“Appreciate it.” Duncan closed the shed and locked it before climbing back into the ATV and making his way to the rear entrance of the Lodge.

  Clint waited, out of earshot of the other vehicle, until Duncan headed toward the stairs. “You all right? Want me to stay?”

  Duncan glanced at the mystery vehicle again. “No need. If things get interesting, there’s a rifle under the counter.”

  In the moment, Clint wasn’t sure a rifle would be much of a deterrent. Duncan was what, sixty? Sixty-five? He might be fit for a man of that age, but he’d be no match for a kid in his twenties. Clint had seen enough videos of gas station employees attacked to know a rifle didn’t ensure anyone’s safety.

  He lingered in the lot, unsure what to do. The truck still idled in front of the Lodge, occupants not leaving. Duncan disappeared inside. Maybe he would be okay. Maybe it was all in Clint’s imagination. How many people were already up to no good a few hours after a natural disaster?

  Too many, most likely. People who were desperate before, already living on the edge, were probably tipped over now. Any shred of morals out the window.

  At last, he eased by the lifted truck, slowing as he left the parking lot. In the rear view, he watched the driver’s side door open and a man climb out. The man pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up and hiked his jeans. Was that the glint of a gun in his waistband?

  Clint was too far away, and it was too dark now to be sure. A pang of guilt hit him. He should go back and help Duncan, a man who’d been nothing but good to him. But then he thought of Mika. If things went south… If he got shot or worse… Who would find her? Who would save her?

  With a heavy heart, he pushed down the accelerator and left the Lodge, Duncan, and the stranger behind.

  He focused on the road and the map, driving with purpose to the first of the trailheads Duncan marked. He would hike these hills all night if he had to. He wasn’t leaving the forest without his daughter.

  As the Lodge slipped out of view, he swore he heard what sounded like a shot. His foot eased off the accelerator, but he forced himself to keep driving.

  Mika needs me. My daughter is in trouble. I can feel it.

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Every decision he made from here on out was for her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  MIKA

  Mika stood, staring at the night sky full of countless stars. If she shoved everything out of her mind, she could almost pretend her entire world hadn’t upended. She wasn’t alone, on the side of a mountain, covered in dirt and sweat from burying her best friend.

  But she was calmer now. Resigned.

  A slow building of resolve had been forming deep within her. A grim determination to find a way out of the forest and back to civilization. Hampton wouldn’t have wanted her to sit there, consumed in grief. She’d have wanted her to survive.

  Mika walked back to where she’d left the meager items she’d managed to pull from the van: a cooler and two backpacks. She’d already inventoried Ms. Rogers’s pack before Hampton... She shook her head to clear it. The cooler held bottles of warming water, sandwich fixings and what was supposed to be tonight’s dinner—hamburger patties and chopped potatoes ready for cooking over a fire.

  With no energy to build a fire, the dinner food was useless. She forced herself to open the lunchmeat and cheese, rolling it up between her fingers and eating it like a burrito. Guilt rolled around in her chest, battering and bruising her insides as she chewed. If Hampton had been there, she’d be complaining about the smell of turkey on her fingers and how some black bear was sure to come upon them and devour them whole.

  But her only company was the wind waving the ferns and the owls hooting in the distance. She finished the food and wiped her fingers on her pants before reaching for Hampton’s pack. She’d held off on opening it, unable to face the last traces of her friend.

  Now she didn’t have a choice. If she was going to hike back to Port Angeles, she needed to consolidate. Only bring what was useful and what she could carry. With a deep breath, she unzipped the purple nylon and pulled the pack wide open. She cranked the flashlight she’d found in Ms. Rogers’s pack—one of those small, battery-free ones with a crank to generate electricity—and peered inside.

  Metal glinted off the light and Mika stared in disbelief. “Really, Hamp?” She pulled out the infamous curling iron. “You brought it anyway?”

