Runner-Up for The Mockingbird Prize for Fiction, 2017
Daniel surveyed the landscape, praying that the tree would suddenly become visible to him. It seemed as if the red maple had vanished, like the world had pulled the tree in by its roots to enjoy watching him struggle. The forest was quiet, apart from faint sounds of snowfall on the tree. He checked his watch. It had been thirty minutes since PJ had deserted him, but it felt like hours. Dropping the walkie-talkie back into the backpack and settling on a direction, he set off. The woods were only so large. The red maple would have to make itself known eventually.