroundings through the binoculars, Ben called in on the radio for news. The FBI were setting up a command post at the southern ranger station, and helicopters would go up as soon as the fog cleared.

The bad news was that the forecast called for cool temperatures and more rain, and the fog might not lift, making a search from above useless. Tracking dogs were en route, but everything took time in rural Montana. There was nothing else to do but keep going, and they scanned the ground and bushes carefully for footprints and clues from Maggie, heading steadily west.

Going downhill was hard on the knees, and as they neared the valley floor in a steady rainfall midday, Ben’s muscles protested from the marathon hike the day before and cold night on the ground. He could only imagine how Jason felt. Jason had probably never hiked more than several miles at a time in his life.

Stopping to gulp water, Ben assessed Jason’s condition. He was pale, dark circles under his eyes, hair plastered to his forehead. He clutched the last piece of red fabric they’d found a mile back in his fist like a talisman.

Then Ben peered into the distance. His heart skipped. Red. Red!

“Ben?”

He wore the binoculars around his neck and yanked them up. “Come on, come on…”

“Do you see something?” Jason stood beside him, vibrating with sudden energy.

“I think I saw her.”

“What?” Jason clutched Ben’s arm.

“It was just for a second. I might have imagined it.” He held his breath as he scanned the endless green of the forest, fog obscuring the treetops. There! Red poncho and a flash of golden hair. “I see her. It has to be her.”

He was about to pass the binoculars over, but Jason was already off and running. Heart in his throat, Ben raced after him, the rifle ready in his hands.

I want to go home.

It was the only thing Maggie could think about as she plodded along behind the man, her dad’s backpack digging into her shoulders. The man made her carry it when they moved, then snatched it away as soon as they stopped. It had barely been light out when he’d made her eat and drink and ordered her to walk. He was angrier with her as time went on, yelling at her to go faster.

Her lungs rattled when she coughed, and all she wanted more than anything was to be home and warm again. Making sure the man wasn’t looking, she ripped off another strip from beneath her poncho, hooking it onto a bush and praying her dad would find it.

Tears streaked down her face as she thought of him, and she cried out when she stumbled over a fallen branch.

“Get up. You’re slowing me down on purpose—don’t think I don’t know your little game,” the man snarled.

“I’m trying. My legs hurt. I have a big blister. Please, I just want to go home.”

He yanked her up by the arm, her shoulder screaming. “You can go home after I’m a long ways away. You’re my little insurance policy. No telling when the cops might find us, and I need to get—”

“Where?”

“Never you mind. Move!”

Teeth chattering, Maggie concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, and when the man piggybacked her again, she didn’t mind as much. Her stomach growled, and she was so cold.

Then she heard a strange humming noise in the distance. The man began to whistle, jogging now. Maggie hoped that wherever they were going, they were almost there. She couldn’t go much farther.

Daddy, where are you?

The humming grew louder, and she realized it was one of the white-water rivers that ran off the glacier. As it came into sight beyond the trees, the man whooped with joy. “There she is!”

At first Maggie couldn’t see anything but green and the swirling water beyond. Then she realized that hidden in the foliage was an old wooden lean-to like the ones the Native Americans built.

“Old man Gilderoy uses this place for hunting. No one even knows it’s here.”

“But you’re not allowed to hunt in the park.”

The man laughed, his yellow teeth bared. “What they don’t know don’t hurt ’em.”

He disappeared around the other side of the lean-to and returned dragging a small inflatable raft. “My buddy Dwayne comes out here to ride the rapids sometimes, and sure enough we’re in luck.” His ugly face creased. “Poor ol’ Dwayne won’t be needing this boat no more.”

Maggie couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Why not?”

He spat on the ground. “Because he won’t. Because he made me do something I really didn’t want to do, but a man has to protect his honor. Now stop asking fucking questions. And give me that.” He flicked his fingers, demanding the backpack.

She was more than happy to slide it off her sore shoulders, flinching when he snatched it away. Rummaging through it, he swore loudly.