Finally, she spotted the dog at the very edge of the snowfield, pawing at something. Lily made her way to the dog, who by this time had a piece of blue fabric in her mouth. “What have you got?” Lily asked.
She wrested the cloth away from the dog and was examining it when Scott and Hunter joined them. “What is it?” Scott asked.
“It looks like blue nylon,” she said. “Is it part of a jacket?” Jackson had been wearing a blue jacket, she remembered that.
Scott examined the scrap of fabric, which was about as big as his gloved hand. “Maybe it’s part of a backpack,” he said.
Both dogs had returned to the spot and were worrying at something. Scott and Lily shoved them out of the way and began digging. Within minutes, they had unearthed a small backpack with an internal hydration bladder—a style favored by skiers and snowboarders. Lily stared at the battered pack and tried to remember what Jackson had been wearing when she had spoken to him on Saturday.
“There’s a name on the inside flap,” Scott said. He turned the pack around so he could read the name written in black marker, but fell silent.
“What does it say?” Lily demanded.
He met her gaze, looking every bit as hollowed-out as she felt. “It’s Jackson Endicott.”
THE VOLUNTEERS PROBEDand dug in the compacted snow for the next two hours and found no sign of Jackson, or of anyone else. Denton Endicott arrived, along with the sheriff, and they stood over the pack, Endicott’s normally ruddy face slack and devoid of color. “Jackson got that pack for Christmas,” he said. “I’m the one who wrote his name in it.” He bowed his head, jaw clenched, but after a moment he looked up at the snow spread out like a rumpled blanket. “How could the pack be here and you haven’t found my boy?”
“Avalanches have tremendous power,” Adam said. “They can tear the clothes from a man.”
Avalanches could also break bones and crush skulls. Scott had seen bodies recovered that looked practically untouched, while others were battered almost beyond recognition.
The sheriff put a hand to Endicott’s back. “I need you to look at the man we found and see if you recognize him,” he said.
Scott followed the two men, wanting to hear what they would say. He had taken Hunter back to the truck an hour before, thedog exhausted from repeated fruitless searches. Lily and Shelby had disappeared in the mass of volunteers. He needed to find her soon, but for now he stuck close to the sheriff and Endicott.
The man’s body had been placed on a litter and covered with a blanket, then slid into the back of one of the two ambulances that waited on scene. The driver opened the doors and stood aside to allow the sheriff and Endicott to lean in. Scott waited to one side. He’d gotten a good look at the body earlier—a fit white male in his mid- to late thirties, clean-shaven with light brown hair and brown eyes, dressed in good-quality but not top-of-the-line ski gear. “I don’t recognize him,” Endicott said after a moment. “But he looks so ordinary. Not the kind of guy to stand out.”
“No,” the sheriff said. “Apparently, there’s no identification on him. Maybe we’ll get lucky when we take his fingerprints. We found these things with him.” He moved to a tarp on the ground nearby and pulled it aside to reveal a large backpack. “It looks like he was prepared to survive out here for some time. There’s a lot of food and cold weather gear in there.”
“Maybe he came out here to search for Jackson,” Endicott said.
“Then why not have ID with him?” the sheriff asked. “There was also this.” He pulled an evidence bag from inside his parka and showed it to Endicott. Inside was a handgun.
Endicott face went even paler. “My poor boy,” he whispered.
“You’re sure you’ve never seen the dead man before?” the sheriff asked.
Endicott shook his head. “Never.”
They retreated from the ambulance. Suddenly, Endicott turned to Scott. “Are you the one who found him?” he asked. “You and your dog?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you found Jackson’s pack?”
“Lily and Shelby found that,” he said.
“Then why haven’t you found Jackson? What do you think happened to him?”
“I don’t know, sir. If he was buried very deeply, that can make things more difficult.”
“How long has it been since the avalanche?” Endicott asked.
“Almost three hours,” Scott said.
“Then if Jackson is under there, he’s dead,” Endicott said.
Scott said nothing.
