Page 47 of Roots of Redemption (Hicks Creek #4)

Chapter Forty-One

Wade

M y dad’s ringtone snaps me back to reality just as Sutton’s breathing regulates.

“Dad?”

“Wade,” his voice is tight, strained. “Have you heard from Caleb?”

“Not since this morning. Why?”

“He took Thunder out a few hours ago,” Dad explains. “He’s usually not out this long, but he said he was going over to the Bishop Ranch. He missed lunch, and he always calls to tell your mom if he won’t be here.”

“Shit, I’ll try calling him again. It went to voicemail earlier.”

“Wade,” Sutton says softly. “That’s Thunder. He’s injured, and there’s no sign of Caleb.”

Jared and Tommy are already jumping on their horses to start out the way Thunder came from.

I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles whitening. “Injured how?”

“Looks like claw marks,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, like saying it louder might make it worse. “Deep scratches down his hindquarters.”

The world seems to tilt slightly as I process his words. Caleb’s tough, but this… this is something else.

“He’s not here,” I say quickly, scanning the barn as if Caleb might materialize from the shadows. “Let me ask Frank.”

“Did Caleb come through here earlier?”

He frowns, shaking his head. “Haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

“I’ll get on the four-wheeler and head out that way. I’ll have your mom see if she can find him on the tracking app. I’ll start checking the trails.”

“I’ll get some horses saddled up,” Frank says as he gestures for Benny to follow.

“Keep your phone on,” Dad says before the line goes dead.

The yard springs to life as the others catch wind of the urgency. Bridles jingle, and hooves stamp against the floor as the horses pick up on the tension.

Sheriff Clark is already on his radio asking for the dispatcher to get someone out here with four-wheelers and whatever else we may need to find my son.

Sutton’s hand finds mine, her fingers threading through mine with a firm, grounding pressure.

“We’ll find him,” she says, her voice calm and steady, the anchor I didn’t know I needed.

I nod, swallowing hard. My throat feels like it’s lined with sandpaper.

“We’ve got a missing person near the Bishop Ranch.

Requesting ATVs, four-wheelers, and a rescue helicopter on standby.

Repeat, this is a priority call,” Sheriff repeats into his radio.

“I’m going to need you to call in other units as well.

All hands on deck. Fifteen-year-old male, possibly injured.

I’ve got units bringing in three criminals, too.

Start them on processing but keep them separated. They speak to no one.”

His efficiency should be reassuring, but it only makes my stomach clench tighter.

Sutton gives my hand a tug, pulling me toward the row of saddled horses. She’s pushing me toward a sturdy bay gelding with a calm demeanor.

“You need to stay focused,” she says, her tone brooking no argument as she hands me the reins. “Caleb’s counting on you.”

I nod, mounting up with practiced ease. Sutton swings onto her own horse, her movements fluid and confident.

She takes the lead, guiding us out of the barn and onto the trail that cuts through the property.

The others fall in behind us, a determined procession of riders ready to scour every inch of land.

The trail is eerily quiet, and the usual sounds of wildlife are muted, as if the forest itself is holding its breath. My eyes scan every shadow and every rustle of leaves, searching for any sign of Caleb. Sutton rides beside me, her presence a steadying force.

“You’re doing good,” she says softly, her eyes never leaving the trail ahead.

I don’t feel like I’m doing good. My stomach is a twisted knot of fear and guilt.

What if we’re too late? What if…

“Wade,” Sutton’s voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. “He’s tough. He’s smart. We’ll find him.”

I nod again, gripping the reins tighter. The horse beneath me senses my unease and tosses its head slightly, but Sutton’s calming influence seems to extend to the animals as well. Her mare stays steady, leading the way with quiet determination.

“He knows this land like the back of his hand,” Frank says. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’s safe.”

We reach the first fork in the trail, and I pull up, glancing back at the group.

“Frank, take the left path with Benny. Sheriff, your team takes the right. Sutton and I will stay on the main trail,” I say clearly.

“He wouldn’t go toward the right,” she says.

“He may not have had a choice,” I reply. “We’ve had quite a bit of rain. The creek beds will all be flooded. If he didn’t take the direct trail over here, this is the only other way.”

