by Traci DePree
They’d managed to find one of the three-sided lean-tos with wire mesh along the fourth wall. The structures dotted the Smoky Mountain backcountry, and had provided a measure of protection from the wind during the night, but it had done little to keep the cold, and the worry, at bay. Paul stood alongside the built-in bunk and watched him sleep.
What worried Paul most was that Marcus might already be beyond helping. No doubt he was dehydrated, though Paul had done everything he could to find water to drink. And the young man had lost weight. That was evident in the loose fit of his clothes.
Paul glanced at his own midsection, which had become considerably smaller in the past four days. Combined with the cold and the endless shivering that went with it, Paul wondered how they’d managed to survive this long. With Marcus’ broken arm and now the fever, Paul felt certain an infection had set in. It signaled the end for the young actor, and Paul simply couldn’t allow that. If he couldn’t get Marcus out of these woods, the least he could do was bring help to Marcus.
He tugged his backpack up onto his bony shoulders and turned one last time to Marcus.
“I’m going for help, Marcus.” To his own ears his voice sounded raspy and weak. “You stay here, okay? Try to keep warm in that bunk. I’ll send help as soon as I can.”
The young man didn’t move, didn’t lift his head to acknowledge that he’d heard what Paul said.
Paul turned and carefully shut the door, then set off toward the south. He’d been watching the sun’s movement all morning, so he felt certain that he was going in the right direction, yet his body was exhausted to the point of collapse. He wished he still had his thick Columbia shirt. He felt so cold. Yet he willed himself forward, one step in front of the next, climbing over deadfall and pushing brush aside. He’d brought along several granola-bar wrappers he’d kept to mark his trail. These he tied to pine branches as he moved toward the ridge.
He’d been walking for a good hour, but the road he’d thought was just over the next hill was nowhere to be found. Thoughts of Marcus tugged at him. What if he was wrong? What if he couldn’t find help for the young man? Would he die there all alone without even a friend at his side?
Paul stopped in his tracks and turned full circle. The sun was directly overhead. He lifted his face to it, wishing for the wisdom to know what to do.
Lord, he prayed, don’t let Marcus die back there. Keep him going.
Then he turned back. At least at the lean-to there was a chance other hikers would come upon them. He prayed that Marcus would still be breathing when he got back.
As he neared the lean-to a good hour later, the sound of voices drew his attention. Paul quickened his step and called in his weakened voice, “Hello!” Someone had found them!
But when he was within fifty yards of the lean-to, he stopped in his tracks. Two dark-haired men wearing orange vests came out of the structure. They were carrying Marcus between them, one holding him under the arms and the other grabbing his legs. They looked like rescue workers, but the words coming out of their mouths stunned Paul.
“We got here too late. He’s practically dead already!” the taller one said.
“We shoulda just killed him back in Jersey,” the smaller one said. “Instead of chasin’ him all over the country. That sheriff is onto us.”
Panic tightened Paul’s throat. These were the two men he’d seen at the Bristol the night before they’d left on the trip. What were they doing here in the middle of the wilderness? His answer came quickly when he saw one of them lay an unconscious Marcus on the ground and search his body. The smaller one patted him down and reached into his pockets. But when he began to tear at the bandages that covered Marcus’ broken arm, Paul had seen enough.
He shouted at them as he charged over, “What do you think you’re doing? Get away from him. Can’t you see he’s dying?”
The men raised their heads, obviously surprised at his presence. The taller one stood to his full height, a good six inches taller than Paul. He had a sneer on his face. Paul noted the other’s peculiar stance, the way his knees pointed out while his toes pointed in.
“You must be that preacher they’re all lookin’ for,” he said.
Hope flashed into Paul’s consciousness right before the man landed a hard blow to Paul’s midsection, knocking the wind from his lungs. Paul staggered back, gasping for air.
“They won’t be findin’ you anytime soon,” the man snickered, taking another step toward Paul. He aimed for Paul’s face, catching his right eye, which burned from the impact. Paul raised his fists and threw a right jab at the man’s chin, but the man barely flinched.
