He could let the kid go. The storm would come and steal away his life, but that was the way of the mountain, of the wilderness. It was a clean death. If only the grad student weren’t so young. A lifetime ago he’d seen so many boys die-you’d think he’d have gotten used to it. Instead, one more seemed like one too many.

He could warn the boy. But everything in him rebelled at the thought. It had been too long since he’d spoken face-to-face with anyone…even the thought made his breath freeze up.

It was too dangerous. Might cause another flashback-he hadn’t had one in a while-but they crept up unexpectedly. It would be too bad if he tried to warn the boy and ended up killing him instead.

No. He couldn’t risk the little peace he had by warning the stranger-but he couldn’t just let him die, either.

Frustrated, he’d been following for a few hours as the boy blundered, oblivious, farther and farther from the nearest road and safety. The bedroll on his backpack made it clear he was planning on staying the night-which ought to mean he thought he knew what he was doing in the woods. Unfortunately, it had become clearer and clearer it was a false confidence. It was like watching June Cleaver roughing it. Sad. Just sad.

Like watching the newbies coming into ’ Nam all starched and ready to be men, when everyone knew that all they were was cannon fodder.

Damn boy was stirring up all sorts of things Walter liked to keep away. But the irritation wasn’t strong enough to make a difference to Walter’s conscience. Six miles, as near as he figured it, he’d trailed the boy, unable to make up his mind: his preoccupation kept him from sensing the danger until the boy student stopped dead in the middle of the trail.

The thick brush between them only allowed him to see the top of the boy’s backpack, and whatever stopped the boy was shorter. The good part was that it wasn’t a moose. You could reason with a black bear-even a grizzly if it wasn’t hungry (which in his experience was seldom the case), but a moose was…