Hunter
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"That boy dies in four hours."
The words were all but lost beneath the roar of a low-soaring helicopter that swept across the darkening sky before vanishing into cloud. Thundering past the encircling tree line, it whirled thick cold air as the big man cast a cigar to the ground, grinding it angrily.
"Sheriff Cahill," a radio barked inside a patrol car and he turned, staring. His square face had been chaffed by the bitter winter wind. He reached through the window and palmed the microphone. "This is Cahill."
The voice at the other end was cautious: "Sheriff, volunteers searching the trailhead haven't found any sign of the kid. And the Guard is spread out all the way to Cedar Pass but they ain't found nuthin' either."
The frown deepened on Cahill's broad face. "Listen," he growled, "We have four hours 'til dark. If we don't find that boy before then, he's gonna freeze to death. Weather report says we got heavy snow coming. How many birds we got in the air?"