I smiled at him gratefully, surprised I had it within me to smile at all. "Yeah. That sounds great. Thanks."

Grinning, he clapped me briefly on the shoulder. "Let's go then."

PART 8.

THE SUN HAD been up for several hours as we came at last back onto the smooth blacktop of the eastbound road we'd been exploring all night. My head pounded abysmally from the abuse it had suffered while we bounced down one rutted, unpaved logging road after another, hunting for clues that just weren't there no matter how hard I tried to will them into existence.

As night faded into day, my hopes faded right along with the setting of the moon. Every blind alley, every negated lead pushed me further and further into a well of despair I began to think I had no hope of ever leaving.

My mind insisted on showing me images of Ice's lifeless body laying still and alone, lost forever in the endless blind maze of forest which surrounded us.

Still worse were the pictures of Ice, bleeding but conscious, dying by slow inches and unable to move as the beasts of the night made their way closer to her, attracted by the scent of her spilling blood like sharks to an injured whale.

I savagely told my mind to shut up, to shut off, but the more tired I became, the more hours we spent in fruitless searching, the more it insisted on playing these images in a continuous loop, each more graphic and heartrending than the last until it was all I could do not to scream and pound the dash until my fists were bloody.

The Drews had joined us halfway through the search, having come up empty in their own explorations. Having two more sets of eyes made the search go more quickly, but in the end, it made absolutely no difference at all.

Coming back to the present, I rubbed my gritty eyes as I mentally prepared myself for yet another trip down yet another road with yet another series of holes large enough to hide entire houses within. It was then that I noticed that we were heading to the west, away from the rising sun and the next road down the line. My heart sped up. "Where are we going?"

Pop didn't look at me. His unblinking eyes stayed fixed on the road. He was beyond pale, beyond tired, beyond old. "Back home for a bit, Tyler. We need a break."

"No!" I yelled, grabbing the steering wheel and almost turning us into the drainage ditch which ran parallel to the road on both sides. "No! We can't give up!!"

He gently pulled my hand off the wheel and straightened the truck back out again. "We ain't givin' up, Tyler. Johnny an' Tommy'll keep searchin' till they can't go no more. I need ta get to a phone and call in some more help. There's just too much land out here fer only three groups ta search. And you need some sleep. I ain't gotta look at ya ta see you're about one step from goin' down deep and never comin' out."

"You don't understand!"

Coming to a halt by the side of the street, he finally took his eyes off the road to look directly at me. His expression was one of infinite sadness. "I understand better'n you think, Tyler. Lost my own daughter out here when she was seven. Her and a friend took off when they was supposed ta be fishin, and got lost. We found em two days later. The friend survived. My daughter didn't." He looked back toward the road again, his eyes shiny and dark, hands gripped tight to the wheel. "Musta tripped in the dark, near as anyone can figure. The friend couldn't say. We found them both at the bottom of one of the ravines. My daughter's neck was broken."

"Oh god." I closed my eyes for a very long moment. "I'm so sorry."

He looked back at me again. "I thank ya fer your sympathies, Tyler. Happened a long time ago, but sometimes it still hits pretty hard. 'Specially when yer not lookin for it." Reaching out almost hesitantly, he gently touched my cheek with his weathered, work-roughened hand. "I ain't much for platitudes. Find em pretty useless as a rule. But I been around enough to know one thing. And that's that givin' up hope is the worst thing a body can do. I been around lots, but I ain't met many people like your Morgan, Tyler. If anyone can make it outta this almighty mess, I'd lay my money on her, if I was a bettin' man."

"And if you're not?" I asked through my tears.

His smile was sweet and kind and filled with compassion. "I'd lay it down anyway. She's a special one. So are you. I heard her call you 'Angel' once, and I reckon you're as close to one as these eyes are ever gonna see. So you just keep her alive in your heart, and alive she's gonna stay. Ok?"

After a moment, I gave a short nod against his hand, smiling a little. "Ok."

"Alright, then. Let's haul ass home and get some more help on this search. And when we find her, remind me I got a bone ta pick with 'er fer makin me lose s'much sleep on her account, eh?"

I almost laughed at that. "You're on, Pop. I'll even hold her down while you pick that bone. Just leave one for me, ok?"

With a nod, we were off again, my soul seeming infinitesimally lighter for our conversation.

It's amazing what a powerful drug hope really is.

I sat on the bed, facing the headboard and staring sightlessly out the window. Though I'd been more than thirty-six hours without it, sleep was an elusive, useless thing. Though my mind and body craved it with a deep, abiding ache, my soul shied away from its implied comfort, knowing it for the sham it really was. Sleep wasn't the oblivion I needed; it would only bring about nightmares-- or worse, happy dreams from which I would awaken only to die all over again when the realization of my living hell came down to visit once again, hitting me like a sucker punch hard to the gut.

