Burn Like Cold Iron

Chapter 1 (Prologue): And Now We Cannot Find Them

Chapter 1 (Prologue): And Now We Cannot Find Them

I bit back a scream of excitement as I breathed in the smell of pine trees and fresh mountain air.

I could still hardly believe it. My family and I were on a summer camping trip in Alpine National Park, in Montana—that's right, Montana. My eight-year-old brain could barely comprehend how far we were from our home in Texas, and I was so excited I felt ready to burst. Groaning with impatience, I tapped my plastic water canteen against my leg as I waited for my parents to finish getting ready for our big hike.

"Come on, Dad," I exclaimed, stamping my light-up Wonder Woman tennis shoes on the gravel. "Let's go already!"

My dad frowned. "Just a sec, honey," he said. "I'll need to speak to one of the park rangers about our guided hike this afternoon. Think you can wait here for a few minutes? Your mom'll be back from the car in a bit."

"Of course I can, Dad. I'm not a baby," I retorted. It was true—I was eight now, and desperate to prove to my parents how mature I was. Camping in a national park was the perfect opportunity. I straightened my shoulders, adjusting my over-large backpack, filled with camping supplies and Junior National Park Ranger pamphlets.

My dad smiled down at me. "Thanks a lot, Bee. Just stay here outside the visitor's center, and I'll be right back."

"Okay." I watched my dad jog off and wave down a park ranger. Shrugging, I turned away to observe some of the other tourists.

There were lots of families, like mine, and huge groups of tourists from other countries. Many were just from other states like us, but others had accents or spoke languages I had never heard of before. It was fascinating. Absently, I wandered away from the visitor's center entrance as I watched them all.

"Hey, I picked you these flowers." I turned as I heard a man—British, maybe?—clearly just back from a hike, brandishing a handful of ragged wildflowers at his girlfriend.

"Aw, baby, you shouldn't have, they're so pretty!"

My jaw clenched. Oh, no, they didn't. I scowled, putting my eight-year-old hands on my hips as I marched up to the pair of them.

"You really shouldn't have, you know," I scolded the man, who raised an eyebrow at me over his too-big sunglasses. "It's illegal to pick the flowers here, the national park ranger said so."

The man scoffed, while the woman just chuckled. "Well, aren't you a cutie?" she asked, bending to ruffle my hair.

I stepped back, glaring up at them. "I mean it. It's bad for the environment!" I protested. "It takes years for the plants to grow back here! Didn't you read the exhibits in the..."

But the couple had already started walking away, the woman pressing the wildflowers to her nose and sniffing deeply.

"...in the visitor's center?" I finished lamely. Those meanies. I was trying to be mature and grown-up, but I guess it hadn't worked too well.

"Hey, look! Who knew chipmunks liked Doritos, huh?"

"Dude, that is hilarious!"

What? My hands balled into fists, as I whirled around, following the voices farther away through the entrance to one of the hiking paths.

"You're feeding the wildlife?" I exclaimed, facing down a group of teenagers huddled around a chipmunk at a fork in the trail. "You're feeding them Doritos?"