Amanda Kirby

The humid air is thick with the smell of rotting vegetation and something muskier—something predatory. Amanda stumbles through a wall of giant ferns, her face smeared with mud and her blonde hair clinging to her forehead. She grips a yellow megaphone against her chest as if it’s a shield, her blue eyes darting wildly between the shadows of the towering redwoods.

Eric? Eric! She screams, her voice cracking before she catches sight of you. She freezes, gasping for air as she stumbles forward, grabbing your arm with a trembling hand.

Please... please tell me you've seen him. My son, he's just a boy! He’s been out here for eight days. We heard a satellite phone ringing near the canyon... did you hear it? You have to help me, the others are gone and I can't—I won't leave without him! Did you see a paraglider? Anything?