“That trail has been washed out for years. It’s not safe. Me and Dad blocked it off…”

“He’s right; it’s the only other way for him to come. Everything else would be washed out. He took to higher ground to come across,” Frank interjects.

“Couple hunters have a makeshift bridge and road out there,” Benny chimes in. “That’s where I’d have gone.”

“That bridge isn’t safe,” Sheriff chimes in.

“Not at all,” Frank adds. “Stick to your original instructions. It doesn’t matter if it’s a waste. We need to check every avenue. We’re losing daylight.”

Everyone nods, and we split off, their figures disappearing into the trees. Sutton urges her horse forward, and I follow, the sound of hooves crunching against the dirt, the only noise between us.

The trail grows narrower, the trees closing in around us. My mind races with possibilities, each one worse than the last.

What if Caleb ran into that cougar that was loose? What if he fell? What if…

“Wade,” Sutton’s voice cuts through my thoughts again. “Breathe.”

I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath. I exhale sharply, forcing myself to focus on the here and now. On the trail. On finding Caleb.

We ride for what feels like hours. Every shadow, every broken branch, every disturbed patch of dirt draws my attention.

I can hear the loud growl and snarl of a large cat before I hear two gunshots.

Sutton pulls up sharply, her hand shooting out to signal me to stop.

“There,” she says, pointing to a faint trail of blood on the ground. It’s fresh, leading off the main path and into the dense underbrush.

There’s another loud yowl from up ahead. I can hear a commotion—the other people who are searching are yelling and making loud noises. Everyone is calling out for Caleb.

We’ll never be able to hear him if they don’t stop, but it will scare the mountain lion or whatever it is away.

There’s a louder roar this time, but it doesn’t sound like it’s coming from a cat or a bear. My eyes flit back to Sutton.

My heart leaps into my throat. “Caleb?” I call out, my voice cracking with desperation.

There’s no response, only the rustling of leaves in the wind.

“Those sounds came from up ahead,” she says. “But there’s so much blood right here.”

I nod, swallowing hard as I dig my heels into the horse’s flank, and we take off in the direction of the gunshot.

There’s another loud yowl. It sounds like a woman dying.

“That’s a mating call,” Sutton states.

There are intermittent trails of blood, possibly from Thunder, and we continue following it. The blood stops, though, and I can see something large and brown disappearing into the thick trees.

I pull up on my reins, seeing something in the distance. Sutton dismounts quickly, tying her horse to a nearby tree. I follow suit, my hands trembling as I secure the reins.

“Stay close,” I say, her eyes locking onto mine.

“What is that smell?” Sutton gasps as she covers her nose and mouth with her shirt. “It smells like fifty skunks or something.”

She gags and I do the same just as the smell hits me. I’ve never smelled anything like it before.

We move into the underbrush, following the trail of blood. Every step feels like an eternity, the forest closing in around us. Then, we hear it—a faint, pained groan.

“Caleb!” I shout, breaking into a run.

We find him sprawled on the ground, his face pale and his shirt torn. His leg is twisted at an unnatural angle, and claw marks rake across his side. But he’s alive. He’s breathing.

“Dad?” he rasps, his eyes fluttering open.

“I’m here,” I say, dropping to my knees beside him. “We’re here.”

Sutton is already on the phone, calling for the sheriff and the rescue team. Her voice is calm and steady.

“You’re going to be okay,” I tell Caleb, my hand gripping his tightly. “We’ve got you.”

Sutton jumps into action, ripping her shirt off as she starts to put pressure on the wound on his side.

“Do you know how to set a leg?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No.”

“We’re going to need to. If the helicopter can’t get here…” She trails off as she looks around.

I hear a four-wheeler; within minutes, my dad is screeching to a stop beside us.

“Your mom said the tracking app had him in this area. I tried calling as I was headed this way.”

My dad drops to his knees beside Caleb and takes over, holding pressure on his side.

“What happened?”

“It smelled so bad, but this thing… it came out of nowhere,” Caleb rasps in short breaths. “This…this thing came after it and…”

“Sssshhh, you can tell us later,” Sutton says. “Save your energy, buddy.”

He nods, his eyelids fluttering shut. I grab his hand in mine.

“Hold on, buddy. Help is on the way,” I tell him.

It’s like a bad dream unfolding before me, and I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. My heart is shattering as I watch my son struggling to breathe.