  Visions of Hampton holding up the curling iron in the middle of the woods, lamenting the frizz in her hair, brought a sob to Mika’s throat. She sniffled and pinched her eyes shut for a moment. Tears threatened to overflow, but she willed them back, regaining control.

  She grabbed her half-empty bottle of water and drank, coating her raw throat and easing the sting of unshed tears before turning once more to the pack. What followed was a parade down the things-not-to-bring checklist: a bottle of electric-blue nail polish, eyeshadow and mascara, a fashion magazine. A grief-filled laugh bubbled up inside and Mika slumped over the useless pack, crying over Hampton’s choices and her loss.

  She’d take Hampton and her backpack over food and shelter any day. But she couldn’t will her friend back. Couldn’t even will herself off the mountain. Mika sucked in a deep breath and shoved all of Hampton’s things back inside the pack and zipped it up. Carefully, she leaned it against the boulder and took a moment.

  The flashlight faded, finally flickering out. She sat in the darkness, contemplating her next move. It was too dark to see, let alone hike. And the crank flashlight only lasted a minute or two before fading out. Add in the body aches and fatigue from endless digging and Mika had no choice. She would have to camp out overnight and take off in the morning.

  She reached into Ms. Rogers’s bag and pulled out the tarp she’d found earlier. It wasn’t much, but strung up between the rock she leaned against and the closest tree, it might keep her dry if it rained overnight. It was always a possibility in the area. She steeled herself and stood, fluffing the tarp to its full, unfolded length, before hoisting it over the largest boulder.

  Using the crank flashlight to see, she scrambled on top of the rock and weighed the tarp down with handfuls of smaller rocks and debris before scrambling back down. Then using a rolled-up strip of paracord she found tucked in a side pocket of the pack, Mika pulled the tarp taut and secured it to the closest tree, a scrawny pine no bigger around than her wrist. It bent as she tied the cord, but it would spring back in the morning.

  Out of breath and sweaty again, she pulled Ms. Rogers’s lightweight sleeping bag from the pack and nestled herself into it, using the backpack as a pillow. It wasn’t the best set up in the world, but it was better than nothing.

  She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but visions of the crash and the van and the dead bodies filled her mind. With a deep breath, she rolled over and tried again, but it was useless. Her mind refused to quiet, reliving the horror of the day over and over in slow motion. She sat up and grabbed the flashlight, cranking it once more to life.

  The map was where she left it, sitting on top of a jumble of rocks to her left. She reached for it and once again spread it out in her lap. With a pen she found in Ms. Rogers’s pack, she noted the road leading out of Port Angeles and into Olympic National Park and the highlighted campsite, once again narrowing her focus to an area fifteen to twenty miles away from town.

  Now the only question, could she figure out exactly where she was?

  She studied the trails, thinking hard about her prior trips into the forest. If only she’d paid more attention when her dad pointed things out. Instead, she’d always plastered her forehead to the passenger window and stared at the sheer expanse of green everywhere she looked. What did it matter what road they were on or where the campsite was located when her dad had it all under control?

  Mika chewed on her lip, trying to remember. They’d sung how many songs before the earthquake? Five? Six? The van was loaded down and cruising pretty slowly once they gained in elevation, so that meant they were going, what, twenty-five, thirty miles an hour?

  Memories of her math teacher explaining how practical applications of math skills were all around them filled her mind as she struggled through the calculations in her head. Using the mileage marker on the map as a guide, she drew little question marks on all the roads at the fifteen-mile point, noting where they might have crashed.

  It wasn’t perfect. A long way from it. But it was better than nothing. If she could head north, and maintain a descent as she hiked, she would have to reach a ranger station or a campsite at some point.

  The hint of a plan calmed Mika and she stifled a yawn. She set the map and the pen to the side and snuggled back down into the sleeping bag. At first light, she’d pack up and be on the move.

  Mika blinked her eyes open. The hint of dawn stretched across the horizon, lightening the forest from darkest black to desaturated gray. Pale yellow sky peeked from behind the trees and Mika eased out of the sleeping bag. Cool morning air greeted her and she shivered.

