She felt the handle twist through her padded glove. The high whine of the engine mingled with Boone’s machine, shattering the quiet in the evergreen forest. Instead of driving to Weeping Woman Falls and hiking through deep snow, they trailered the snowmobiles to Camp Breakthrough and used the lodge’s ski trails and paths. Although it added several miles to the trip, the marked trail was easier to follow. Bridget and Boone knew the paths well; they both had worked at the camp as teens. When he crested the short hill, Boone stopped, shoved his goggles atop his head, and checked the GPS mounted on the snowmobile’s handlebars. He looked over his shoulder as Bridget maneuvered closer. “Not much farther,” he shouted over the noise of the engines, pointing to a cluster of hemlocks to the northeast. “It’s on the other side of those trees.” Bridget gave a thumbs up and waited for Boone to slip his mobile into gear. They were now in unmarked territory with no trail. They needed to be cautious.
