Fall Hunter

by M K Dymock

  Yet. She held on to that promise. Yet implied later, but then she heard he started dating a hairdresser over in Summit. Keen went to get her hair done. The new girl wore high heels at work and said she didn’t own a bike. And Keen knew Jacob would return. Now that she was missing, he’d search for her. When she returned, he would sweep her into an embrace and tuck her under his chin.

  The sun sank lower. Another night in the wilderness approached, and she couldn’t survive it walking around to keep warm like she had the night before. Exhaustion would make sure of that. Lack of water wouldn’t matter if her body temperature sunk too low.

  She refused to die, not in a barren place where no one would ever find her body.

  Find a place to sleep and you get a bite of granola. The evening shadows stretched out from the juniper trees. Those trees would offer some protection from wind, but not a whole lot of warmth—or could they?

  She approached one of the trees and ran a hand along the needles. Not as soft as pine tree, and they looked half-dead. Of course, juniper branches always look half-dead as the rough, dry bark peeled off. She pulled on the branches, ignoring the slivers as they slipped into her palms.

  As one wrenched off, her footing slipped but she caught herself. She tried to move slow and deliberately, not to waste any energy. Once she had an armful of branches, she scanned the area. She needed sand, but preferably not in a cold wash. Only a thin layer of sand coated the volcano rock she spent most of the day walking on.

  With darkness creeping on, she found a spot between two trees with deep sand. She pulled the dirt out with her fingers, creating a hole about six inches deep and the size of her body. There she would spend the night nestled encased in dirt and covered with branches.

  As she nestled in the hole, the sky filled with stars. So many it looked like Mother Nature had smeared them with a butter knife.

  Blake arrived late to the school and had to park out on the highway. Teacher meetings had started at six and would continue until nine; he barely made it. A car sped past, above the speed limit and close enough to blow his hair back, as he shut the door. Crap like that always happened when he couldn’t do a whole lot about it. He wondered about Keen biking on this same highway miles away, and how exposed she would’ve felt.

  As he approached the first crowd of people milling outside, he pasted on his best friendly-but-concerned face. He couldn’t stand to offend people, but also didn’t want to walk around with a smile plastered on while someone’s kid was out missing.

  He found his wife standing next to a row of waiting parents sitting on bright orange plastic chairs far too short for the night’s occupants. Grace glanced quickly at her wrist, vacant of a watch, to make her point. He smiled and kissed her cheek.

  “I’m glad you could take a few minutes,” she said with a grateful look. “I know what today’s been. I’ve already been to Billy’s teacher, and we’ll have to talk later.” Their seven-year-old son held a contemptuous view of school, or at least the sitting still part.

  The door opened to release one couple, and Blake and Grace took their place in front of a desk lined with colored drawings, the best of which was squiggly lines. The meeting itself went as good as it could with a teacher so young she couldn’t look Grace in the eye.

  Within five minutes, they were retreating to the doors, both eager for the day to be over. “You called the teacher by the wrong name,” Blake said.

  “I did?”

  “Yes, you called her by Cece’s old teacher’s name.”

  Grace shot him a look he recognized. She didn’t believe in nicknames. Thought you should name your kids what you intended to call them and call people what their parents named them.

  He laughed. “Love, you’ve switched her three times between the two classes. I don’t even think Cecilia knows her teacher’s name anymore.”

  “I needed to make sure Cecilia was in the right place.”

  No one would ever use the word complacent to describe Grace’s parenting, especially when it came to other people’s treatment of her kids.

  She nudged him with her hip as they walked along, weaving through similar couples and conversations. This counted as date night for half the town. “She’s our last; I don’t want to make any mistakes. By the way, how did today go?”

  “Same as your day, not a lot of progress on the search. Narrowed down some, but tomorrow—” The school’s PA system broke through the noise of the hallway.

  “Attention parents.” Blake and Grace’s head turned at the familiar voice. “We’ve got a bit of a town emergency today. If you could file into the gym for a few minutes, we would appreciate it.”

  Blake closed his eyes and shook his head. “What’s he doing?” he whispered.

  At the sound of the mayor’s voice, several parents started whispering their own questions and concerns. By claiming “town emergency,” the mayor couldn’t have piqued interest more than promising free cookies and coffee. People pushed into the gym.

  “He’s going to make everything a lot harder,” Blake said. He tried to push through the crowds with an “excuse me,” but without a uniform they didn’t pay him heed. By the time he made it to the front, Grace behind him, Mayor William Ackerman had already taken to the small stage at the far end and welcomed the crowds with a small smile but a concerned expression. Blake caught his eye, but the mayor waved him off. There would be no stopping his father-in-law, only doing the cleanup after.

