by Raylan Kane
Jen was alarmed when she saw that the other two cells sat empty. No sign of her guy. She stopped for a moment outside Roy’s cell just to make sure he was still breathing and she closed the heavy steel door to the cell block behind her as she went back into the office. Dorothy was off the phone.
“Good morning, Jen,” Dorothy said.
“Morning, how are you?”
“Good. You feeling rested?”
“I’ll feel better after some coffee,” Jen said. “Is Tom in his office?”
“Yes, he’s in there.”
“Great.”
Jen walked to Tom’s office door and gave it a light knock.
“Yep,” came a gruff voice on the other side. “Enter.”
“Morning, Sheriff.”
“Deputy Marsh,” Tom said, “bright eyed and bushy tailed, as usual. What can I do you for?”
“Noticed my guy’s not in cells. What happened? You kick him loose?”
“Yes, he’s got warrants out of Fairbanks. Couple of B&E’s. An assault charge out of Anchorage they wanna do a hearing on over video over there. Sent him outta here with Woody about 6.”
“6 o’clock? Scott couldn’t have been happy about that.”
“Nah, he said he’d be up anyway. We arranged it last night. He’ll be back later this afternoon. Hell of a lot of driving. He’ll be wiped for sure. So it’s just you and me today.”
“Gotcha.”
“And I’ve got another one for ya,” Tom said. “Just what you needed, right?”
Jen’s stomach tightened at the thought. Her case backlog was mounting and she didn’t see any end to the work in sight.
“First thing wanted to ask you about,” Tom said, “you hear anything about some bad weather out toward the canyon lately?”
“Hiller Canyon?” Jen asked. Tom nodded. “What kind of bad weather?”
“Couldn’t tell you,” Tom said. “May had lunch with her sister at the diner yesterday. Came home and told me a bunch of them were talking about these loggers, I guess they found a whole slew of downed trees, just a huge area of them, laying flat. No idea what might have caused it.”
“Strange.”
“Yeah. That’s a new one,” Tom said. “Anyway, it’s neither here nor there, but we’ve got another problem out that way. A couple of campers, gone missing.”
“Lovely,” Jen said. “How many?”
“Two guys. Father and son. The son’s grown. They’re from in town here, the younger one’s girlfriend called it in. They were supposed to be back two days ago. No radio contact, no nothing.”
“Camping near Hiller Canyon. That’s not good.”
“No. So, I’d like you to look into it. We’ve had pretty good thaw here the last few weeks. Should be able to take the Woods road out, should be pretty much clear. Might be some mud in a few spots. Take the 4x4 of course.”
Jen was familiar with the Hiller Woods Road. It was the only road out to Hiller Canyon from Branson and it was only open usually just a few months out of the year. Given that this spring had been unusually warm, the thick cover of ice and snow dissipated sooner than what was considered normal. The road was unpaved, featured many areas of jutting rocks and root systems and swamps and wound through the foothills below Razorback Mountain on the canyon’s west side. The road was treacherous at the best of times, and to Jen it was what she imagined it’d be like being on safari. The road was completely wild and unpredictable. It was just wide enough for a vehicle traveling in one direction and tree branches hung over the road most of the way along. The Sheriff Department’s 4x4 pick-up bore the scars of many a mile winding around and up and down Hiller Woods Road. The vehicle required constant maintenance in the summer months, and on a few unlucky occasions Jen had been forced to spend hours sitting still on the road, with the truck broken down waiting for rescue from whomever was also on shift back in town.
“You gonna come and get me out there if I get stuck?” Jen said with a smile to her boss.
“Who else?” Tom said. “But really, you should be fine. I’ve got some map coordinates for you where the girlfriend figures they were headed. You’ll have to hoof it for a ways I imagine once you get to road’s end.”
