Mika laughed as she talked to the air, no one around to reminisce with her. “Mrs. Dougherty in English was convinced someone was eating in class the next day. Kept saying she smelled a pb&j.”

  She pretended like Hampton was listening, recalling other memories and laugh-crying at each one. The gaping hole in her heart eased a bit with each memory, and eventually she swallowed down the rest of her grief.

  Despair snaked and coiled around her spine, tucking itself in for the long haul, but Mika tried her best to ignore it. She was still alive, not seriously injured, and she could survive out there. Hampton would be so angry if she simply curled up in a ball and let her sadness overtake her. She could hear her now, cajoling her with promises of hot chocolate and fluffy blankets if she would only get off this stupid mountain.

  Mika thought about her family. Her mom in Bellevue and her dad in Port Angeles. Her father was a survivor. He knew what to do in a crisis and was more experienced in the outdoors than Mika. If anyone could find her, he would. He loved her and wouldn’t rest until she was found, safe and sound.

  After a few minutes, Mika stood and brushed the dirt from her jeans. She wiped her damp cheeks and her wet eyelashes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, cleared her throat, and took a deep breath to compose herself.

  If Port Angeles was gone, if Seattle was a heap of collapsed concrete and steel, then no one would be coming to recover Hampton’s body. No one would be searching for survivors in the middle of the park. Mika couldn’t bear the thought of animals finding Hampton’s body and feasting. And she couldn’t carry her friend’s body more than a few feet before collapsing.

  She stared down at her friend’s lifeless body. It wasn’t ideal, and if she thought about it long enough, she would chicken out. But she owed Hampton a proper burial. Her friend deserved to rest in peace, not decay out there in the forest, human fodder for the creatures of the day and night.

  Mika retrieved the small hand shovel she’d found in Ms. Rogers’s backpack and used the flashlight to canvas the area around them, trying to pick out a level spot of ground. Somewhere with a decent view.

  She found a spot a few paces away and dropped to her knees. After staring at the ground for a moment, she opened the shovel to its full length and began to dig. It took an eternity. By the time the grave was deep enough to lay Hampton in and give her at least a modicum of cover, Mika was exhausted. Every muscle ached. Her neck barely moved. Dirt lined the crevices beneath her nails.

  An owl hooted in the distance and Mika managed a tight smile. At least I’m not the only one out here. Mika cleaned her hands with a towel, not wanting to use up any of the drinking water. Her fingers were still a little grimy, but it would have to do for now. She trudged the few steps back to the makeshift camp and knelt beside Hampton.

  Pain and loss threatened to rupture inside her, but she held herself together. “Okay, Hamp.” Her voice came out in a shaky whisper. “It’s time to go, now. I promise, you will never, ever have to go camping again. I hope you are up there dancing and putting on makeup and using that curling iron you loved way too much. It can’t ever fry your hair again, so go crazy.”

  A sob shook her to her core and she rocked back on her heels. “I miss you so much.” With a deep breath, she steadied herself before reaching out and wrapping her hands around Hampton’s wrists. “This isn’t going to be the most glamorous of moments, but I think you’ll understand.”

  Mika braced against the weight and crouched to use more of her leg muscles as she dragged Hampton’s body toward the grave. A few steps and she stopped to breathe. A few steps more. At last, she reached the makeshift grave and gently nudged her friend down the embankment.

  With gentle hands, Mika repositioned Hampton’s body, straightening her legs, tucking her hair behind her ear. She didn’t have a bouquet of roses or a fancy blanket to drape over her best friend, so she simply reached down and hugged her one last time.

  She cried quietly into Hampton’s curls, whispering words of love and sadness and guilt and apology. When her body gave up, refusing to make any more tears, Mika forced herself to move. She climbed out of the grave and one scoop at a time, she shoveled the dirt over her best friend.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CLINT

  It took longer than expected to escape Port Angeles and the destruction. Before he even reached his truck, Mika’s third grade teacher asked him to help cart her wheelchair-bound mother to the elementary school from their house a few blocks away. When he finished, the band leader asked Clint to haul the snacks and water out of the band closet and to the cafeteria.