  “Thanks, everyone. I know you’ve got kids waiting at home; I’ll just take a few minutes.”

  William came around the podium, pulling the mic with him. The mayor, though he’d passed sixty, carried a trim physique at six feet tall. When in town, which had become more seldom, he only wore suits on city council days. The rest of the time he donned jeans and a button-up shirt with work boots that cost more than people spent on bikes, and that said something in this town. Though the mayor wouldn’t admit it, Grace confirmed he had started dyeing his hair dark but combing in bits of gray. He grayed naturally but in a skunk’s stripe on top of his head. Gray at the temples looked much more dignified.

  The mayor always had to look like a man’s man, but a better version.

  “I’m sure some of you have heard the Dawsons’ daughter never came home from a bike ride yesterday. It’s been more than 24 hours since she’s been seen.” He paused as the audience murmured their concern. The second before the crowd became too loud, he put up a hand. “We’ve had search parties out since yesterday.” Blake noted the “we.” “She left a note indicating she was going biking at the Pines, but we’ve not been able to determine if she made it there or if she made it out. In the morning we’re meeting at eight a.m. to start another search. Please, we need all the people we can get.”

  Grace squeezed Blake’s arm, a signal he let his anger show. That could come out later, but not here. He unclenched his jaw. During the past few years he’d mastered a public and private persona, something necessary when working as an elected officer.

  “I am asking for all businesses, if possible, to close their doors to free people to aid in the search. We’re, of course, still hoping she comes home tonight, but if not, we need to be ready to mobilize in the morning. I’m going to pass the microphone over to Sheriff McKenzie so he can answer any questions.”

  Blake walked up the side stairs to the stage where the mayor waited, mic outstretched. He took it as the mayor patted his shoulder on his way out. Blake knew he wouldn’t see him again before the next morning.

  As sheriff, he’d gotten used to dealing with the public, but on a more individual basis. Silence greeted him, a quiet that wouldn’t last much longer unless he said something. He couldn’t contradict the mayor, but maybe he could slow things down. “We’re doing all we can to find Keen. If you can take off tomorrow to help search, we’d appreciate it, but we have several people already combing the mountains.”

  More than a few people started talking at once. “I’ll take a group of mountain bikers up
to start searching!” yelled a man from the front of the crowd.

  “We’ll get a lot farther with four-wheelers,” called out another guy. Blake strained to see who talked but could only hear voices.

  “What, so you can use this as an excuse to tear up all the trails like—”

  “Hey, watch it. You gonna carry that girl home on your handlebars?”

  A few more people started in, and Blake grabbed the microphone. “Please quiet down.” Nobody took notice. Below the stage, Grace stood a little apart from the crowd. She put a finger to her throat. Message received: he was choking. He gripped the mic tighter. “Everybody, shut up.”

  His voice ricocheted off the sides of the gym and even Grace jumped a bit. “There is a missing girl out there. Most everyone knows the Dawsons; think for a minute about what they’re going through.” The few guys who’d started the argument had the good sense to stare at the ground.

  “Nobody goes searching on their own. If you want to help, show up tomorrow at the church. We will give you an assignment so we’re not combing the same areas over and over again. If you have bikes, four-wheelers, horses, or even a cart and pony, we’ll see if we can use them.”

  He glanced down at the proud look of his wife. “Tomorrow. We find Keen.”

  The crowd applauded. Grace nodded her approval.

  Elizabeth made a list of all Keen’s friends, coworkers, and anyone else she could think of. One by one she looked up each number on the log and tied it to a person. If the internet didn’t list a name or it wasn’t in her own contacts, she called them.

  She pressed in one number without noticing the area code. Big mistake. “Hello,” a strident voice said, and Elizabeth’s innards tightened.

  “Hello, Mother.” Elizabeth knew her parents’ home numbers by heart, all of them. She’d never bothered to put her mother’s cell in her own phone or memorize it.

  “What can I do for you? I so rarely hear from you.”

  Elizabeth sank to the floor, bringing her knees to her chest. “Have you heard from Keen during the last few days?” She knew the answer would be no, but didn’t know what else to say.

  “She called over the weekend on my birthday, but not since then. Is she not answering her phone? Like you, I suppose; too busy for her family.”

  Another time her mother’s words would have sent her spiraling. The distance between them was always Elizabeth’s fault, never the mother who demanded love on her terms and returned it sparingly. “I have to go, Mom.” She hung up the phone because she would not let anything interfere with Keen.

