Two search dogs circled, as if trying to catch a scent.
Hudson broke away from a cluster of rescue workers, his face granite-hard. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Where is he?” The words scraped her throat.
He took a breath. “We don’t know. There was a ping from his radio right before the slide. It’s gone—”
“What about his beacon?”
He shook his head.
She stared at the workers. “I don’t understand. What was he doing here?”
“He saw someone at the mine.” This from Deke. “According to Marla, the ski patrol, he was working with Orlando on the backwoods slope and he spotted a truck. He skied down to get them to leave the area.”
A truck? Oh no ...“How long has he been under that snow?”
Deke checked his watch, his face tight.
“How long, Deke?” Harley meant the rise in her voice.
He gave her a grim look. “Maybe an hour.”
The numbers crashed together in Harley’s head. An hour without fresh air. An hour in the dark.
“We’re setting charges.” Hudson pointed to the slope. “We’re going to blast through the debris. But the whole face is unstable—”
“Wait, what?”
“We’re setting—”
“You do that, and the mine will collapse. If he’s in there...” She drew in a breath. “We need to just stay calm. Let the dogs work.”
“It’s been an hour—”
“He’salive, Deke. Maybe he made it into the mine—and if you blast, it could cave the entire thing in.”
Deke turned, as if considering the mine. Hudson too, his brow furrowed.
Silence fell, broken only by the wind and the crackle of radios.
Finally, Hudson spoke. “Get a probe. And someone find Harley a radio. But we’re running out of time. If we don’t find him ... we’ve got to blow the mine.”
“Hudson,” Harley started.
Hudson gave her a look, something of mercy in his expression.
Oh no.“You think he’s dead.”
“I think we need to keep hoping.”
HE WASN’T DEAD.
Yet.
But blackness poured into his eyes and breathing hurt.
Jericho pushed up from the floor, the thunder behind him long ago silencing.