  He hated to refuse, but every minute stretched out the time his daughter was without him. He called her cell again. This time it didn’t even cut to voicemail. It was just dead air. Nothing. No way to hear her voice, even in the form of a message.

  He pulled up the phone locator app as he sat in the driver’s seat of his vehicle. The little dial whirred and whirred. Cell towers around the area must be damaged. The app was probably overloaded. People in Seattle and Portland trying to find their loved ones when they couldn’t place a call.

  Horrifying images paraded through his mind. A car crash. An explosion. A landslide. Mika burning alive, or buried under a landslide, or drowning in a river of water streaming down the street. Mika pinned under a tree, gargling, choking on her own blood as the life slowly left her fear-widened eyes. He shut his eyes, screwed his palms tight against his eyelids. Imaginary torture would get him nowhere.

  He shifted the truck into drive as someone waved their arms to flag him down. Without a second glance in the man’s direction, Clint pulled out of the lot. Enough helping. Enough delays. He needed to find his daughter.

  Taking the main road out of Port Angeles, Clint avoided the worst of the debris and the residents of the town, huddled in bewildered clusters on the broken sidewalks and ravaged front yards. He entered Olympic National Park and pulled into the parking lot for the visitor’s center. Part natural history museum, part ranger station, the visitors center was the entry point to the entire region.

  He parked in front, noting the handful of cars. A crack snaked through the concrete steps leading to the front doors and glass littered the ground where two large windows shattered. But the structure appeared sound. He made his way to the door and tugged it open.

  A solitary ranger busied himself behind the main information counter, rummaging through cabinets and loading what appeared to be a substantial hiking pack. He glanced up when the door closed with a thud. “Park is closed. Too much damage to assess.”

  Clint flashed a grim smile. “I’m looking for my daughter.”

  The man didn’t look up from his task. “Is she a ranger?”

  “Girl Scout. Her troop left Port Angeles this morning, heading into the park to camp and hike. I was hoping someone here would know exactly where they were headed.”

  The ranger stilled, a first aid kit in his hand. “How many girls?”

  Clint approached the counter. “Twelve, I think. And two adults.” He was close enough to read the man’s badge. Brad. Head Ranger. Younger than Clint by five years at least, he was ruddy complected and stout. Built for the outdoors. “Did they check in here?”

  Brad shook his head. “I’m not sure. I had the afternoon shift. Margaret was on in the morning, but she left to patrol right before the quake.” He swallowed. “Haven’t seen her since.” He put the first aid kit down and strode to the other end of the counter. “If they checked in, there might be a record on paper, although most of that’s digital now.”

  He scratched the back of his neck. “Computers are down, I’m afraid.”

  Clint waited, hands shoved in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. He knew it was a long shot, coming here. But he had to try. If only he’d asked Mika for more details. Pushed harder to find out the specifics. But he hadn’t wanted to seem overbearing. Overprotective.

  Brad pulled a tattered binder onto the desk and flipped through it, shaking his head as he finished a section. “There’s nothing here.” He shoved the binder aside and disappeared in a crouch. His voice came muffled from below. “I don’t see anything.” He stood up with a conciliatory smile. “I’m sorry. Most of our campsites are on the honor system. You sign up on the cork board and put your money in the slot. Campers don’t have to stop if they don’t need to.”

  Clint nodded. He’d feared as much. “If you were taking a gaggle of teenage girls up here, where would you stay?”

  The ranger thought it over for a moment. “Heart O’ The Hills, maybe. It’s got a full bathroom.” He walked out from behind the counter and motioned at a map on the wall. He pointed out their current location and the campground. It wasn’t far.

  “And if that isn’t it?”’