“Is that all you got?” he laughed at Paul. Then he punched him hard again in the belly.
Pain radiated up Paul’s torso, and he struggled to stay on his feet.
“Last I heard, that search team had totally lost your trail,” the man said. “They’re all down by Clingmans Dome! They’ll never find you. And that pretty wife of yours—” He shook his head.
With those words, Paul mustered every ounce of his strength and clocked the man hard in the nose. Blood gushed from his nostrils, and he clutched his hands to his face, obviously stunned.
“My nose is bleedin’!” he raged, his eyes bulging. Blood dripped from between his fingers.
Paul moved forward for another blow, but the smaller of the two came in from behind.
“Oh no you don’t!” the smaller man said. He kicked Paul’s feet out from under him, and Paul crashed back, hitting his head against the hard ground.
Paul saw the trees overhead and heard the chirping of birds, and then everything faded to black. When he awoke, he had no idea how much time had passed. The sun was still bright in its westward arc, but the men and Marcus were gone. The contents of Paul’s backpack lay scattered across the leaf-covered ground. He sat up and touched the place where his head had hit. He could feel dried blood on the spot. Taking a deep breath, he realized what had happened.
Marcus had been kidnapped.
Didn’t those men understand that he was dying? What did they think they were going to do with him?
Paul stood to his feet, and the ground spun around him. He closed his eyes until the vertigo passed, then staggered to the lean-to. It was empty. Then, barely able to keep his balance, he walked. His body throbbed from the beating he’d taken, and his hand hurt from landing the punch on the tall man’s nose. But it didn’t matter. He’d failed Marcus, failed him miserably. He had to do everything within his power to help the young man.
He was no more than a hundred yards from the lean-to when he collapsed on a stone ledge, unable to walk, unable to do anything except lie there and consider his fate. He’d known that Marcus was dying. Now he knew that he too was at his journey’s end.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Are you saying you’re quitting?” Kate heard herself shouting at the authorities around the large conference table at Sugarlands Visitor Center, but she felt like she couldn’t help it. They were giving up on Paul. She couldn’t comprehend it.
“I said I’m not saying that.” Ranger Morton held up a hand like a policeman at an intersection. “We simply need time to reevaluate our search strategy. The helicopters have been all over this section of the park, and there’s been nothing new to indicate where they are. If they’d gone east they would’ve hit Newfound Gap Road; south, and they would’ve come on the Appalachian Trail or Clingmans Dome Road. For all we know, they’re walking in circles.”
Kate rubbed her temples. A headache was coming on.
“Can we at least go look in the area where we found the campsite?” Eli said from the far side of the table. “Couldn’t Mrs. Hanlon be right? Couldn’t we have lost the trail there?”
“It’s possible, but it’s not probable. We’ve scoured that area already.” The ranger sighed and said to Kate in a kind voice, “They’ve had little food or water since Monday night, and it’s Friday. If they’re moving at all...” He paused before adding, “Like I said, we�
�re not quitting. We’re just reevaluating.”
“Reevaluating what?” Rebecca’s voice rose in aggravation. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes sparked with indignation. “Whether or not Marcus’ and Dad’s lives are worth the cost to the State of Tennessee?”
Kate placed a hand on her daughter’s knee in an attempt to calm her down. Then she glanced at Livvy, who gave her a sympathetic look.
“That’s enough of that!” Sheriff Roberts snapped.
“Just let us look,” Kate said to him, pleading. “Please, Sheriff Roberts. That’s all we want to do.”
“You can’t go without guides. You’ll get lost just like your husband and your daughter’s friend,” Ranger Morton said. “You’re wasting your time.”
The sheriff shot him a glare that silenced him.
“I can guide them,” Joe Tucker spoke up. “I know these woods as well as any of your hired mugs!”
Sheriff Roberts considered the old man for what felt like many long moments.
“Okay,” he finally said to Joe. “I’ll go along if you guide us.”
