THIRTY

In the late afternoon, Will pulled the Land Rover onto the shoulder at the junction of Alaska 1 and Alaska 4, yet another split in the highway.

Devlin read the mileage sign: “Anchorage, one eighty-seven. Valdez, one seventeen.”

Will let out a deep sigh, his head resting on the steering wheel. “We’ve lost her,” he said.

“Maybe the truck’s up ahead.”

He couldn’t bear the hope in his daughter’s voice. “I’ve been doing ninety for the last hour and a half. If he’d come this way, we would’ve caught up to him by now.”

“Where else could the truck have gone?”

“Where? Maybe he stopped in Tok and we didn’t see him. Probably he went on to Fairbanks.” He lifted what was left of the computer out of the front passenger seat and stared at the destroyed screen.

“Is Kalyn going to die?”

“I don’t know, Devi.”

“But probably she is?” Will punched the gas, spun the car around. “What are you doing, Dad?”

“Only thing left to do.”

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