“No, not Pete. We don’t know who he is yet. But he was shot.”
She rubbed her throat. “Something is going on out there, Wyatt. I don’t like this.”
“I agree.” His jaw tightened. “I don’t like this either.”
Wyatt noted that the trailhead parking lot was already busy when they pulled in.
Two official vehicles from Rockingham County were there, as well as one from Augusta. A state forestry vehicle with an equipment trailer backed up to the far end. Wyatt counted four handlers working their dogs through the lot—a second shepherd, two bloodhounds, and a Belgian Malinois.
Mackenzie’s vehicle, however, was gone. They’d had it towed back to the station last night. That was both protocol—there was a time limit on how long a vehicle could be there—and so they could better examine it for evidence.
Garrett Worthington was at the far end of the lot finishing his setup. He was a quiet, precise man from the state forestry division. A drone sat on its launch pad beside him.
Wyatt got out and ran through the plan with each team lead while Kori stood at the edge of the lot, coffee in hand as she watched everything. He caught himself checking on her more than he should.
He pulled the topographical map from his jacket and spread it across the hood of the truck. They’d divided the area into a search grid for their volunteer teams to cover. They were set to arrive in a couple of hours, and Graham would oversee them.
First, Garrett would send up the drone.
“I’m ready when you are,” Garrett said behind him.
“Let’s do it,” Wyatt said.
The drone lifted cleanly, clearing the tree line in seconds. As it did, Garrett’s tablet filled with the thermal feed.
Wyatt stepped closer, watching over his shoulder.
Cool blue landscape. Tree canopy. The irregular signatures of terrain and wildlife.
Small flashes of orange moved through the trees—quick, darting shapes. Deer or fox probably.
Garrett adjusted the angle, the drone climbing higher, widening the view.
The trail corridor came into focus—Wyatt could trace yesterday’s route in the topography, in the slight depression carved through the snow.
“Hold there a second,” Wyatt said.
Garrett slowed the drone.
Wyatt studied the screen, letting his eyes adjust, looking for anything that didn’t belong. “Take it north.”
The drone methodically moved deeper into the forest.
The terrain shifted subtly beneath the canopy. The trees grew denser. Fewer animal signatures appeared.
Garrett swept the camera left, then right.
Nothing.
Then his hand stilled. “There.”
Wyatt leaned in. On the screen—maybe two miles north of the main trail corridor—was a single, steady orange signature.
Not moving.
Not small.
Human.
