And the truth was, Willem had been dead long before the age of twenty-four. Wherever his soul lived now—whether it was with their father or somewhere less fulfilling—she prayed he understood her numbness. Maybe even her relief.

On U.S. 26, or what was known here as Mt. Hood Highway, the rain gathered intensity. With visibility near zero, she brought the car to a slow crawl, cursing her burnt-out headlight. Government Camp was six miles behind her now, and the town of Rhododendron three more ahead. There, in Rhododendron, she would stay until the sun came up and the rain dispersed, then head on her way. To where, she had no idea. The only destination her heart wanted to take her to was the Salmon-Huckleberry Wilderness.

Anxiety took residence in her chest and, just as she pressed harder on the gas, a threatening pop echoed beneath the hood.

Her headlight went out. At the same time, the unearthly glow of her dashboard blackened.

She could see nothing.

In darkness, she guided the vehicle to the shoulder, the steering wheel nearly stiff.

She’d already replaced her alternator twice in the past year, buying used ones at scrap yards and paying her only decent neighbor a light fee to install them. The last one she’d bought, eight months ago, had lasted the longest. It felt fitting though, cosmically and unfairly so, that after taking her this far it would die now: in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, and in the middle of a downpour.

The heavens scourged the car, and despite the sensation of drowning, she contemplated waiting out the storm. But this was Oregon, and waiting out a storm could mean waiting out your own starvation. Just she and the rain existed now, and a dense, larger-than-life forest. She hadn’t let herself feel real fear in more years than she could remember, and now was no different. But there was something life-like about the night and the pines that protected her from every side. She popped open the glove box and felt for the flashlight she’d stashed there last month. A cold, metal thing, just small enough for emergencies.

She squinted when it came on, targeting the money with its ring of light. She deliberated before stuffing the envelope into her leather shoulder bag, as well as the keys and a change of clothes from her suitcase in the back seat, all while holding the flashlight between her teeth. She put on her jacket, flipped the hood over her head, grasped the bag, and heaved a sigh. The flashlight’s circle of light targeted the windshield, where rivers streamed. She may not be able to make it all the way to Rhododendron on foot before the light’s batteries would give out, but by then, hopefully, her eyes would adjust to the darkness.

Upon her exit, the brisk rain brought her to attention, nearly shocking her nervous system. She gasped, locked the door behind her, and shivered. She swept the flashlight around her, its small beam turning raindrops into falling shards of light. Hemlocks grew snug with statuesque firs, and plant life blanketed the forest floor. If she were to venture deeper into the forest, she would also find alders and cedars, just as lofty as the firs, with trunks blanketed in green moss. Her father had spent hours teaching her this vegetation, showing her picture upon picture of the indigenous trees, but it was something different entirely to be standing before them, feeling so small in their breathtaking splendor.

She raised her flashlight beam from the base of a fir to the narrowing top of its trunk, at least two hundred feet above. It froze her in place, the grandeur along with the chilling rain. At one time, her father may have even stood where she did now.

A distant and undecipherable noise sounded behind her, muffled by the static of rain: a howl, a yell—she couldn’t tell. She swept her light over the forest that lined the opposite side of the highway—just as green and only slightly less dense than the side she’d been studying. It was the forest that contained Salmon-Huckleberry Wilderness somewhere far inside its barrier.

Another howl lifted from the forest and for the briefest instant a light flashed deep within the trees, their dancing shadows backlit by the panicked beam. Tightening her drenched strap around her shoulder, she crossed the asphalt and stopped in the mud at the other side. This forest was different than the rest, even different from its companion across the highway. Something lingered here. Someone, maybe. And if someone was here—a Good Samaritan, perhaps—it might save her the three-mile trek to Rhododendron. Taking just a half-step closer, she peered into the trees.

“Hello!” she called, trying to make her voice boom, but rainfall swallowed the sound. Her teeth chattered and water poured from the rim of her hood, impairing her vision. “Anyone there? My car broke down and—” She cut herself off. I’m a helpless woman, she may as well be shouting. Alone, with only my father’s rusty pocket knife to defend myself!

The forest didn’t respond, and she should have been relieved. Turning, she folded her free arm over herself and walked the slick shoulder, heading in a westerly direction and trying to avoid the largest puddles. A bend in the highway lay just ahead. Surely she would find something beyond its curve, maybe some sign of civilization.

Vegetation rustled behind her. Heavy heels scraped on the gritty, wet road.

She twisted, readying her stance—wishing her pocket knife wasn’t buried inside her bag—but what the beam of her flashlight caught wasn’t what she expected. A slender, elderly man with a coarse, whitish beard that came to his waist shielded his eyes from her light. His skin hung with wrinkles almost as pale as his beard. A large spotlight dangled from his neck, amidst the bristly facial hair, and lit his black leather boots. He wore a flannel shirt beneath fishing waders, an open yellow slicker, and a yellow sou’wester hat, the large rim falling down the back of his neck. He looked like a fisherman taken right off the Pacific Ocean and planted in the middle of Mt. Hood National Forest.

His hand still shielded his red-rimmed eyes, but it wasn’t until he cursed that she realized her light blinded him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, dropping the beam.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” His vocal cords sounded compressed, perhaps from old age, making his voice thin and high. He took an irate step toward her.

Elizabeth stepped back. “I’m sorry?”

Drawing his decrepit thumb and index finger together, he grumbled, “I was this close!” The double-barreled shotgun in his dropped hand—why didn’t she notice this sooner?—now swung.

“Whoa,” she said, lifting a hand. With the current events of her life, she shouldn’t have been surprised to run into a nut job in the middle of the forest.

“I had it right in my sights! I could’ve changed everything for our town if you hadn’t scared it away!” He exhaled, clouding the air with an angry burst.

“My car broke down and I saw your light in the forest…”

Wiping a hand down his face, he looked in the direction he’d come—through the forest—then in the direction she’d been headed—west—then finally at her broken-down car across the road. His breath puffed at a measured rate. He wasn’t crazy, just irritated. With a tone of defeat, he said, “There’s nothing I can do for you out here, ma’am.”

“Thanks for your time anyway.” She tried not to sound too deflated.

When she resumed her steps, he called from behind, “Not sure if you know this, but it’s a three-mile walk to Rhododendron.”

She turned back, adjusting her leather bag in the hope its contents weren’t completely soaked through. “It’s better than six miles back to Government Camp.”

“You know the area?”

She shrugged.

His eyes narrowed, and his beard dripped. “Walking alone isn’t a smart idea,” he said in that thin, almost backwoods-sounding tone. “Not through these parts, ma’am, not at this time of night. You have any idea what’s out here?”