Ian laughed. “I know where the road is.”
“How?”
“I can feel it. Relax.”
Jack braced a foot against the floorboard, a hand against the dash and said, “I’ll relax when we’re not in a ditch. Go slow.”
Ian laughed at him. “So,” Ian said, maneuvering slowly, “if the kid’s smart, we’ll be looking for some kind of recent tracks, shelter, or…”
“A body,” Jack supplied.
“If he was lost, he might’ve followed the river or the road. About the time night was falling, he might’ve seen any one of several old logging roads,” Ian said. “You’re not going to see the road with the snow, but you’ll know it’s there by the tree line. Like I’m doing now.”
“I’m not convinced there isn’t a big hole right in your path, hidden by snow. You could go slower,” Jack said, tense.
“You could relax. I’ve been all over this place.” Then after a bit, he stopped the truck. “Want to head out from here?”
“Let’s do it.”
They exited the truck at the same time. Ian took a rifle out of the rack in his truck and a flashlight out of the glove compartment. Jack was digging around in his duffel.
“I only have one flare gun, but I have an extra stocking mask and a scarf—put this around your neck. We’ll start down this road together, but when we separate, if you find anything, just fire a couple rounds. With me?”
“Gotcha.” Ian buttoned up his jacket and thought, I didn’t have any reason for the long underwear this morning, damn it. He wrapped the long plaid scarf around his head and neck, partly covering his face. He missed the heavy beard right now. “See, I think the dog wasn’t as scrappy as the other dogs because she was a little spoiled by Travis,” Ian said, speaking as though he knew Travis and the dog. “That could’ve been working on him at the same time.”
“I know,” Jack said. “How’s your flashlight? You need batteries?”
“To tell the truth, I’m not sure.”
Jack pulled some extra batteries out of his duffel as well as a hand gun he tucked in his waist. He tossed Ian the batteries, then two bottled waters that Ian put in each pocket. They walked down the road, looking right and left, and hadn’t gone far when Jack said, “Okay, I’m going this way into that stand of trees.”
“I’ll head this way,” Ian said, and they separated.
Ian walked toward the river, eyes trained on the ground, on the landscape, and occasionally up into the branches just in case that big cat was having a little game of hide and seek. And he thought some about the kid remembering himself at sixteen; he’d been a hothead, devoted to a few things in his life, and his dog was one of them.
He’d also been pretty angry with his father in general. His dad was a passive-aggressively cruel person—he wouldn’t leave a tip, drove real slow in the passing lane, withheld affection. Every birthday card or holiday gift was signed “Mom & Dad” by Ian’s mother. Every word that came out of the old man’s pie hole was a criticism.
After Velvet, Ian had stopped pretending it didn’t matter; he was bigger and stronger than his father and got right up in his face, giving it back to him, something he soon realized was tearing his mother up. His mother begged him to lighten up, let it go, ignore being snubbed or criticized virtually every minute. “How do you stand it?” he had railed at his mother. “He should kiss your feet, and he acts like you’re his slave!”
And his sweet mother had said, “Ian, he’s faithful and he works hard to support us. He might not be romantic or doting, but he gave me you. If that’s all I ever get from him, it’ll always be the world to me.”
Not enough, Ian remembered thinking. Not enough. Joining the Marines seemed like a smart and safe way to go—got him the hell out of there and to a place where he could be in touch with his mother and not have to put up with his father.
Then came his mother’s death, then more active duty leading up to Iraq. His father was the only family Ian had left and he was woefully inadequate. After Iraq, after a few scrapes that even he knew had all to do with some PTSD, he feared he was turning into the old man. There were random fights with guys he had no real quarrel with. Things set him off and he just lost it. Even if the Corps could look the other way for a while, Ian couldn’t. He’d been a strong leader who’d turned into an asshole who just couldn’t cope. That’s when he got out, hoping he could get back to the man who was admired. Followed.