The Hope We Keep

CONTENTS Preface 1. Shiloh Easton 2. Lena Easton 3. Lena Easton 4. Eli Pope 5. Jackson Cross 6. Jackson Cross 7. Jackson Cross 8. Lena Easton 9. Lena Easton 10. Jackson Cross 11. Shiloh Easton 12. Jackson Cross 13. Eli Pope 14. Lena Easton 15. Shiloh Easton 16. Eli Pope 17. Lena Easton 18. Jackson Cross 19. Jackson Cross 20. Eli Pope 21. Eli Pope 22. Jackson Cross 23. Shiloh Easton 24. Jackson Cross 25. Shiloh Easton 26. Jackson Cross 27. Lena Easton 28. Jackson Cross 29. Jackson Cross 30. Lena Easton 31. Eli Pope 32. Jackson Cross 33. Eli Pope 34. Eli Pope 35. Eli Pope 36. Eli Pope 37. Eli Pope 38. Eli Pope 39. Eli Pope 40. Lena Easton 41. Jackson Cross 42. Jackson Cross 43. Eli Pope 44. Shiloh Easton 45. Jackson Cross 46. Shiloh Easton 47. Jackson Cross 48. Jackson Cross 49. Jackson Cross 50. Lena Easton 51. Shiloh Easton 52. Lena Easton 53. Lena Easton 54. Lena Easton 55. Shiloh Easton 56. Shiloh Easton 57. Eli Pope 58. Eli Pope 59. Eli Pope 60. Jackson Cross 61. Jackson Cross 62. Jackson Cross 63. Lena Easton 64. Eli Pope 65. Lena Easton 66. Eli Pope 67. Eli Pope 68. Lena Easton 69. Shiloh Easton 70. Eli Pope 71. Lena Easton 72. Eli Pope 73. Eli Pope 74. Eli Pope 75. Eli Pope 76. Jackson Cross 77. Eli Pope 78. Eli Pope Author’s Note Acknowledgments Also by Kyla Stone About the Author 79. Hannah 80. Hannah PREFACE This novel takes place in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. While most of the locations are real, a few creative liberties have been taken by the author for the sake of the story. SHILOH EASTON DAY SIXTY-TWO A twig cracked behind her. Thirteen-year-old Shiloh Easton spun and reached for her crossbow. Pulse thudding in her ears, she scanned the woods from left to right, right to left, searching for threats. Deep shadows blanketed the woods. Late afternoon sunlight spilled in panels through the leafy canopy, trees tall as sentinels surrounding her, towering pines and dense green balsam firs. Ahead of her, the deer trail angled to the right and disappeared around the bend. Deer hooves left fresh imprints in the damp earth. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. It was a feeling more than anything else. Something—or someone—was out there. Following her. Watching her. Planting her feet, she nestled the crossbow’s butt stock against her shoulder, her cheek pressed to the stock, lining up her dominant eye with the sight. She tightened her grip, index finger balanced on the trigger guard, the sleek fiberglass bolt ready to fly. Black squirrels rustled in the leaf litter scattered across the forest floor. Robins and sparrows twittered from the branches of a great spreading oak. She inhaled the comforting scents of the forest—rich soil, wet leaf litter, and pine sap. Her mouth had gone bone-dry. She had a hydration bottle with a filter in her pack, but she didn’t reach for it. The stock of the crossbow dug into her shoulder. Beads of sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Movement out of the left corner of her eye. Her heart kicked against her ribs. She shifted the crossbow to the left, squinting as she examined the shadows, the way the light played across the birch, maple, and ash trees. Deeper shadows pooled beneath the rhododendrons dripping with pink flowers. The shiny leaves of the blackberry bushes five yards to her right trembled as if something large had brushed past moments ago. Fear knotted in her throat; she fought it back. Shiloh held her breath and strained her ears, steadying her breathing the way Eli had taught her. It was the deer she was tracking, or a black bear. Or a raccoon. Maybe it was nothing. It didn’t feel like nothing. There. Ten yards to her southeast, a shadow lurked among deeper shadows. Was the shadow denser than the others? It appeared to deepen, shifting in a manner contrary to nature. The contours of the forest seemed to bend into the shape of a crouched human figure. Perhaps it was a hunter trailing a deer, like her, or her wild imagination playing tricks on her. Or maybe it was a monster, a windigo lying in wait. According to Ojibwe legend, the windigo was a malevolent, flesh-eating spirit roaming the woods in search of humans to devour, body and soul. She was distinctly aware of her aloneness in the Hiawatha National Forest, which consisted of almost nine hundred thousand acres of rolling hills, flat plains, wetlands, and winding rivers and streams, a vast wilderness tucked into Michigan’s Upper Peninsula along the vast and rugged shoreline of Lake Superior. The radio was clipped to the belt at her hip, but it only crackled with static. Without realizing it, she’d wandered out of range in pursuit of her prey. The closest help was several miles away in Munising, population two thousand or so, the closest town to the famed Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. She was on her own. She’d spent the day searching for deer, but deer had grown scarce close to town. Everyone and their brothers, cousins, mothers, and in-laws were traipsing the woods in Alger County, hunting for white-tailed deer, elk, cottontail rabbit, feral pig, ruffled grouse, and even weasels and coyotes—whatever meat they could find. Her stomach growled loudly. She flinched at the sudden noise. The dense shadow lurking within the trees didn’t flicker in response, didn’t move. Her ragged breath was the only sound. She forced herself to stay calm. She was just skittish, her nerves on edge, jumpy. But then, everyone was jumpy these days. Two months ago, brilliant auroras had lit up the heavens as a series of powerful super-flares erupted from the surface of the sun. As massive bursts of radiation struck the Earth’s magnetosphere, power grids were destroyed, transformers overloaded, and power lines burst into flames. Induced currents burned out satellite circuit boards,