It goes against everything I know, all my training—all myinstincts—to do what I’ve just promised Matteo. The rest of the group shouldn’t have to suffer because of his myriad mistakes.
At the same time, though, if I’m fast, I can make it to where he and Joshua are an hour or two before midnight. It’s only late afternoon right now; we could easily be back before morning.
The rest of the group knows how to make a fire, how to watch over it, how to put it out before bed. Trey’s got climbing experience andsafety certifications; he’s already shown natural instincts we look for in hiking guides. Sadie was impressive today, too—she spotted Zoe a split second before I did, accurately identified the treacherous aspects of the water, and gave the exact same advice I would have when she beat me there to help. They’d do okay for one night, I think.
Still: I’m not used to relying on anyone but myself. The thought of leaving—even if it’s a search-and-rescue for two other people who are technically still my responsibility—just doesn’t sit well with me.Especiallywhen the people I’m rescuing are the reason we’re in this mess in the first place.
I need to call Danica, give her a chance to weigh in—but it rings and rings.
I try again. No answer.
I can’t wait much longer. If I’m going to go, I need to leave soon.
The third time it kicks over to voicemail, I leave a message.
“Hey, Danica,” I say. “Just got a call from Matty saying he and Joshua are lost and need help. They’re not too far from the rest of us here in Sparrow Valley, so”—I let out a long exhale, glance down at my watch—“unless I hear back from you saying otherwise, I’m planning to head out within the next half hour to go get them. I’ll touch base when I meet up with them.”
I run a hand over my jaw, then slip my phone into my pocket and head back to camp. This is an unprecedented situation. If this happened on a normal trek, protocol would be for one guide to stay with the group while the other went off on the rescue mission—but on a normal trek, no one would need rescuing in the first place.Especiallynot a guide who’s supposed to be partly in charge.
This entire trek, Matteo has been more of a hindrance than a help.
All this time, he’s given me such a hard time about Sadie being a distraction…but in reality,heis the one who’s caused unnecessaryproblems on this trek. Matteo wasn’t even here to witness the water rescue today—and if he’d called ten minutes earlier, he would’ve interfered with it.
Parker and Emma glance up as I pass them, not even trying to hide the fact that they’ve given up on all things solitude and silence.
“Have you seen Trey?” I ask.
“I’m here,” a muffled voice calls from one of the tents at the far perimeter. A moment later, Trey sticks his head out, runs a hand through his hair. “What’s up?”
I tell him to sit tight—I want to make sure Sadie’s in the loop, too.
“Sadie?” I say quietly when I’m right outside her tent. “You in there?”
She doesn’t answer.
I wait for a bit, andthinkI hear a rustle from inside, but it doesn’t amount to anything else.
“Sadie?” I try again, a little louder this time. “Can we talk?”
Okay, that—that was definitely a rustle.
She zips open her tent door. I catch a whiff of something fresh; her hair has looked really incredible all day.
Focus, Thorn.
“Can you come with me for a minute?” I ask.
She scrunches her nose. “We can’t talk here?”
“Oh, um. We need to talk”—not about us, my mind fills in—“with Trey. You and me and Trey.”
Now she’s really confused.
I don’t blame her. I realize, now, that it must have sounded like I wanted to apologize, or at least explain myself better. And ofcourseI do—just not right this second. I don’t want to rush it, not when I need to make sure camp is settled before I head off.
“Sure, I guess,” she says.
She follows me, and soon it’s just the three of us in a semiprivate spot where I can lay everything out for them.