  Time to move.

  She shoved the remaining water bottles into Ms. Rogers’s backpack, along with the tarp and everything else she thought she could use and forced herself to eat another wad of meat and cheese. With the ice melted and the temperature outside rising, bringing the cooler wouldn’t be worth it. She’d risk food poisoning for sure.

  Mika zipped up the backpack and glanced over her shoulder, pausing a moment as her gaze landed on the mound of fresh dirt. Hampton’s grave. Her eyes watered, but she wiped them dry with the back of her hand and turned around, inhaling a heavy breath of mixed emotions.

  “Love you, Hamp.”

  She picked her way through the ferns and foliage, mindful of where she placed her feet. A twisted ankle would only compound the danger. She found a gnarled, but strong stick a few feet long and picked it up, using it to lift the ferns and check for snakes and other critters.

  The sun rose, warming the air and bringing the full radiance of the forest—the rich greens and browns—to life. She picked her way toward what she hoped was the direction of the road. It was slow going, navigating the quake’s destruction, climbing over fallen trees, circling around sinkholes and loose soil. But she kept going, steadily working her way.

  Hope filled her as she walked, lightening her load and her steps, until a sound pricked her ears. She slowed. Turned around. Scanned the forest.

  Funny. She could have sworn she heard something.

  Mika shrugged it off and kept walking until a feeling lifted the hairs on her forearms. She turned around again. Still nothing. But this time she couldn’t shake it. She was being followed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  MIKA

  Every noise made Mika flinch. Echoes of every breath buzzed in and out of her ears. Her heart galloped ahead.

  Something or someone was watching her.

  She turned around again. Still nothing. “Whoever you are, leave me the heck alone!” She shouted into the forest, willing the terror to vanish with the breeze.

  It didn’t work.

  Mika turned back around and picked up the pace. She stumbled onto what looked like a trail and she took it, not caring whether it meandered to the road she so desperately needed or up the mountain. All she cared about was getting away from whatever was following behind her, whatever was keeping out of sight in the leaves.

  A twig cracked and she whipped her head. Her eyes went wide. Her whole body froze mid-step.

  It wasn’t a person. It was a cat. A tan, lithe creature, it prowled thirty feet behind, giant claws digging into the earth. Mika swallowed. A mountain lion.

  She’d never seen one alive, in person before. A stuffed one fake-prowled the visitors center at the park entrance, and she’d seen plenty of photos and videos of them as a kid, but in real life? As it stalked her like prey?

  It was large but thin, ribs clearly visible. Was it starving? Is that why it chased her? If only she still had the cooler full of rotting meat.

  She stared at the animal. It took another step closer. Its tail swished. She backed up. The mountain lion advanced.

  Mika shouted at it. “Go away! I’m big and scary and I don’t want you here!” She waved her arms.

  The cat advanced.

  She broke out into a backward run but the animal ran toward her, closing the distance to no more than twenty feet. It jumped and opened its mouth, half growling, half hissing. Panic welled up inside her.

  “Go away!” She windmilled her arms. “Get!”

  She scuttled back. The mountain lion advanced again. This can’t be happening. She scanned the area for something, anything to use. The walking stick. She changed her grip and shoved the end of the twisted branch at the cat. It swiped its paw as it jumped a foot in the air, undeterred.

  She shouted again but the cat ran at her, darting forward three or four steps until it skittered to a stop as she shouted even louder. “No! No! I’m not food for goodness sakes! Get away from me!”

  They were fifteen feet apart.

  Mika backed up, slowly this time, arms out in front of her, waving like crazy. All the time she kept talking, kept shouting at the animal to go, to leave her alone. Nothing was working. The cat flattened its ears and hissed, but Mika managed to put some distance between them. “Okay, it’s okay. Just leave, please.”

  She kept walking backward. The cat yowled again, still following, still stalking.

