“Why? What’s going on?”

“Akiva!” he said sharply. “Where… are you?”

He turned to Jen. “Could you give my brother directions to the place?”

“It’s off the highway between Quinton and Bainberry.”

“I know that. What street does he take?”

“I don’t think it has a name.”

“Well, can he look for a landmark?”

She shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

Decker was miffed. “How do you know how to get here?”

“I just know it.”

His irritation turned to frustration. “Jon, where are you?”

“I’m about a mile before the Bainberry Mall.”

“You’re too far.”

“Far from what!”

“From the access road.”

“What access road? I didn’t find any access road.” The tension cut through the line. “We have an emergency situation, Akiva. I need to find you now!”

Decker felt his pulse rising. “What emergency?”

“Chaim’s missing-” Crackle bit through the line. “I’m losing you!” Jonathan screamed. “It’s raining, the visibility is poor, and it’s getting dark. Give me something to go on!”

“Hold on.” He put his palm over the receiver. “Jen, can someone drive me down to the highway?”

“Not now. Everyone’s busy.”

“How about Angela? You said she’d be done in a few minutes.”

“She doesn’t have a car. She gets picked up.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t have a car. I usually get picked up also.”

She wasn’t being helpful. Decker wondered if that wasn’t the idea. “Jon, I’m going to walk down to the highway. I’m closer to Quinton than to Bainberry, but I don’t know how much closer-”

“You can’t walk down!” Jen interrupted.

Decker ignored her. “It’ll probably take me a good twenty minutes or so-”

“You can’t walk down in the dark!” Jen reiterated. “One wrong turn and you’re lost.”

“It’s not completely dark yet.”

“I’ll look for you,” Jonathan said.

“Bye.” Decker hung up.

“You can’t walk down the road,” Jen insisted. “I’m telling you, you’ll get lost.”

“I don’t have any choice.”

“What about Angela? Didn’t you want to see her?”

“She’ll have to wait.”

“You’re going to get lost-”

“You’re repeating yourself.” He started toward the door.

“Wait!” She kneaded her hands several times, then opened a drawer and pulled out a storage-size flashlight, a battery-size square with a strong white beam on one end and a blinking red flare on the other. “Take this. Maybe it’ll help.”

“Thanks.”

She bit her lower lip and nodded. She wasn’t happy about this turn of events. Maybe she was enjoying his company. He smiled at the ridiculous thought. “Bye, Jen. Good luck.”

“Same to you, only more of it.”

He laughed but took her words to heart. He walked into the stormy dusk, umbrella in one hand, flashlight in the other, and began to descend the steep pathway that led to the highway. The road was a swirl of rain and mud, which immediately drenched his shoes, the muck rising to the cuffs of his pants. Because of the acute incline, he found that he had to crab-walk across the fluid earth, sidestepping one soaked foot against the other, mud squishing out from under his soles. His toes and fingers tingled with cold.

It was growing darker by the moment, but Decker kept the light off, wanting his eyes to adjust to the dusky conditions. Wasn’t much around him to use for landmarks, just endless arms of foreboding copses. A couple of years ago, he had read a Stephen King novel about a little girl alone in the woods. At least, she had the good fortune to get lost in the summertime.

No big deal, he assured himself, just follow the road. Which was quickly turning into a rapid downhill whoosh of silt and slush. He had to walk along the rim, his feet snapping branches and twigs and sliding across the wet detritus that lined the forest floor. As the road became even steeper, he lost his footing and fell unceremoniously on his butt. The good news was he missed landing on the gun.

“Jesus!” He tried to stand up, but the slick soles of his shoes slid out from under his weight. “Goddammit.”

Dimmer and dimmer.

“Oh Lord!” He took hold of a wet tree trunk and hoisted himself upward, his head missing a low branch by inches.

The road had become washed out, just a stream of thick coffee pouring down the hillside.

Weighing the options, he decided he needed his hands. He folded the umbrella, sticking it into his rear pants pocket, and was immediately assaulted by chilled water oozing down his face. He held the flashlight with his left ring and pinkie fingers and opted to play Tarzan. Grabbing hold of thick branches-whatever would hold his weight-he used them as a purchase to scale down the hill. Arms above his head, hands gripping one limb after another, he oscillated downward as if he were swinging on monkey bars. His movements were slow and deliberate and painful because his fingers were as flexible as frozen carrots. Several times, he conked himself with the flashlight. His language was foul and loud.

Now it wasn’t even getting darker: Decker decided it was officially dark. He couldn’t see beyond his nose and he could see his nose only because it was good-sized. He turned on the flashlight, arcing its beam through the thicket. In front of him was an endless tangle of denuded brush.

There was no way for him to orient himself except by using the roadway. He’d have to wade through the mud to keep himself from getting lost. Carefully, while still holding on to a tree branch, he stuck his foot into the moving muck-colder and deeper than he thought. It grabbed him by the ankle and threatened to propel him forward while rocks and pebbles pelted his leg. He slid his foot about the ground-as greased as an oil slick. To keep his balance upright, he needed a wide surface area and traction.

It was going to be a breech delivery-legs and butt first. He opened the umbrella and laid it onto the rushing rill. Grimacing, he lowered his butt onto the canopy of nylon. Using the handle to steer and his feet for brakes, he prayed, then pushed off.

Decker was never big on sledding, probably because he grew up without snow, but he found out really quick that he had a good sense of balance. Once he moved beyond the “cold and wet factor,” he was able to concentrate on the mechanics of getting down without getting lost or hurt. It was stop and go as he forded the stream, not exactly Washington crossing the Delaware, but it did bring out Decker’s more rugged side.

It took around a half hour, and though his backside felt sandpaper sore, he made it to the highway without so much as a stubbed toe. The umbrella was lunched, about half the spokes broken and the nylon ripped beyond repair, but the flashlight still worked. He waved the flare end with enthusiasm when he saw an approaching set of headlights. The vehicle slowed. A Chevy truck.

The driver, covered by a caveman beard, lowered the passenger window. “Hop in.”

“It’s okay,” Decker said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

Several moments ticked away.

“Not a lotta cars, buddy.” He looked Decker up and down. “You sure?”

Decker smiled like the village idiot. “Yeah. I’m fine.” Nodding to convince him. No doubt it made him look even more ludicrous. “Just fine.”

The driver shook his head, rolled up the window, and left.

It seemed like an eternity, but it was probably only ten minutes before headlights came from the other side of the roadway. It had to be Jonathan because the illumination was creeping over the asphalt. Decker arced the blinking red light across the roadway. The van slowed, then pulled a U-turn, easing over onto what was once the shoulder of the road. Now it was a gurgling flow of mud.

Decker yanked the door open and hoisted himself inside. The two men looked at one another, water pouring down Decker’s face. He smiled. “Can I kiss your lips?”