The ranger sputtered and the sheriff held up a forefinger.
“We’ll be back by dark,” he said simply.
It was three-thirty in the afternoon by the time they reached the place where they would begin their hike to the cave where Paul had camped. Only the group from Copper Mill had come along for the search. The official search-and-rescue team had stayed at the visitor center.
Kate prayed fervently for some irrefutable sign that Paul had been there that morning, something that would force Ranger Morton and his men to resume the search.
The afternoon sun was warm on Kate’s back as she positioned her walking stick to lower herself down the steep embankment to the more level area below. It was slow going. Eli helped her and Rebecca, supporting them with strong hands when they needed it. Danny and Livvy followed with their two boys and the Wilson brothers.
Rebecca moved up ahead with Joe, calling loudly for Paul and Marcus. Kate turned to glance at Eli, whose gaze followed Rebecca. His eyes crinkled into a smile. She could hear the others to her left, calling along their arc into the valley.
There were fallen logs scattered here and there on the ground, but for the most part, the walking wasn’t too difficult once they’d gotten down the initial section. Deer trails wove among the rhododendron, blueberries, and sand myrtle. Birds took to flight, complaining at their presence.
Kate thought of Ranger Morton’s warning that they were wasting their time. She prayed this wouldn’t be another false start like their visit to the old man at the ramshackle cabin or their search below Clingmans Dome. So much depended on the outcome here. She knew if they didn’t return with news of Paul or Marcus, they’d be returning to Copper Mill empty-handed. Not to mention brokenhearted.
Doubt pulled at Kate. It had been cold every night, with temperatures dipping down into the midforties. At the higher altitudes, it had been even colder. The men could have easily succumbed to hypothermia. Hadn’t Ranger Morton said that hypothermia was one of the leading causes of death among lost hikers? She sighed heavily and shouted Paul’s name again as she scanned for any variation in the landscape that might indicate his presence.
They’d been hiking for well over two hours when Kate saw what looked like a shack. She pointed to it, then she and Eli hurried over to see if it contained any sign of Paul or Marcus. Her heart beat in her chest at the thought that the men could be there.
When she drew closer, she could see that it was a three-sided lean-to, with wire mesh on the fourth side. Rebecca and Joe had seen it too; they were coming toward it from the east.
Kate came around to the other side, and there, lying on the ground, was Paul’s backpack. It was opened, its contents strewn like debris.
When Sheriff Roberts radioed in with the news, all the ranger seemed able to say was, “Well, I’ll be.” Then he added, “We’ll get the search-and-rescue team down there ASAP!”
Kate smiled gratefully at the sheriff. “I can’t tell you...,” Kate began, but he held up a hand.
“Save that for when we bring Paul and Marcus home. You were right, Kate. You know your husband.”
Then the radio crackled again. Sheriff Roberts lifted it to his mouth. “Roberts here.”
Livvy came alongside Kate and placed an arm around her shoulders. Kate smiled at her friend as hope welled inside of her.
“Sheriff,” Ranger Morton’s voice came across the airwaves. “We just got a call from your deputy back in Copper Mill. A Skip Spencer?”
“What did he have to say?” The sheriff exchanged a puzzled look with Kate.
“He said he’s been talking to people in town about those two men.”
“Okay...” The sheriff tapped his finger on the side of the radio as if he couldn’t end the conversation soon enough.
“Someone named Loretta Sweet said she talked to the men last Monday.” He paused. “Your deputy said she told the men that Rebecca’s new boyfriend—I’m assuming that’s Marcus Kingsley—went camping with the church group.”
Kate’s eyes shot to Rebecca. A hand went to the young woman’s mouth.
“We told her when we came in for lunch at the diner,” Rebecca whispered more to herself than to anyone else. “We led them right to Marcus.”
“And there’s more,” the ranger said. “He said they found that stolen El Dorado near Willy’s Bait and Tackle. He said one of his mother-in-law’s cars was stolen in its place, though he didn’t notice it until this morning.”
