"I said no," he bellows. "Get back up—"
A crack. A tremor. Booming, roaring, the sound like a swarm of bees. We stare, frozen, as water pours from the mouth of the canyon.
"Move, move, mo—" The garbled instruction punctures the cacophony, then stops. I lie on my stomach and crawl to the canyon's edge. Every couple seconds I catch sight of the color red, a swift and fleeting movement, as the team scrambles to climb up the steep canyon wall. I push back and stand, my shirt covered in burnt orange dust. Everything inside me is at a standstill, my breath stuck in my throat, as I wait for the first person to come up the tiny trail I led them to.
And then they do. One by one, they appear, and I count each person. After four, there is a lag and my stomach knots. Seconds that feel like hours tick by, and finally a fifth person appears, supporting the weight of the sixth. They make their way back through the cactus, and the emergency responders who were waiting for the rescue turn their attention to them.
Sheriff peers over the canyon, then looks back to the many who gathered to save the few. "The rescue has become a recovery," he announces, his voice even.
Heads hang, grief automatic, for those who don't know who it was they were working to save. The sheriff meets my gaze and gives me a tiny, imperceptible nod.
I need to see for myself, so I walk to where the sheriff stood. The water, powerful enough to lift trucks in a flood, easily lifted the broken but alive bodies of the Marks brothers and swallowed up what life was left. Now they both lie face down, unmoving but for the flow of the water. What came in with so much strength has simmered as it found an exit out of the slot at the end of the canyon. This will flow on and on, eventually feeding into the river that passes near Warner and Tenley's newly rebuilt home.
"It's called Devil's Canyon for a reason," I hear the sheriff saying. He's talking to the bearded man, the person I've come to assume is the leader of SAR. The person who was helped off the trail seems to be okay. A medic bends over them, wrapping their ankle.
I tuck my hands in my pocket and look one last time at the lifeless bodies below me. They were gearing up to unleash havoc on Sierra Grande, and I can't find it in myself to be too upset about their passing. I'd call it poetic, to have it be their own mistake that ended their lives.
I look down, say a quick prayer thanking God for taking care of people in his own way, and turn to leave. The sun is nearly gone, the gray clouds blocking it out, but there's a sliver of a ray passing the exact place on the ground where my gaze passes. It's all I need to see it lying there.
Bending, I dust off the toe of my boot. But, of course, I'm not dusting at all. My fingers close over the cool metal, tucking it into my grasp.
Without anybody noticing, I slip the gold bracelet with the green four-leaf clover charm into my pocket.
42
Wyatt
The sheriff tookme back to my truck, then went on to the station to wait out the thunderstorm. On the ride back, he'd explained that the helicopter would be fine in rain, but there was no need to go up against lightning and thunder. Especially when the situation was no longer life or death. When the storm passes, which won't take long according to radar, they'll retrieve the bodies.
"We'll have to notify next of kin. Poor Mrs. Calhoun," he muttered.
"Uh, yeah. You don't have to worry about that." I paused when I stepped from his SUV, my hand tented above my head to keep the rain from getting in my eyes.
"Why's that?"
"They were lying. They're not related. They knew Dixon and they were taking advantage of her diminished mental capacity."
The sheriff studies me. "And you know that how?"
I shrug. I'm not ready to share my secrets, so I say, "I have my ways."
The sheriff smirks. "You ever consider a career in law enforcement?"
I shake my head. "I prefer to bend the law, not enforce it."
Sheriff snorts a laugh. "Wyatt Hayden." He shakes his head and says my name like it's amusing. "You are a son of a bitch." He speaks with affection, so I know he means it as a compliment.
"I'll be sure to tell my mother you said so." I wink and close the door, keeping my head down as the rain starts up a little harder.
I call Jo, and she tells me she and Travis are at Warner and Tenley's house. It's not what I'm expecting to hear, and she explains that Tenley called and invited everyone over.
When I arrive, everyone is in the house. I hear country music, something old and soulful, Tenley's favorite kind. It's also Wes's, not that he'd ever admit it.
I climb the steps of the front porch and pause, a hand on the house, as I toe off my boots. They're muddy as hell after walking around in the rain. It looks like all my siblings had the same idea. Boots are lined up in a row, so I grab mine and set them down beside Wes's, using my foot to slide his over to the right to make room for mine. When I do that, a slash of terra cotta earth dirties the floor. I grab one of his boots and turn it over, then run the tip of my pointer finger across the bottom. I repeat the motion, this time across the front of my shirt, where a similarly colored dust discolors the fabric.
"There you are." Jo's voice breaks into my thoughts. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," I murmur, puzzle pieces shifting. I put Wes's boot back in place and stand. Jo makes a face at my shirt. "Maybe you can borrow a shirt from Warner?"