  Brad exhaled long and slow. “Honestly? They could be anywhere. Hurricane Ridge is quiet this time of year. They might have headed that way. Duncan is probably on shift today at that station. You could ask him. He’s been a ranger here longer than I’ve been alive. If anyone knows the good spots, it’s him.”

  Hurricane Ridge was a recreation area popular in the winter months for skiing. Clint had taken Mika there countless times when it snowed. He thought about the elevation and the drive. It had to be at least fifteen miles away. “Is it accessible?”

  “No idea.” Brad shook his head. “The quake activity’s been intense. I’ve gotten reports from a handful of rangers on the radios about landslides. I was loading up to head out on patrol just now.”

  Clint stared at the map. Campsites dotted the park, many accessible only via foot trails. It was a lot of ground to cover. “Do you know if things have settled down? The landslides, I mean.”

  “No clue. Sorry.”

  He exhaled. Apart from the two places Brad mentioned, Clint had no leads. He didn’t even know if the roads were passable. But what choice did he have? The truck could make it over buckled roads and minor washouts from collapsed hillsides. But a major landslide? He’d deal with it when he got there, he supposed. The alternative wasn’t an option. He glanced around the place. “Mind if I load up on a few things?”

  Brad hesitated. “I’m not really supposed to be open. I mean—”

  Clint leveled him with a look. “If my house didn’t collapse in the quake, it’s underwater. My wife is somewhere in Seattle, probably buried under rubble, and my only child is stuck somewhere on this mountain. I’ve got a quarter tank of gas, no food, no water, and no supplies. I think you can spare a few minutes.”

  The ranger nodded weakly. “Go ahead.”

  Clint hurried, grabbing water bottles, energy bars, a first aid kit, an overpriced backpack to stuff it all in, and a few more odds and ends. He wished he had his own gear, but that was all long gone, he assumed.

  Brad glanced at the cash register. “Power’s out. I can’t ring you up.”

  Clint reached for his wallet and opened it up. He pulled out a few twenty-dollar bills. It’s not enough, but it’s what I have.” He held it out.

  “You know what? Don’t worry about it.” Brad held up his hands like he was shoving the air in front of him. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think anyone will care.”

  Clint nodded his thanks. “You don’t by any chance have a gas station around here, do you?”

  Brad shook his head. “Not here. But Hurricane Ridge has a small tank used for Park vehicles. If Duncan’s on staff, you might be in luck.”

  “Appreciate it.” Clint swung the now loaded pack onto his shoulder and headed out of the ranger station. He didn’t have a clue where his daughter might be, but that didn’t deter him. He was on a mission, and he wouldn’t leave the park until he found her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CLINT

  Clint followed the road signs to the Heart O’ the Hills campground and eased the truck past the closed ranger station and into the first loop of camping spots. He pulled over at the large bulletin board set up with do-it-yourself reservations and hopped out, scanning the cards for anything recognizable. He didn’t see the troop name, or the scout leaders listed anywhere.

  He hopped back in the truck and eased it down the first loop until a fallen tree forced him to reverse. It had been tough going to even reach the camping area—with fallen trees and buckled roads and two landslides in his path. But he’d managed, barely. Now he was faced with the prospect of searching the campsites on foot. He glanced at the sky. Daylight was fading.

  He hopped out of the truck and hesitated for a moment before making up his mind. If she were here and he left… No. Even if it burned precious daylight, he needed to be sure. Clint hurried on foot, jogging around the loop of campsites, not finding any evidence of the Girl Scouts. He clambered back in his truck and repeated the process on the other loops, checking the campground registration boards and driving or jogging around the loops to be sure.

  No evidence of Mika. Not one bit. With a heavy heart he hurried back into his truck and drove back to the main road and on toward Hurricane Ridge. It took longer than he bargained for. At one point, he doubted his ability to continue, stymied by a two-foot diameter tree he couldn’t hope to move. But his truck managed to crawl over the rocks flanking the road, one tire sticking in the loose soil for a moment.