“So, the theft hadn’t been reported yet when we had the men for questioning yesterday?” the sheriff said.
Kate could hear the strain in his voice.
“Appears so, Sheriff.”
Ranger Morton signed off, and Kate bent over to look at her husband’s backpack. It had been slashed apart with a large knife.
“The two were here,” Kate whispered.
THE SUN DIPPED LOW in the sky, warning that dusk was close at hand, but Ranger Morton still hadn’t arrived with reinforcements. They waited at the lean-to, hoping Marcus and Paul would return. But no such luck. It had only been thirty minutes since they’d radioed with news of the find, but it felt like an eternity.
When Sheriff Roberts had inspected the ground around the lean-to more closely, it was apparent that a struggle had taken place. The lean-to’s mesh was dented in several spots, though that could have happened over the natural course of its life. But the recent scuff marks in the dirt and the shredded backpack left no doubt that something awful had happened here.
Under the built-in bunk, he’d found the sci-fi-looking silver survival blanket on the floor. Kate confirmed that Paul had packed one. She picked up the pack and gathered Paul’s things. She touched them lightly, gazing at each object as if through them she could sense where her husband was.
She wished she knew what had happened. Had Marcus attacked Paul? She hadn’t considered that possibility before, and Rebecca had never mentioned Marcus having a violent temper. From what she’d seen of him, he seemed like a gentle man, though a bit jumpy. He didn’t strike her as someone who would purposely hurt another person.
She bent down and reached for Paul’s vitamin pillbox. He’d only planned on being there for three days, but she knew Paul. If he’d been stocking the seven-day container, he would have gone ahead and filled the whole week’s worth.
Sure enough, only the supply for Saturday and Sunday remained. He would have taken his vitamins at home before he left on Sunday. She held the plastic container up for Sheriff Roberts to see.
“He was alive this morning,” she said. “He faithfully took his vitamins.”
Once she had finished looking at each object, she neatly put everything back, just as she knew Paul had packed it. Then she stood, ready to look around some more, though the group had already done a thorough sweep of the immediate area. There were more scuff marks to the west, and Sheriff Roberts noted two sets of footprints. Kate wanted to follow them,
but the sheriff advised against it.
“It’s just not safe, Kate,” he said. “It’s obvious that there was foul play. To send our group into danger...” He shook his head. “As an officer of the law, I just can’t allow that. We’re going to need to head back,” he said, “or we’ll be here all night.”
“I don’t care if I’m here all night,” Kate said. “I’ll sleep in the lean-to if I have to.”
“We didn’t bring supplies for an overnight stay,” he reminded her.
Kate gazed toward the ridge that towered above. It was barely visible through the trees to the south.
“Let’s go that way,” she said, pointing at the mountaintop.
The sheriff nodded and spread the word that they were heading back to the road.
The group moved out, this time in single file, with Joe leading the way. They had gone about twenty yards when he stopped and pointed to the low branch of a pine tree.
“Take a look!” He grinned at Kate.
There, tied to the pine tree’s thin branch was a granola-bar wrapper, its silver and green shimmered in the late-day sunshine. Kate turned her head to scan for another, and there it was, thirty yards away on a branch closer to the ridge.
“All right,” the sheriff said to everyone, “Let’s spread out again. Looks like we found his trail.”
Kate stuck close to Livvy and Danny, looking for signs—broken twigs, disturbed foliage, or fallen leaves that had been stepped through. The breeze rustled the trees overhead. Kate shivered and lifted her gaze to the rocks that angled skyward. They rose to the embankment above in a sharp incline. It would be difficult climbing.
Then up ahead she saw something on a low rock ledge. She moved closer to get a better look, and at the same time, she heard the rustle of leaves. Fear shot through her. Was it a bear, or had those men laid a trap for them?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Within mere seconds of sighting the shape on the ledge, Kate’s fear was overcome by joy. It wasn’t a bear or the two men; it was Paul.
