No Man's Land

by Sara Driscoll

  “Are we going to be getting down the same way?” Webb asked.

  “No. The other flight of stairs in this section is at the end of the wing. It’s cut off from the main entrance by that cave-in, but there are a couple of emergency exits with crash bars on the ground floor we can force open to get out. Come on, things get interesting up here.”

  Smaill led them through the upper areas of the wing. Each room was lined with windows, and the light streaming in chased away the gloom. But the remnants of life here only accentuated the creepiness hinted at below:

  A multistall bathroom where the sinks had been ripped from the wall and thrown to the floor in front of stalls so rusted, it were as if they’d been sprayed with blood.

  A wooden prosthetic leg lying alone in a corner of the corridor, its painted surface so old and worn that it looked like mummified skin.

  A ward room with the twisted remains of a bedstead crumpled near a pockmarked radiator sagging away from the crumbling wall.

  A skeletal stainless steel table in the middle of a surgical suite, standing beneath a darkened lamp.

  But creepiest of all was the morgue they discovered in the basement after they had descended a much sturdier flight of stairs. The room retained most of its working components, so it felt as if the staff had just stepped out and would return momentarily. A compartment door stood open, the stainless steel slab with its integrated neck support pulled out, ready to accept the next corpse. Sturdy glass organ jars were clustered on a nearby countertop beside heavy rubber gloves, tossed over the edge as if just removed. An organ scale dangled beside a deep sink, its needle several degrees off plumb as if ghostly flesh lay within its bowl.

  But throughout their exploration, Hawk seemed distracted, his attention always focused down the corridor or out the nearest door. Meg was constantly calling him to her side when he wanted to wander away from the group.

  “What’s up with Hawk?” Webb crouched down beside the autopsy table and gave Hawk’s back a good rub. “I’ve never seen him this distracted. Do you think he’s picked up on something?”

  “As Chuck said, I think he’s smelling a dead rodent somewhere.” She held still for a moment, considering her dog. “But his head is definitely not in the game. So why don’t we let him show us?”

  Webb straightened. “Let him lead the way?”

  “Sure, why not? We don’t have a set search plan here. We haven’t found whatever he smells yet, so he’ll only lead us somewhere new.”

  “That works for me, as long as it’s safe,” Smaill said. “And you said he’ll come if you call him if he gets into trouble.”

  “Definitely. We’re in the basement, so there shouldn’t be any gaping holes dropping a story or two. But he’s a wizard with voice commands, and on top of that, we have his ‘don’t mess with me’ name.”

  Smaill glanced at the dog and then back at Meg. “ ‘Don’t mess with me’?”

  Webb laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. This is your first foray into canine search-and-rescue. Spend time with Hawk and it’ll become second nature.”

  “That’s the name I use when Hawk has to follow my commands with zero hesitation, even if it looks like I’m throwing him straight into the path of danger,” Meg said. “Like the time we were doing a search on a railway trestle and got caught near the middle of it with a train coming straight for us. We were closer to the side with the oncoming train, so I ordered him to sprint directly for it.” She extended both arms to include herself and Hawk. “As you can see, we both made it. So if I think he’s getting into trouble, I say ‘Talon’ ”—Hawk jerked to attention and she laid her hand gently on his head in acknowledgment—“and he’ll do whatever I say.”

  “Handy. I wish we could train our candidates at the house like that.”

  “Amen to that,” Webb said with a grin.

  Meg knelt down next to Hawk. “Hawk, something’s got your attention. Find it.”

  Hawk’s ears perked up and his head tilted at her.

  “He’s a little confused because he’s not in his work vest,” Meg explained to the men. “But he doesn’t need it here. Come on, Hawk, we’ll follow you. Find it.”

  Hawk turned and trotted through the open doorway melting into the darkness beyond.

  CHAPTER 2

  Cubed Location: An urbex route requiring different sequential exploration methods—for example, a tunnel ending in a basement hallway with a staircase leading to overhead scaffolding.

