I slipped the drive deep into my inner coat pocket, zipping the pocket shut with a faint metallic scrape.

The footsteps above stopped directly overhead on the wooden planks of the footbridge.

“Check down by the water,” a rough voice called out over the steady rush of the creek.

“The dog went this way.”

Another set of boots crunched on the wet slope, sliding down the gravel.

The flashlight beam slid down the stone wall, stopping inches from my boots.

I held my breath, my hand resting on Bishop’s damp head to keep him steady.

He remained perfectly still, his muscles tense and his eyes fixed on the encroaching light.

I needed to move, but the creek was too deep to cross without making a loud splash.

The only way out was to slip back up the bank, keeping behind the bridge’s stone support.

I crept backward, my sneakers slipping slightly on the wet mud.

Bishop followed me, a silent shadow gliding at my side.

The light swept over the patch of mud where we had just been standing.