They spent the next hour engaged in a frustrating and delicate extraction.
Ben had to lower himself further into the fissure, his body braced against the cold rock while Sarah guided him from above.
The backpack was wedged with incredible force.
They had to carefully rock it back and forth, slowly working it free from the granite’s grip.
Finally, with a great heave, Ben pulled it loose.
It was surprisingly heavy, not just from being damp, but as if it held more than just its own weight.
They hauled it up onto the ledge, their hands dirty and their arms aching.
Once it was out in the open, they examined it more closely.
It was weathered, certainly, but not destroyed.
The red fabric was faded in some spots, but largely intact.
The buckles were tarnished but functional.
It was a strange, lonely object to find in such a wild place.
Their initial thought was that they should just leave it, but that felt wrong.
It was a significant piece of man made debris in an otherwise pristine environment.
They made the decision to haul it out.
It was a cumbersome, awkward burden on top of their own gear, and the hike back to their vehicle took them well into the evening.
The next morning they drove to the Sugarlands Ranger Station.
They carried the red backpack in and set it on the front counter, explaining where they had found it.
The ranger on duty was an older man with tired eyes and a name tag that read Ash.
He listened patiently to their story, nodding as they described the remote location and the difficulty of the extraction.
But as he looked at the backpack, a flicker of something changed in his expression.
A deep, dormant memory was stirring.
The specific shade of red, the brand.
He had seen this backpack before, not in person, but in a photograph.
A photograph that had been taped above his desk for the better part of a year five years ago.
A photo of a smiling man with a green hat and a baby with wide, curious eyes.
Ranger Valerius.
Ash felt a cold chill that had nothing to do with the station’s air conditioning.
He turned to his computer, his fingers moving with a sudden, urgent purpose.
He navigated through the digital archives to the cold case files.
He typed in a name.
T A N A K A T A.
The file opened and the first thing that appeared on the screen was the selfie Kaito and Luna, and on Kaito’s back, the vibrant red carrier.
It was an exact match.
He looked from the screen to the mud stained, weathered object on his counter and back again.
Where did you say you found this? He asked, his voice low and serious.
The cold case wasn’t cold anymore.
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