I nod, mounting up with practiced ease. Sutton swings onto her own horse, her movements fluid and confident. She takes the lead, guiding us out of the barn and onto the trail that cuts through the property. The others fall in behind us, a determined procession of riders ready to scour every inch of land.
The trail is eerily quiet, and the usual sounds of wildlife are muted, as if the forest itself is holding its breath. My eyes scan every shadow and every rustle of leaves, searching for any sign of Caleb. Sutton rides beside me, her presence a steadying force.
“You’re doing good,” she says softly, her eyes never leaving the trail ahead.
I don’t feel like I’m doing good. My stomach is a twisted knot of fear and guilt.
What if we’re too late? What if…
“Wade,” Sutton’s voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. “He’s tough. He’s smart. We’ll find him.”
I nod again, gripping the reins tighter. The horse beneath me senses my unease and tosses its head slightly, but Sutton’s calming influence seems to extend to the animals as well. Her mare stays steady, leading the way with quiet determination.
“He knows this land like the back of his hand,” Frank says. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’s safe.”
We reach the first fork in the trail, and I pull up, glancing back at the group.
“Frank, take the left path with Benny. Sheriff, your team takes the right. Sutton and I will stay on the main trail,” I say clearly.
“He wouldn’t go toward the right,” she says.
“He may not have had a choice,” I reply. “We’ve had quite a bit of rain. The creek beds will all be flooded. If he didn’t take the direct trail over here, this is the only other way.”
“That trail has been washed out for years. It’s not safe. Me and Dad blocked it off…”
“He’s right; it’s the only other way for him to come. Everything else would be washed out. He took to higher ground to come across,” Frank interjects.
“Couple hunters have a makeshift bridge and road out there,” Benny chimes in. “That’s where I’d have gone.”
“That bridge isn’t safe,” Sheriff chimes in.
“Not at all,” Frank adds. “Stick to your original instructions. It doesn’t matter if it’s a waste. We need to check every avenue. We’re losing daylight.”
Everyone nods, and we split off, their figures disappearing into the trees. Sutton urges her horse forward, and I follow, the sound of hooves crunching against the dirt, the only noise between us.
The trail grows narrower, the trees closing in around us. My mind races with possibilities, each one worse than the last.
What if Caleb ran into that cougar that was loose? What if he fell? What if…
“Wade,” Sutton’s voice cuts through my thoughts again. “Breathe.”
I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath. I exhale sharply, forcing myself to focus on the here and now. On the trail. On finding Caleb.
We ride for what feels like hours. Every shadow, every broken branch, every disturbed patch of dirt draws my attention.
I can hear the loud growl and snarl of a large cat before I hear two gunshots.
Sutton pulls up sharply, her hand shooting out to signal me to stop.
“There,” she says, pointing to a faint trail of blood on the ground. It’s fresh, leading off the main path and into the dense underbrush.
There’s another loud yowl from up ahead. I can hear a commotion—the other people who are searching are yelling and making loud noises. Everyone is calling out for Caleb.
We’ll never be able to hear him if they don’t stop, but it will scare the mountain lion or whatever it is away.
There’s a louder roar this time, but it doesn’t sound like it’s coming from a cat or a bear. My eyes flit back to Sutton.
My heart leaps into my throat. “Caleb?” I call out, my voice cracking with desperation.
