The hardest part of analyzing the mess of tracks I myself had trampled was remembering the clues my father had taught me to interpret the drawings on the ground.
Pulling all the relevant information out of my overwhelmed mind took effort, but slowly everything I was seeing began to make sense.
The snow was dirty and churned up — I realized someone had fallen there.
Alexander. And maybe Rex too.
From that scattered snow, blurry handprints and footprints extended.
Then only footprints moving away.
I walked slowly, keeping away from the tracks so I wouldn’t contaminate the trail with my own.
From the explosion site, the tracks led toward the unfenced edge of the property, heading for the forest and the mountain.
Two sets of feet.
No.
Three.
Three?
Was André with them?
I compared