  Mika glanced behind her, checking on the trail. As soon as she turned her head, the cat charged, ears pinned to the back of its head, front paws out wide as it lunged. Mika screamed and hurled the walking stick in the cat’s direction.

  The animal stopped, kicking up dust on the trail. “Please, cat. Please. I don’t know why you’re interested, why you suddenly care about me, but I’m not a threat and I’m not food. Just leave me alone.”

  Mika was all turned around. She had no idea where the trail was taking her, whether it was headed north or south or some other way entirely. For all she knew, she could be walking in circles. But none of it mattered if the hungry beast trailing her attacked. She’d never survive. Not those claws. Not those teeth.

  Mika bent down and grabbed a rock and threw it. The cat flinched as the rock sailed wide. She picked up another rock.

  “Get away from me!” She threw the next rock and again it went wide.

  The animal’s tongue slid across its snout, pink and gritty. A shiver jogged through Mika’s bones. Panic stirred inside her. She fought the urge to run.

  Again, she bent to grab a rock. This time, the animal advanced as she crouched, and Mika threw the rock in a blind panic. It landed with a thud in the dirt behind the mountain lion. Missed again.

  The cat prowled closer. Mika licked her lips. How long had this dance been going on? How far had they walked? She canvased the ground for anything bigger she could launch at the cat to force it to flee. There was nothing.

  With as much strength and determination as she could muster, she took another step back and then another. The cat followed. Half of her wanted to give up, to curl up into a ball and let the darn thing eat her. But she thought of her dad, somewhere out there looking for her, and of her friends now dead somewhere nearby, and it steeled her resolve.

  She puffed out her chest, waved her arms. Screamed as loud as her lungs would allow. No words this time, just a primal, desperate wail.

  The cat stopped and stared. Mika screamed again. The sound pierced the forest, painful even to her own ears. The cat’s ears twitched. The muscles in its shoulders flexed.

  Mika took a cautious step backward, her eyes still locked on the animal. Maybe this was it. Maybe it would leave her alone. She took a step backward.

  The cat advanced.

  Mika’s stomach bottomed out. She fought a wave of nausea. “Leave me alone,” she cried in frustration. “Go away, please. I won’t taste good. You don’t want to eat me.”

  Her legs wobbled and she tripped on her own foot, stumbling as she half fell. Her hand landed on the ground and she scraped her palm on a rock bigger than her fist. She closed her fingers around it and tried to pick it up. It was heavy and lodged in the dirt.

  With a tortured groan, she stopped and bent down, glancing at the cat as she worked to prise the rock from the earth. The cat swished its tail again but didn’t attack.

  Mika grunted with effort, finally dislodging the rock from the edge of the trail. “All right, you jerk. Let’s see how you like this.”

  Mika hauled the rock up and over her head, bracing against the weight, and threw it as hard as she could. It sailed through the air and although the mountain lion swerved, the rock clipped the animal in the shoulder. It cried out in anguish and in a torrent of dust and howling, galloped away in the opposite direction.

  Mika watched until the trees hid the cat from view. Hunched over, gasping for breath, she gripped her thighs hard above her knees. Her hands shook so badly, she balled them into fists to regain control. Never in her life had a wild animal given her such fright. She’d known mountain lions were in the area, along with a million other animals, but she’d always been told they stayed away from humans.

  Maybe the earthquake scared this one into action, or maybe it was starving with babies to feed. Mika didn’t know and didn’t want to find out. She forced herself to stretch to her full height and sucked in a lungful of air. She stood in the silence of the forest, listening. As far as she could tell, she was alone. The mountain lion was gone.

  She turned back to the trail, trying to gain her bearings. After a few agonizing minutes, she was forced to admit the truth. She was most definitely lost.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  DAPHNE

  Daphne worked her jaw back and forth, attempting in vain to ease the soreness. All night, she’d inhabited a tortured pattern—a half hour clamping her jaw so tight her muscles spasmed, a half hour letting go until her teeth banged together so violently she thought she’d chip one.