  Sunday, October 7, 11:39 AM

  Massaponax Psychiatric Hospital

  Fredericksburg, Virginia

  Pointing her flashlight to lead the way, Meg jogged into the gloom after Hawk, fearful of his running into unseen hazards. The heavy tread of hiking boots told her Webb and Smaill followed close behind. Alarm sparked for Meg when Hawk’s pattern naturally fell into the easy back-and-forth zigzag of an outdoor search, where he would normally be looking for the edges of the scent cone to narrow his search pattern. His movements were subtle and wove around debris scattered over the floor, but he wasn’t taking a truly straight path. Occasionally he would pause, sniff at a spot on the floor, and then keep going.

  She tossed a quick glance over her shoulder. “He’s definitely got something.”

  Webb watched Hawk for a moment. He’d worked with Meg and her dog often enough that he was now familiar with basic scent work techniques. “You don’t think it’s a dead animal.”

  “That’s not what he’s trained for.” Meg left it at that, knowing he understood her meaning.

  They jogged down the dank, gloomy corridor. On their right, massive, heavily rusted pipes lined the brick walls, and ancient electric light fixtures and wires hung down from the open metal gridwork of the ceiling. Water ran in thin, sluggish drizzles down to the floor, forming shallow puddles.

  Meg tried to keep the flashlight beam in front of Hawk, but every time he sidestepped, he melted into the shadows. “If I’d known we were going to be doing this, I’d have brought my bigger flashlight from the SUV. Hawk, slow. It’s dark and we don’t want any missteps.”

  Webb adjusted his flashlight to fall ahead of Hawk, providing a dim glow to the oncoming hallway. “Does that help?”

  “Yes, thanks. Although it looks like we’re about to hit a dead end.”

  “Not a dead end,” Smaill said. “Look, the corridor bends to the right.”

  “That’s better. I was beginning to wonder where Hawk was going.”

  They turned the corner, the gloom easing as light came through the open doorway at the end of the hall. Hawk visibly brightened, his tail waving higher and his ears perking as he picked up his pace.

  Meg moved from a fast walk to a light jog to keep up, and in seconds they were through the door.

  Meg stopped dead, taking in the cavernous space. The room was easily two stories tall, running from the basement to the top of the first floor, where narrow windows near the ceiling let in traces of the brilliant fall sun through grimy glass. One whole side of the room consisted of massive floor-to-ceiling brick and steel furnaces, once the heat source for the entire complex. Metal struts wove across the ceiling, supporting a coal bin and a suspended crane used to transport the coal to the once-fiery furnaces.

  Hawk, however, didn’t spare a glance for the massive machinery, making a direct line to the far side of the room, where a rusted metal staircase rose to the roof. He didn’t pause, but immediately started up the stairs.

  “Hawk, stop.”

  He froze, looking back at Meg as she jogged to catch up.

  “Sorry, buddy. But you need to wait.”

  Smaill moved underneath the staircase, his hands on his hips as he examined the metal. “This looks like a newer addition. The welds look solid.”

  Webb grasped the near railing and gave it a shake. When he pulled his palm away, it was black with coal dust. “It’s filthy but stable. You can send him up.”

  “Hawk, find.”

  Hawk sprang up the sta
irs, quickly outdistancing the three humans following him. The staircase was an open-tread style of four zigzagging half-story flights until it reached the top, on level with a massive eight-foot-tall coal bin. The bin was built against the wall, near a graffiti-covered rolling garage-style door, no doubt the access point for the regular truck deliveries required to fill the bin and keep the furnaces running in the winter. From this height, there was no lifting of coal, which would instead be poured with the help of a movable crane directly into each furnace.

  Hawk stopped in front of the coal bin and sat down, his face upturned to the upper lip of the container.

  Meg cleared the top of the stairs. “Damn.” She turned to Webb and Smaill as they stepped onto the upper platform. “He’s alerting. There’s someone in there. Can either of you see over the top?”

  Smaill gamely tried a vertical jump. “Not really. It looks empty, but I can only see the first foot or so of wall.”