The Woods road ended at the mouth of the canyon. The department had ATVs for deputies to enter areas without roads, all were out of commission. Jen had only been hiking in the canyon twice. Both times ended with her being completely coated in mud and one time she’d been out there after dark and even though she wasn’t alone, she hated the feeling she got being out there. It was as if the canyon had an energy all its own. Each time she’d been there a creeping sense of dread took hold of her and she’d have an overwhelming compulsion to get out. She could never put her finger on just why it would happen, and nothing specific had ever happened to cause it, but it was a feeling she’d have and that she kept to herself.
“The truck’s already gassed up in the back, so you’re good to go,” Tom said. “Just bring it back in one piece, please.”
“Always,” Jen said.
Inside Jen was frustrated, she wasn’t keen on going out to the canyon alone, but Tom had no tolerance for complaining, and it wouldn’t matter how much she lobbied, he wanted what he wanted regardless how his charges felt. She’d prodded him here and there about the need for hiring another deputy or two, but Tom was always quick to point out their budgetary constraints.
“Oh, one other thing, can’t believe I almost forgot,” Tom said, “we got word of some massive bear tracks, just out of town. Ridiculously big, so don’t strain yourself with it, it’s probably BS. Some lady called it in, someone from out of town. Spooked her I guess. Anyway, I’m thinking it’s another hoax, but it’s on your way. Appreciate it if you could have a look. Maybe snap a photo or two, just for the file.”
“Will do,” Jen said. “How big a tracks are we talking?”
“Big enough,” Tom said. “The lady said something around the size of a car tire.”
“That’s pretty damn big.”
“Yeah, like I said, a hoax,” Tom said as he wandered back toward his office. “Anyway, good luck out there. Lemme knew what you find.”
FOUR
The 4x4 lurched forward as if stuck between gears for a moment as Jen navigated the vehicle through a deep rut filled with water. Don’t you quit on me now. She pressed the gas lightly and the truck swung upward out of the water and back on flattened trail. A giant sweeping pine brush scraped the right side and bent the antennae back almost to the breaking point. Free of the branch the antenna snapped upright and Jen steered around a tight turn and attempted to avoid jagged shale rock poking out of the ground on the left side of the road. With the constant steering and adjustments needed on what was barely a road, Jen was feeling all of the five hours it’d taken her to get close to Hiller Canyon.
Once around the turn the forest opened up to a clearing and Jen’s heart dropped as she saw a wide muddy swamp in front of her where the road should’ve been. She stopped the truck and put it in park staring at the morass and contemplated her next move. She figured she still had another half hour to get out as far as she’d needed to conduct a decent search. No one had been out this far on the Hiller Woods Road, there were no other vehicle tracks in the thick mud and water, there were no wheel ruts she could use for guidance or traction.
Fortune favors the bold, a favorite quote of her father’s, whispered at the back of her brain.
“Hell with it,” she said aloud.
Jen eyed what looked to be the least deepest area of swamp, popped the truck back into DRIVE and hit the accelerator hard. The truck gamely leaped into the mess and immediately Jen felt she had to push her foot down harder to keep the vehicle up to speed as the mud grew thicker.
“Come on! Come on!” She hollered as the engine revved high.
She started rocking forwards and back keeping a tight grip on the wheel. Come on! She’d made it more than halfway through the swamp and the truck suddenly seemed to sink a few inches
down and her speed slowed to a crawl. Jen gunned the engine and water and mud sprayed the hood and windshield. Incrementally, the truck inched through the sludge. Jen kept rocking, willing the 4x4 to push through. Another ten feet, another five. Then the truck stopped and all of Jen’s revving only served to spin the tires. She could see the end of the swamp and the re-emergence of the dirt road no more than thirty feet in front of her. The truck wouldn’t budge. She kicked it into reverse. No dice.
“Dammit!”
Now what? Jen glanced at her cell phone even as she knew it would be in vain. Just as she figured, no bars. She picked up the radio receiver.
“Bravo 5, Control.”
Bars of static mixed with someone’s chopped voice came through the radio. Jen couldn’t discern any actual words.
