Ice rimmed the edge of the stream, forming a thin sheet over the shallow water. The boys had pushed hard as they’d climbed the mountain passes that separated their dad’s world from their goal—the highway. They’d decided against heading into town and trying to find a ride, in case they ran into anyone who knew Abe. Eventually, their muscles had screamed for mercy, forcing them to stop for a brief rest. “Do you think Dad will follow us?” Taylor asked, tearing off a piece of venison jerky with his teeth. “Why would he?” said Jake, chewing some of the tough meat. “He’s where he wants to be, isn’t he? He isn’t about to admit he’s wrong.” “But he loves us . . . loves having us around. He said that last night. He’s gotta be worried about us, for sure.” “Yeah? Well, if he cares so much, why did we have to find him, huh? If this place is so great, why didn’t he come and get us?” “Quit being a jerk,” Taylor said, looking down. “He sent us loads of letters—it’s not his fault we never got them.”
