There it is again.
A tiny squeak.
“Hold up,” I whisper at Langley. “I think I hear something.”
“What? But it could be—”
“I’ll call you back.”
I hang up on him mid-sentence, stow my phone, and close my eyes, shutting out every other sense and straining to hear that sound again over the sound of my thundering pulse.
There!
Not a squeak.
A cat’s wailing meow.
Sure, Heart’s Edge has a few strays, but I doubt any of them would be out here, mewling sad demands to no one.
I can only hope.
I can’t even let myself finish the thought.
Opening my eyes, I pivot toward that sound and go plunging into the brush. If it was a bobcat or even a feral stray, I’d catch a snatch of fur streaking away, the flash of reflective eyes, but that sound just grows louder.
It tells me the beast I’m charging toward must be used to humans.
I’m betting it has to be Mozart or Van Gogh.
And considering how much that overfed pumpkin loves my son, I’m pounding the dirt, dashing onward, catching myself a few times before I slip.
Sure enough, I glimpse orange-creamsicle fur before I fully break out of the clinging, scratching brush.
There he is: scraggly, wet, his fur stuck to him in soggy tufts.
Mozart’s hunched into himself under a thick tree canopy that lends him some small protection from the rain. He’s huddled in the pit where two spreading roots meet at the base of a tree. Underneath the matted layer of loamy rotting ground cover there’s a sort of shelf overhanging a hole in the ground.
There’s something in there.
It’s just a kaleidoscope of colors from here, but I catch skin, pink cloth, the reflective stripe of a sneaker.
A harsh sound nearly brays out of my throat.
Stumbling across the clearing, I fall down on my knees next to a hollow collapsed into the ground. Looks like its walls are held together by the sunken roots of a leaning, ancient fir.
And inside?
Eli.
Sound asleep, curled up into a boyish knot and wrapped protectively around Tara, who sleeps with her head against his chest and one leg stuck out. I notice right away it’s unnaturally straight and stiff with the torn hem of Eli’s shirt wound tight around it.
Christ, maybe animals can talk.
Because Mozart damned well led me to my son, and when this is over, that cat’s gonna end up so stuffed on fish he won’t be able to walk for a week.
I don’t know if I sob so much as the sound gets punched out of me, relief as potent as shrapnel wrecking my entire body, my feelings, my head as I reach for them, grasping their arms and shaking them gently.
“Eli? Eli! Tara, you awake? You’re okay, guys. You’re okay, Eli, Eli...”
Tara starts awake first, slowly, groaning and rubbing sleepily at her eyes.
Eli rockets up with a gasp a second later, blinking, his arms tightening around her as he looks around. Then his eyes land on me, clearing in recognition.
“Dad!” he shouts, flinging himself out of the hollow at me.
Suddenly I’ve got my arms full of a very upset boy, both of us getting drenched in the rain while Tara pushes herself up on her arms and watches us with a small, tired smile.
I press my face into Eli’s wet hair, hugging him so tight I’m fit to snap him in half.
His nails dig into my shoulders.
I can feel him shaking, trying to be brave, trying not to cry.
I don’t have those kinds of reservations.
Fuck, what happened? What happened to my boy and his friend?
I’m not ashamed of a few hot tears slipping out in sheer relief, blending with the rain spotting my face.
My son’s fine—they’re both fine—and he’s here in my arms again.
Tara’s looking none the worse for wear except maybe a sprain.
“Dad,” he keeps repeating. “Dad, Dad, Dad...”
“Hi, Mr. Charter,” Tara says shyly, waving. “Sorry if we scared you.”
Eli jerks away from me, looking back at her, then at me with burning desperation. “Dad, Tara’s hurt. She needs a hospital—”
“I don’t need a hospital,” Tara says primly. “I would’ve been fine if you’d have let me make a crutch with a branch.”
I almost want to laugh. The joy inside me is so big, threatening to burst out.
“What happened?” I ask. “How’d you guys wind up this far out? Why didn’t you call?”
Eli looks down sheepishly.
“Um...my phone died from taking too many pictures and video clips,” he says. “And then we couldn’t get a signal on Tara’s, and without GPS, we got turned around. The maps don’t show anything out here unless you’ve got data. So we tried climbing high in a tree to get like a signal or figure out where we were, but...”
He winces.
“I fell, and my ankle’s twisted. But it’s not broken,” Tara finishes matter-of-factly. She seems to have a good, clear head on her shoulders. “It just hurts to walk.”
“Yeah, so we looked for a place to wait where it wasn’t so wet and animals couldn’t find us,” Eli adds. “We were okay, Dad. We brought snacks and drinks and we’re barely even hungry, just cold. I had my big jacket so we were wrapped up in that.”
That’s when I realize Tara’s lying on the big old Army green weatherproof jacket I used to wear on fishing boats. Eli loved it, he always said it looked like, so dystopian-punk, so I’d let him have it even though you could fit his entire body into one sleeve.
Now, I’m glad I fed his little obsession.
Looks like they’ve been using it for ground cover and a blanket with his backpack settled at the top for a pillow.
“I knew you’d come,” Eli says with certainty, looking up at me with his eyes shining. “I knew we just had to stay calm and wait.”
Nothing wrecks you like knowing your kid has that much faith in you.
Like knowing he trusts you to protect him. To find him. To do anything to keep him safe.
I’m so damned glad I didn’t break Eli’s faith today.
I’m so damned glad I found him.
Found them both.
Swallowing the tension in my throat, I reach in, offering Tara my hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you two back into town so the doctor can get a look, and then we’ll get a hot meal into you and some proper rest.”
Tara holds out both arms to me and lets me scoop her up.
I brace my knees and settle her on one shoulder, waiting for Eli to gather his things and stuff them in his bag before I scoop him up, too. He perches easily on my other shoulder.
What can I say?
Sometimes being as big as an adolescent polar bear has its benefits.
Eli lets out a little yelp as I rise, clutching at my head, while Tara keeps her poise like a queen.
I can’t help chuckling and mutter, “Watch your heads, guys.”
We turn, ducking through the scraggly branches and trudge back toward the trailhead where I know the whole team will be waiting to cheer our arrival.
“Hey, Dad?” Eli asks tentatively, shaking out his jacket and wrapping it around him, me, and Tara, forming a makeshift umbrella between them to shield my head from the rain.
“Yeah, polecat?”
“You’re...you’re not mad at me?” He doesn’t even hiss at me not to call him that this time.