No, better to stay awake and wrestle demons I could control, than to fall asleep and give up that control to the vultures who waited just beyond my conscious sight.

The sounds of Pop's gentle snoring floated up to me from the living-room below, where he lay sprawled out on one of the couches. I smiled a little, thanking God for putting that man in my life. He'd managed to call in a great many markers from friends near and far. Friends who were as close-lipped and hard-headed as he was and could therefore be entrusted with the delicate, and dangerous, task set before them.

Ruby had called just as we'd arrived back at the cabin-I had ceased thinking of this place as home. My words came back to haunt me. Where Ice was, home was. Where she wasn't, it could never be-to share with us the good news that Corinne, though grievously injured, was expected to make a full recovery.

She had what Ruby called a subdural hematoma, which she explained as somewhat like a very bad concussion. The doctors had placed her on some strong medications to both calm her and decrease the swelling in her brain. It was expected to resolve on its own without surgical intervention, for which I was profoundly grateful.

Before hanging up, Ruby let me know in no uncertain terms exactly what she expected to be told when all this was over. If it was ever over.

I answered in like tones, promising her I would tell her everything I could.

If I could.

Turning away from the window, I sat with my back against the headboard, my eyes darting around the room, looking at anything, everything, save for the pillow laying so close to me. A pillow I'd cradled for the past four days-or was it five? Six? Time was the enemy once again-in lieu of the woman I wanted to hold. Her scent was still there, I knew, trapped within the fabric, offering comfort, offering peace.

But for how long? Long enough to last a lifetime without her? Long enough to soothe a chasm of empty nights and broken dreams?

Tears welled up again, and this time, I didn't bother trying to stop them, still denying myself the succor of her scent. Ice couldn't help me now. No one could.

Curling my arms around my body, I felt myself begin to rock, slowly, back and forth, back and forth in a primitive attempt at self-consolation. My tears continued to fall and I continued to let them, knowing they were just the beginning of a vast ocean of grief being held back by the most broken-down of sea walls; my quickly fading inner strength.

After a very long period of time, true to their purpose, my tears slowed and left me feeling, if not better, at least cleansed. The grief was still there, a roiling black tide, but it was just a little easier to tame for having found an outlet, however short-lived.

And with this newfound-if temporary-feeling of peace came the strength to realize that I couldn't go it totally alone. Reaching out, I grabbed the pillow and buried my flushed face into it, absorbing the cool fabric and Ice's exotic, comforting scent deep within me, helping to fortify walls beaten down by grief's relentless torrent.

My mind played back images of happier times, and I allowed those images to lull me into a much needed sleep, the pillow still clenched desperately against my body.

When I next awoke, it was to that blind, heart pumping relief that someone gets when they realize they've just been rescued from the clutches of a brutal nightmare.

But then I looked around.

And realized the nightmare was still there, and worse than the most horrid of my mind's dark fantasies.

When it finally filtered through that the room was nearly pitch dark and I'd been allowed to sleep the day away, I gritted my teeth in anger and jumped from the bed, almost collapsing to my knees as the agony that was my feet made its presence known. Clinging to the bedpost, I took several deep breaths and willed my legs to support my body no matter how much they hurt.

After a long moment, they finally listened.

As I limped down the stairs, my pain lending strength to my anger, I chanced to look up at the clock on the fireplace mantle, and noticed that instead of sleeping the day away, only two hours had passed. When I finally made it to the bottom floor, my anger had abated somewhat, leaving more than enough room for my ever-present grief to begin encroaching once again.

Pop, his face gray with exhaustion, was in the process of hanging up the phone as I entered the downstairs living area. "Any news?" I asked, very much afraid to hear the answer.

A slow shake of his head. "No. Helluva storm's brewin' though. Gonna wash whatever tracks there are right away."

I followed his gaze out the huge picture window that covered most of the wall. The sky was an ominous black with roiling clouds from which lightening flashes passed, one to the other to the other like a baton in a relay race run by Zeus and his family.

It wasn't raining yet, but the world outside seemed poised for it: still, silent, waiting. I turned back to him. "Looks like we'd better get going then, huh?"

For a moment, it looked as if he wanted to say something, but whatever it was died on his lips and he nodded instead. "Yeah. Let's go see what we can do."

The storm hit just as we stepped outside. Instead of rain, however, hail the size of golf balls started to fall, hurtling toward the ground with amazing speed and evil intent.

