Page 76 of If the Summer Lasted Forever
“Hold up,” Landon says from the passenger’s seat, looking at his phone.
“Did they find him?” I ask, relief making me nearly dizzy.
“No, but I have signal here. I need to let everyone know where we’re at.”
I pull over to a wide space and put the Jeep in park, practically choking on disappointment.
“Can you access a map?” I ask.
Landon sends a text, and then he waits for the GPS to load. After several long minutes, he says, “We don’t have enough signal.”
After another minute of waiting for it to load with no luck, Landon motions me on. We’ll just have to do our best.
The road is narrow, right on the side of the cliff, just wide enough for the Jeep. I’ve never done an off-road trail like this, certainly not alone, and never in the driver’s seat.
“You okay?” Landon looks over.
“As long as no one wants to pass,” I try to joke.
We wind down, following the road, climbing over small boulders and maneuvering around tight corners.
Finally, we reach the bottom. The road runs not far from a creek. The spring runoff thankfully finished long ago. Otherwise, the trail would be a sloppy mess. Already, it’s rutted from people driving through it in wet weather.
Landon cranes his neck out the window, looking at the cliff above. “Where do you think Prospector’s Demise is from here?”
“When we were up there, I spotted a grove of aspens growing near the creek. Once we reach those, we’ll be getting close.”
But it’s going to take a while at this speed. Still, even if we’re moving at a snail’s pace, it’s faster than traveling on foot.
“Lacey, look!” Landon says, pointing forward, nearly hanging halfway out the window.
I hit the brakes, causing the Jeep to rock back and forth, and peer ahead of us, to where Landon’s pointing. He’s already out the door, racing for the bike that’s propped next to the road in the trees.
I slam the Jeep into park, and I’m on his heels. I don’t even bother to shut the door behind me.
“Is it Caleb’s?” I holler, but I already know it is.
“Caleb!” Landon shouts. He waits for a moment, and then he yells again.
Then we’re silent, waiting for an answer. The only sound in the air is the gentle babbling of the creek and the sound of wind in the long grass growing on its banks.
“Caleb!” Landon yells again.
His brother’s name echoes off the canyon walls.
“Maybe we should go on?—”
And then we hear it. The faint sound of a whistle on the breeze—the kind hikers keep in their gear just in case they become lost. I slap a hand over my mouth, cutting myself off. The whistle stops for a second, and then it begins anew.
“That way!” Landon runs down the road, turns the corner, and then takes a sharp right into a narrow area that cuts into the canyon wall.
We both run, shouting Caleb’s name.
And then there’s George, running for us, tongue lolling out, happy as a giant, drooling dog can be.
“Where’s Caleb, George?” Landon asks. Since we’re not in an old black and white television show, George doesn’t immediately turn and lead us to him. No, instead he stops to sniff a bush.
We pass him, figuring the dog will follow eventually. The whistling is louder, and then finally it stops altogether, and we hear a small voice yell, “Landon!”
