The further they climbed, the more the terrain fought back. The mountain was a maze of hidden ravines and slick ice. Mathew fell twice, skinning his palms on frozen rock, but he didn’t feel the pain. His mind was locked on a single image: Mike in his thin blue fleece jacket, shivering somewhere in the dark, wondering why his father hadn’t come for him yet.
Back at the house, the garage had become a command center. Mathew knew Angela would be pacing the length of the concrete floor, her eyes glued to the radio. Every time it crackled with static, she jumped. The neighbors who weren’t out searching were bringing thermoses of coffee and blankets, their silent presence a fragile wall against her rising panic.