Page 3 of Beacon

Cal nods, still frowning.

Rachel licks her lips. “Okay. We’ll stay here for twenty-four hours, and then we’ll head back to Ben and Greta’s farm. We can wait there for a week but no longer than that. You and hopefully Mack need to get back therewithin the week, or Cal and I are going to have to head home.”

“I know. If I can’t talk him into coming home in a week, then it’s probably a lost cause. I’ll be there before the week is out. And if I’m not, you need to promise me that you’ll leave. Don’t you dare risk yourselves on a doomed mission.”

“But, Anna,you’rerisking yourself on a doomed mission,” Rachel says very softly. She’s still leaning against Cal’s leg. He’s cupping the back of her head with his big hand.

“I don’t think it’s doomed. And even if it is, I still have to do it.” I look from Rachel to Cal and then back, swallowing hard. “You know perfectly well he’d do it for me. For any of us.”

Rachel’s expression softens. Breaks slightly. There’s no argument she can make. So many times for so many years, Mack risked his life to help other people.

It’s only right that someone does it now for him.

I’m that person, and I don’t want to wait any longer.

I secure my small backpack on my back and pull out my pistol since I’m planning to keep it in my hand. Sometimes the few seconds it takes to draw it out of the holster is too long.

“Okay. I’m taking off, if y’all don’t mind covering me through the parking lot until I get to the trail.”

Rachel stands up and hugs me. Cal touches me lightlyon the shoulder. I smile at both of them and silently pray it’s not the last time I’m going to see them.

Then I start off, walking quickly through the parking lot as Cal and Rachel keep watch near the door, their weapons at the ready.

I make it to the trees without incident. Find the old trailhead and then the partly overgrown trail. I wave back at the others across the distance, and then I start to hike.

I’m still nervous, but I’m also excited, strangely invigorated.

Because it’s Mack.

It’sMack.

At last.

The hike is rough. Rougher than I anticipated.

Back before Impact, it was probably a well-kept walking trail through the forested hills of a scenic national park. But there have been ten years now of no upkeep at all. The old trail is overgrown, and the forest is so dense and dark that almost no one even dares to enter.

The folks in the farming community nearby we’ve gotten to know believed for a long time that no one lived in The Wild. The few travelers who dared to cross the border into it were never seen or heard from again. Most went far north to get around the forest in order to keep heading west to the larger, established communities thatare reportedly better developed with power and infrastructure (and also heavy-headed militarized leadership) in the middle of the country.

Not as many people migrate there as they used to. Stories about lack of freedoms kept trickling back our way, and a lot of folks prefer the safe, slow-paced, rustic lifestyle we’ve established in our regions of Kentucky and West Virginia.

Neither form of development has touched The Wild yet. It fully lives up to its name. I make my way over thickly wooded hills, often having to cut back vines so I can pass through and sometimes having to climb over enormous tree roots.

I could really use a machete, but all I’ve got is a basic hunting knife.

There are a lot of bugs. More birds in the upper branches of the trees than I’m used to hearing. And a lot of small mammals—rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, possum—all scurrying away at my approach or watching me warily from a distance.

The woods in the Appalachian Mountains where I’m from in southwest Virginia were kind of like this six years ago. Not so dense and not as filled with life since so much of the wildlife died out after Impact along with at least eighty percent of the human population. But for a long time I’ve been living in a growing region with farms and homesteads and small, fortified towns.

This is not that.

I do the best I can, but it’s slow going until I finally get to a point where the trail widens. Maybe it’s natural. Or maybe it’s been more traveled than the stretch I just hiked. Either way, I’m relieved to have a little breathing room. I pick up my pace and slide my knife back in its holster so I can hold my pistol again.

Chloe gave me detailed directions on how to get to her grandfather’s cabin. They’re not complicated, so I can hold them easily in my head.

I stay on this trail for several miles. Then turn right at the fork at an old gas station and then take a dirt driveway after crossing a creek. It sounds straightforward. There’s no reason I won’t be able to get there.

Mack should be there. He’s got to be there. If he’s not, then I’ll have to assume he’s either dead or forever lost to us.

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