  “Hawk says it’s not empty, and he’s never wrong. Todd, can you give me a boost up?”

  Webb wove his fingers together as a cradle and bent so Meg could brace herself on his shoulders and set her boot in his hands. “Ready? On three. One . . . two . . . three.”

  He lifted her as he straightened, and she stretched tall to reach for the top of the bin, her fingers curling over dented, blackened, rusted steel.

  Leaning against the edge, she peered over the top. “Hang on, it’s too dark inside.” She pulled her flashlight out of her pocket, turned it on, and swept the beam down the length of the bin starting at one end. Inside, the massive container was empty except for a thin layer of coal shards covering the bottom.

  Then a flash of color amidst the black.

  Meg swung the full strength of the beam to the far end of the bin and froze when it landed on the still form. She swore quietly under her breath. She had known Hawk was right from the moment he started his search pattern. He was never wrong.

  Sometimes she wished he would be.

  A woman lay crumpled at the bottom of the bin, half slumped against the side wall. She was older, her face drawn with age and deeply lined, her silver hair cut short. The aqua track pants and jacket she wore were deeply smeared with coal dust, as were the beige, slip-on canvas loafers.

  Then the edges of the smell that pooled in the container hit her. She knew that smell. She didn’t have to deal with it often, but she knew the smell of death.

  They weren’t just late. They were days late.

  Hawk whined and paced restlessly at Webb’s feet.

  Meg straightened and pushed away from the bin. “We’re not in time. Not even close.”

  “It’s a person?” Smaill asked.

  “Yes, but she’s gone.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Webb snapped into paramedic mode in the blink of an eye. “Hop down. I’ll go in and check her out.”

  Meg braced her hands on his shoulders again, pressing in an imprint in coal dust, and jumped down. “She’s dead. I recognize the scent of decomposition. And we don’t want to contaminate or disturb the scene.”

  “Humor me, okay? I’m a paramedic; I just need to confirm patient status. I promise I won’t disturb anything.” Webb turned to Smaill. “What’s in your pack?”

  “Everything we need to get you out once you’re in.” Smaill wove his hands together just as Webb had and held them out.

  Meg simply stepped back. There would be no stopping these two men until one of them had a look, up close and personal. First response was hardwired into them, so she let the scene play out. She crouched down beside Hawk and threw an arm over his back. “Good boy, Hawk. Smart boy. You found her. We wouldn’t have known she was here if it wasn’t for you.” She kissed the top of his head, and he returned the affection with a long lick up her left cheek.

  Webb braced his boot in Smaill’s hands and then stepped up onto his shoulder, keeping a hand on the edge of the bin to steady himself as Smaill braced himself against it.

  “Be careful,” Meg advised. “You break a leg on a bad landing and you’ll be hard to get out again.”

  “You don’t know us firefighters very well if you think that.” Strain laced Smaill’s voice from the effort of carrying Webb’s weight, then Webb jumped into the bin with a resounding thump, and Smaill straightened. He slammed the side of his fist twice against the metal wall. “Webb, you good?”

  “Affirm.” His voice echoed inside the metal box. “Give me a sec.”

  A glow flashed on inside the coal bin as he turned on his flashlight, followed by the sound of bits of coal shifting and crunching under his feet. The glow stopped at the end of the container.

  Meg counted off the seconds of silence as she watched Smaill shrug out of his pack and dig through the contents.

  “You’re right.” Webb’s tone was flat. “I couldn’t smell it out there, but I can in here. I’m no expert, but I’d guess she’s been dead for a day or two max. How on earth did Hawk find her? He’s not a cadaver dog.”

  “No, but death occurred recently enough that the scent still carries a human tang. Cadaver dogs are trained for more significant decomposition than this, all the way down to bare bones buried in soil.” Meg straightened, turning toward Smaill. “How many people come through a place like this?”

  “Surprisingly more than you’d think,” Smaill said. “So, what made Hawk determined to track this one?”

  “Would he zero in on the scent of blood?” Webb asked.