"Let's just wait this out, Tyler," Pop said from beneath the overhang of the back porch. "Too dangerous ta go out in this."

"No. If you don't want to go, then give me the keys. I'm not staying here."

"Tyler . . . ."

"No! I won't leave her out in this, Pop. I can't." Pictures of hail battering her defenseless body came to gory life in my mind, ice filling her dead, staring eyes like some grisly horror show special effect. I shut them savagely down. "I just can't. So either come with me or stay here, but I'm going. With you or without you."

Then I grabbed the keys from his hand and took off toward his truck, not even feeling the hail as it pelted down on me.

And with a muttered "aww hell" that I could barely hear over the storm's fury, Pop ran out to join me, snatching his keys back and shoving me toward the passenger side as he opened his door and slipped into the cab.

Within seconds, we were off, our ride accompanied by a grisly tympani of hailstones as they pounded off of the truck's body and windshield, making it nearly impossible to see, let alone drive.

The hail soon changed into a driving rain which turned the logging roads into quagmires greedily sucking at tires as they passed in a spray of mud. More than once, the winch on Tom Drew's truck was called into service to rescue a truck sunk door-deep into the muck.

But still we went on, driven on by the news that one of Pop's friends had received from one of his friends who just happened to be on the Border Patrol. Impossible though it seemed, no black sedans had been reported crossing the border into the United States within the last twenty-four hours.

So, unless Pop was wrong and there in fact was a way to get across the border in a car without crossing the patrolled routes, Ice was still in Canada.

Somewhere.

And so day turned into night once again, only acknowledged by the quickly advancing hands on the watch at my wrist. The storm continued on unabated, lightning freezing and illuminating everything in brief, freeze frames of time, as if a photographer with the world's biggest camera were taking a series of pictures documenting our search.

Then it was our turn to sink into one of the mud-pits and we both hopped out of the truck as Pop radioed Tom for his help.

"When he pulls us out, we're headin for home, Tyler. We're just spinnin' our wheels as it is. We could be right on top of her and not even know it with the storm the way it is. We need to wait for it to calm down some."

"I'm sorry, Pop, but I just can't do that. You can go back if you want to. I'll go on on foot."

"You can't do that! You'll get lost sure as hell!"

"I don't care. I can't stop searching, Pop. I just can't. I'm sorry." And with that, I started away, soaked to the skin, night-blind, and more than half insane with the need to find my lover's body.

"Don't do this, Tyler, damnit!"

I turned back, seeing the oncoming lights of Tom's truck as they approached. "Let Tom pull you out, Pop. Then go home. I'll be alright."

And with a sense of utter calm, I waited for the next lightning flash to illuminate the area, then stepped off the road and into the woods hearing the shouts behind me but not bothering to give them any acknowledgement.

I made my way blindly forward, feeling wind-driven branches whip at my face and body and not caring. When the next flash of lightning came, I found myself staring into emptiness, but was unable to stop myself as I stepped off a precipice and tumbled down a heretofore unknown embankment, feeling rocks and fallen branches jab and rake my naked skin and unprotected head.

My momentum was stopped, finally, by an uprooted tree. My body slammed into it, knee first, and pain exploded behind my eyes, making me cry out.

In that half-second of blessed oblivion, when the pain faded and I found myself looking out into nothingness, I thought Good. I'm dead. Now I can finally find her.

But then the pain returned, and with it, breath to my lungs and sounds to my ears. I heard my name being called, and painfully turned my neck to see the backlit forms of Pop, Tom and John as they looked down the ravine into which I'd fallen. They were shouting something, but I couldn't make it out above the howling of the wind and the pounding of the rain.

It wasn't important anyway. I was still alive, and Ice was still gone, and that was the only thing that mattered to me.

Slowly I pulled myself together and set about getting out of the trap I'd fallen into. Sitting up gingerly, I used both hands to pull out the leg that was wedged beneath the great, gnarled roots of the old pine I'd slammed into.

I nearly fainted when my leg finally tore loose from the tree's greedy hold and I saw the ragged flaps of skin where my knee used to be.

I wasn't about to let a little blood stop me, though, and, gritting my teeth against the agony, I hobbled back up to my feet and stood, swaying, as my body tried to regain its lost equilibrium.

I looked up again in time to see Tom and John slip-slide their way down the embankment, managing to keep their footing only by the slimmest of margins. Finally getting to where I was standing, Tom reached out to me, but I pulled away, my teeth set in a feral snarl. "Don't touch me!"

"C'mon, Tyler. You're hurt bad. You need to get back up top and get that leg looked at."