“Dorothy? It’s Jen, I’m out in Bravo 5, do you copy?”
Again more static, more of an indecipherable voice.
“Bravo 5, Control, are you there? Can you hear me?”
More of the same. Jen put the receiver back. Great.
She opened the driver’s side door and saw the water less than a foot below her. She grabbed her insulated rubber boots from the floor in front of the passenger seat and swapped them for the hiking boots she had on. She pulled her neon yellow heavy coat from behind the passenger seat and stepped out of the truck and into the thick mud that almost reached the top of her boots. Not a good time for the winch to be busted. She walked around the exterior of the truck to assess the likelihood of her being able to get the 4x4 out of the swamp.
“Man, you are wedged in there good,” she muttered.
She stepped back into the cab of the truck and picked up her supply pack and flung it over her shoulder. She took her rifle from the rack and stepped back down into the mud. She slammed the truck door, thinking it may be the last time she’d see the thing for quite a while. She waded out of the swamp to the dirt road beyond.
Less than a quarter mile up the road, Jen noticed a mossy tree stump in the center of a clearing to her right. She stepped over some fallen logs and watched her footing over the wet ground. She made it to the stump and had a seat. The sandwich from her pack tasted like heaven. Jen relished the first bite as she sunk her teeth in. The comfort of something familiar like the sandwich calmed her nerves against the loneliness of her surroundings. The air was cool and damp under the mid-afternoon clouds and the smell of spruce dominated Jen’s senses. She felt as far away from the rest of the world as one could get. Faint bird calls echoed on the slight breeze and Jen was fully enthralled with the deliciousness of her roast beef and cheese on rye. She did her best to push any worry or panic out of her mind as soon as it appeared. Her father taught her it was always best to remain optimistic, even if that didn’t seem the logical choice in any given situation. The worst Jen figured would happen this far out of town is that she’d have to hike out on foot, all the way along Hiller Woods Road. Definitely not ideal, but something she’d survive, at least she had her rifle.
A slight movement off to her left caught her peripheral. The echo of a branch snapping hit her eardrum and she instinctively put her hand on the rifle. She stared at the edge of the clearing in front of her. At first she saw nothing, then a glimpse of something gray. An animal? Whatever it was, it was moving, but only slightly. She finished the last bite of her sandwich and stashed the wrapper. With the pack on her back, she gripped the rifle and stepped slowly toward the source of the movement.
Something on the ground. It appeared to be twitching. She moved closer. The gray color she’d seen through gaps in the trees became clearer. A jacket! Closer still she could make out the outline of a person on the ground. She stepped on a brittle branch sending a loud crack echoing and a faint male voice called out.
“Help me.”
Jen hurried to the side of a fallen man. He was older, with a white and gray-flecked crew cut. Blood stained his face. His army green pants and gray coat were wet. Jen could see a lot of blood soaked through the man’s mid-section. His left pantleg was shredded and she could see exposed bone just above his foot. He laid with his eyes wide open to the sky, terrified. His whole body shook. Jane recognized the man was in shock. He reached out and felt Jen’s presence, she took his hand.
“Please help me,” the man said, his voice shaky and weak.
“That’s why I’m here,” Jen said. “You’re okay now. Everything’s going to be okay.”
The man didn’t respond he kept looking straight past her to the clouds above.
“What’s your name, sir? I’m Jen.”
The man said nothing.
“I’m a Sheriff’s Deputy, from Branson. Where are you from?”
“My son,” the man said.
“You have a son? What’s his name?”
The man attempted to move his twitching arm down under his hip. He couldn’t control his movement. He was reaching for something.
“Is it your wallet?” Jen said. She felt underneath the man to a small hump on his backside. She removed his wallet from his back pocket. “I’m going to look in here, okay? So that I can get your name.”
The man didn’t say anything. Jen pulled out the man’s ID and saw that he was a military veteran. Flint Whitstock, read his Driver’s License. Jen didn’t recognize the name, but there were still a few families in Branson she didn’t know.