  “He would, yes. He’s used to tracking injured people, so that could explain it. Was she injured?”

  “Not badly, but yes. There’s some blood on her hands, but I don’t want to move her to see where it’s coming from. I can just see a medical ID bracelet under the left cuff of her jacket. Want me to look at it?”

  “No.” Meg said the word so fast he’d barely finished the question. “I need to call in law enforcement. If they consider it a crime scene, I don’t want us to have touched anything. If it’s there, they’ll get details off it inside of a few hours.”

  “Okay. Let me grab a few photos of her so you can see what we have, then I’ll get out of here. You may have found her, but I assume this isn’t a federal case?”

  “No. Definitely local.”

  They waited while Webb’s camera flashed several times from inside the bin.

  “Got what you need?” Smaill called.

  The garbled response was unintelligible. Two more flashes.

  “Sorry, was holding the butt of my flashlight in my teeth so my camera could focus. I’m ready to come out now.”

  Smaill pulled a harness and a coil of rope from his backpack and strapped on the harness. He unwound the coil, already secured with carabiner clips at both ends. “Heads-up.” He tossed the weighted end over the far end of the bin. Then he snapped the end of the rope to the clip on his harness, braced himself, and took a hold of the line.

  “Let me help.” Meg grasped the rope three feet ahead of him and braced herself as ballast. “Okay, we’re ready.”

  The length in their hands snapped tight and then dragged with Webb’s weight as he used the rope to climb up the side of the bin until he could grab the top with his hands and drag himself up to the rim. Hooking a leg over the edge, he levered himself out of the bin to sit on the edge.

  “Impressive,” she said. “I don’t think I could do that.”

  “Now you know why I spend so much time working out. It’s not just the sixty-pound gear and the hundred-pound hoses. It’s having the strength to save your partner’s life if an active scene goes to hell.” He jumped down to the floor below and straightened. “And that’s why she didn’t get out. She wouldn’t have been able to manage it even if she’d had a rope. Especially at her age.”

  “Can I see your photos?” Meg asked. “I got an impression of age, but no real idea of how old.”

  Webb pulled his phone out of his back pocket, brought up the photos he’d taken, and handed it to Meg. “I’d say she’s eighty, possibly older.”
>
  Meg flipped through the series of photos, some full body, some straight on to the face. “I agree. Hopefully that medical ID will lead us to her identity. Don’t they usually state the name?”

  “Not always. If it’s a registered one, it will have either her name and phone number or a membership number the cops can trace. But I’ve seen some crafty home-etched ones that give only medical information. Helpful from my perspective if I have someone unconscious and his bracelet says he’s diabetic or epileptic or allergic to certain meds. Not so useful when you need to know identity.”

  Smaill had stripped out of the harness and was now coiling the rope to put back in his bag. “Finding out who she was is one thing, but I want to know how she got in there in the first place.”

  “Not on her own.” Webb made a futile attempt to brush some of the coal dust off his cargo pants, then quickly gave up when the stains didn’t budge. “The real question is, who put her there to die alone in the dark? Or was she already dead when she went in? And why?”

  CHAPTER 3

  Ninjors: Urbexers skilled at climbing who enter locations that cannot be accessed by doors, tunnels, or stairs.

  Sunday, October 7, 6:25 PM

  Jennings residence

  Arlington, Virginia

  So Hawk had been trying to tell you something all along.” Meg’s younger sister, Cara, a near carbon copy of Meg’s black Irish coloring with her fair complexion, long black hair, and ice-blue eyes, held out her hand for Meg’s wineglass.

  Meg passed her the glass. “Yes. Mentally, I was off the clock and wasn’t in search mode, but Hawk was.” Her gaze wandered to where Hawk snuggled into a companionable pile on one of the dog beds with Cara’s two dogs—Blink, a neurotic brindle greyhound, and Saki, a mini blue pit bull. “It was a novel location for him, and I assumed his interest was in the strange, musty smells, not what was essentially a familiar one.”

  “How long do they think the victim was there?”