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It was, but hardly worth even thinking about. “One last thing I want to try—the caves on the east side of the Never Summer. I think that’s the only place left to search.”

“Some are big, sure,” Tolifson said. “But an SUV?”

“I still want to check.”

Never equate a long shot with a no-shot.

“How would you do it, sir?” Tolifson asked.

“Boat. Pontoon. Double outboards ideally.”

“I guess it might work. But ask our resident fishergirl. Debi, those caves?”

Starr said, “I’d go with Daddy and my little sister and we’d canoe into some of them, after trout and pike. But inside, about four feet, the clearance shrinks to nothing. Any vehicle, especially a Suburban, you’d see from here. Easy.”

So.

That took care of his mission.

Rescue vs. recovery…

An SUV approached. Dorion’s rented Nissan Pathfinder.

She climbed out and joined the others in the tent. “I saw you come back. Didn’t hear anything, so…bad news?”

“Nonews. Couldn’t find it. But, yeah, that’s bad.”

A wave of anger swept through him.

Could he have done anything differently?

Nothing occurred.

Which didn’t take away the tragedy of a loss like this—and its related burn of failure on his part.

Unreasonable? Maybe. But it always happened when he wasn’t successful at a reward job.

Starr asked Dorion, “How’s the evac going?”

“So-so. Still dozens of remainers. We’re threatening jail time and fines. We get laughed at. Or threatened back with Dragoons.”

“Oh, you met Mrs. Petaluma.” Tolifson looked at Colter. “She’s a town institution. And I guarantee she didn’t say a word to you.”

“No, just showed me the grip of her weapon.”

Colter said absently, “Nice handgun. Accurate—for a black powder piece.”

Starr pointed out her property to Colter. “It’s the one there, with the big garden.”

Tolifson said, “Her ancestors were some of the original people here. Early eighteen hundreds.”

Starr said, “The nation—they prefer that to ‘tribe,’ I found out. They did fine when the miners were here—the Silver Rush hit this part of the state a little after the Gold Rush. But when the ore dried up, the miners moved on; the Native people had to sell off all their land and move away. That property of hers is all that’s left. Out of more than a thousand acres.”

Tolifson offered, “Wonder if her attitude is: If I lose the ancestral home and land to a flood, what’s the point of going on?”

Colter felt a tight grip in his heart at these words. He was a survivalist and the son of a survivalist. You might risk your life at various activities from professions to sport, but you never gave up the game voluntarily.

He said, “We could pick her up and drag her.”