“Okay, Flint. I need to get you some help, but I can’t leave you here, it’s not safe.”
The old man just kept twitching and staring at the sky.
“I’m going to have to move you to my truck. So we’re going to stand up okay? Do you think you can do that?”
Jen really did not want to move Flint for fear of aggravating any injuries he may have, especially dealing with his neck and back, but she felt like she had little choice. She figured he’d die of exposure or dehydration if nothing else if she left him there long enough for her to find help. She pulled the man’s arms toward her so he was in a seated position, then she wrapped his arm around her, grabbed his belt firmly and planted her feet under her and pushed with her legs hard until she was standing with him hanging onto her left side. The man was heavy, dead weight and Jen breathed heavily as she used every muscle in her body to start walking the man out of the woods. She’d managed to take five steps with the old man groaning as she walked when she heard a familiar high-pitched squeal echo somewhere off behind her.
Please don’t let it be.
Often mistaken for squirrels, the sound echoed through the forest once again. She knew it wasn’t a squirrel, it was a distinction her father had taught her when she was little. It was the odd, high-pitched sound of a cougar calling out.
FIVE
Jen couldn’t turn around to look behind her. The old man’s weight had her almost doubled-over as she moved slow over the treacherous forest floor toward the dirt road that was only about fifty feet away. The squealing sound ceased. Jen stopped every other step to try and hear the sound of twigs or branches breaking behind them. Nothing.
They’d reached the dirt road and Jen was able to pick up the pace a little. The man’s idle feet dragged in the dirt and he let out a moan every few seconds. At least he’s still breathing. They rounded a turn in the road and Jen felt some slight relief at seeing the big 4x4 lodged in the middle of a muddy lake.
They stepped off the road and into the swamp. Jen was drenched in sweat. She kept looking at her feet, trying to step in such a way to keep the muddy water from breaching the top of her boots and yet at the same time hold onto Flint so he wouldn’t fall into the muck. She counted each step as she went. She didn’t want to look up at the truck for fear of feeling like they weren’t making any progress. She’d counted to five and couldn’t help but glimpse something to her right. At the edge of the treeline about a hundred feet off, a large mountain lion, the one she’d heard before, stood still and silent, looking right at them.
Jen froze. She’d left her rifle back where she’d found the old man, figuring she’d collect it after d
epositing him in her truck. The big cat took a step forward. She didn’t move. She felt naked, vulnerable and completely at the mercy to the whims of a giant predator. The man covered in blood probably didn’t help matters.
“Hey!” Jen yelled in the direction of the big cat. “Hey! Go on! Get!”
The creature moved in slow motion, taking another step toward them.
“You get!”
The cougar stopped and stared at her. Suddenly, the old man got even heavier and she moved slightly to brace herself under his weight. He let out a long moan and she felt sick as she heard a familiar rattle emanate from his throat. The man slumped further over, and she realized, he was gone. Tears welled up in her eyes. The cougar didn’t move. Jen managed to get her fingers under the man’s chin. Sure enough, no pulse. The truck was still fifty feet away. She slid the man down her left side and let his body lay in the swamp. Feeling especially vulnerable and considerably lighter, she stood facing the mountain lion with her hands out and at the ready, her body in a pose as though she was ready to tackle the animal. The cougar took another small step forward.
“Hey!” Jen yelled.
Jen chanced another step in the mud toward the truck. The animal watched her, frozen in place. Jen glanced around her feet, searching for a rock, a stick, anything sticking out of the muck. There was nothing. Carefully, without any sudden movements she unzipped one of her pantleg pockets and gripped the truck keys. She slid the keys in between her fingers as she made a fist and slowly brought the fist up near her face. Her fear for the predator had turned to anger over her predicament. Again, the cougar inched forward. The cat’s tail began to sway behind it and the animal slowly moved into a crouch.