  He pulled up to the day lodge as the sun set behind the distant mountains. As he climbed out of the truck, he paused, a view open of the mountains all around. On any other day it would take his breath away. But he might as well have been staring at a blank wall. Mika filled his mind. Her whereabouts. Her safety.

  Without a moment’s delay, he hustled to the front of the lodge and took the steps two at a time. He pulled the door open and bells jingled above his head.

  An older ranger with a smattering of gray hair stubbornly clinging to his scalp glanced up from a far corner of the room. He held a broom and a dust pan and appeared to be cleaning up the remnants of a broken window. “Welcome to Hurricane Ridge, although to be honest, I’m surprised anyone is stopping in.”

  Clint nodded in agreement. “I’m looking for my daughter. She came this way on a Girl Scout camping trip this morning. I’m hoping you might have seen them.”

  The ranger pressed his lips together, thinking. “We had a few groups this morning. Have any more details?”

  Hope bloomed in Clint’s chest and he quickly relayed all he knew.

  The ranger dashed his optimism. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember a group like that. We had a couple families early, and then a small group, maybe three teenagers and a mom? I was hoping that might be your girl.”

  Clint rubbed the back of his neck. All this time and he wasn’t any closer to Mika. The sun inched lower behind the mountains and he stepped forward to counteract the fading light. “Are you Duncan by any chance? Brad down at the visitor’s center said you knew all the spots to camp. Might be able to point me in the right direction.”

  The man smiled. “That’s my name, although Brad might be a bit optimistic on the campsite front. People aren’t supposed to, but they do camp out in the woods, you know. Away from any designated spot.”

  “I don’t think that’s an issue with these girls. The troop leaders run a tight ship.”

  Duncan cocked his head, thinking it over. “In that case, I have a few ideas. Come over to the counter. I’ll pull out a map.”

  He leaned the dustpan and broom against the wall and headed over to the information area. Clint waited as he spread a map over the counter and pulled out a pen. Duncan circled a spot on the map. “We’re here.” He made a handful of X’s in the vicinity. “The popular trails leading out of Hurricane Ridge are here, here, and here. And each take you to some lovely hike-in camping areas. Did you check out Heart O’ the Hills?”

  Clint nodded. “No luck.”

  “Worth a shot. It’s the easiest campsite up this way.” He highlighted three more areas for Clint to explore. They were spread out, requiring miles of hiking between each one. How would he choose where to start? How would he ever find his daughter?

  “If you were leading a group of twelve girls on a trip here, where would you camp?”

  The ranger thought it over before pointing out an area on the map. “Here. There’s some lovely views a mile or so in and the campsite is primitive, but clean.”

  Clint examined the area. He’d need to backtrack in the truck quite a ways and follow the road until the trail veered off. He glanced out the window. There was no way to make it before dark.

  He rubbed his hand across his lips. “Any chance you can spare a bit of gas? If I’ve got to search all these areas, I’m going to run out before I make it through the first half.”

  Duncan appraised him long and hard, as if sizing up the type of man he was. At last, he nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll have to take you to the shed. It’s locked for security purposes.”

  Clint thanked him and headed out to the truck, following Duncan in his small ATV away from the lodge and to a service road. They puttered down the road a few hundred yards before Duncan pulled up next to a large shed. He motioned for Clint to approach. Clint waited as the other man unlocked the shed and swung the door wide. Inside, a single gas pump with manual controls, installed decades ago, sat beside a Park-owned 4x4.

  He pulled the truck up and killed the engine. Duncan filled him up.

  “Can I pay you for the gas?” Clint offered.

  Duncan waved him off. “No need. It’s not like the Federal Government will miss it, will they?”

  “Suppose not.” Clint glanced up as the sound of an engine filled his ears. A truck with a massive metal bumper splattered in mud, rumbled into the parking lot, idling in front of the lodge. He turned to Duncan. “You should probably get back.”

  Duncan eyed the other vehicle. “Looks like it.”

  Clint motioned toward the lodge. “I’ll drive over. Wait until you’re inside.”