  One by one she identified every number Keen had called or texted in the last few weeks except the unknown one. Her daughter called someone after she left home and before anyone knew she was missing. The length of the call was only thirty seconds. Had the person not picked up, or had it been a quick hello?

  Elizabeth called the number, but it led to a voicemail box yet to be set up. Google listed it as unknown. It showed up a few times in Keen’s log in the last few weeks, but not before then. Only a few texts went between the two phones. None of the calls were long, a minute or two.

  Elizabeth called again and again.

  12

  Wednesday Morning

  Another sleepless night thanks to Keenley. The Dawsons’ home lights remained bright late into the night hours. Did they suspect the truth, or still assume their daughter remained lost in the wilderness? As imperative as it was to keep her from returning—who knows what she knows or suspects—it was also important that all assume she became lost.

  The decision not to kill her in the moment of grabbing her weighed heavily. A regret that would have to be rectified, preferably today.

  Keen was awoken in the gray dawn by a crow in the tree above her who felt the need to welcome dawn with a loud “Caw, caw.”

  She sat straight up, grabbed the nearest rock, and hurled it at him. The rock went a ridiculous five feet. The bird glanced at it, then back at her. “Caw, caw.” Apparently, her alarm clock had no sleep button.

  A cold breeze reminded her it was September, and she debated staying in the hole she dug for another hour. Unfortunately, nature called too loudly to be ignored. Her options for a toilet were limited, but she at least had a few fallen trees.

  Her urine came out hot, burning a little. Dehydration. The fear of a psycho chasing her faded in the morning dawn. She had more pressing worries.

  Despite the cold morning, she stripped completely naked and shook more sand out of her clothes than a school playground ought to have. With the outside of her shirt, she wiped down her legs and arms before pulling her clothes on again.

  “Don’t want to look all disheveled when the rescuers come. Am I right?”

  The crow blinked and jumped up a branch, its tail feathers facing her.

  “I tell you, no sense of humor.”

  She stacked the branches of her bed as if making it. A few blue berries fell off and she picked them up, fingering their rough sides. Through her mom’s naturalist inclinations, she knew a bit about plants. Juniper berries are used for flavoring, but their bitterness makes them more suited for gin than eating. If she remembered right, the Native Americans ate the whole berry for a diuretic. She dropped the berries into the dirt; diarrhea was the opposite of what she needed.

  Another hill formed of volcanic rock lay to the west; its jagged heights warned her to walk anywhere but on it. She agreed with its assessment, but there was a small chance that in its rocky steeps she could find water. The last rainstorm may have left water pooled in tanks in the rocks. And she didn’t need much.

  She climbed slowly so as to not make the tearing in her throat worse. Down the hill, her morning wake-up call had met up with an even louder friend. Hard to admit it, but she felt a little jealous of the two of them.

  If she’d followed the siren call of the previous day’s truck, would she be rescued or dead?

  If it had been her attacker, who exactly was he? She never saw the cowboy’s face as he threw the bales off the truck. Lack of food and sleep forced a haze over her memory of the last few days. She wished she could wipe it away like fog on a window. He’d jumped off the side of the bed—definitely not an old man. But if it had been the idiot in the Hummer, where had he gotten the truck and clothes of a rancher?

  Had the man really been her attacker? “Don’t think about that,” she told herself. “Keep moving.”

  The sun rose higher, making the day hotter than the previous. A breeze from the south raised the temperatures. She had to stop and search each nook in the rock as she climbed, making the ascent interminable. Two lizards crossed her path, walking side by side. Odd, she’d never seen lizards do that before. A blink made one disappear. “Where’d you go?”

  She tried to follow the remaining one, but the trail rolled sideways as if an earthquake rocked the path. All sound ceased except for a rush as if putting her ear to a seashell. She collapsed to her knees.

  Once again pain brought Keen to awareness that she lay on the dirt. She refused to open her eyes. What was the point? The bright sun and pain would only get worse when she allowed them in.

  A buzzing filled her ear. She twitched, but still it persisted. Ignoring it didn’t last long, and she mustered the energy to swat the noise. The noise fought back with a sharp sting in her hand. The jolt forced her eyes open.

  A bee flashed out of her line of vision, but she ignored her attacker. Let it sting her. It buzzed again, loud enough she assumed he brought a friend.

  She tried to swallow but instead coughed, and her mouth tore at the attempt. Water was her only thought. Water and bees.

  Keen opened her eyes fully. Bees don’t stray too far from water. It took a bit of concentration to put one foot on the ground. It took a lot more to keep from puking as she tried to stand, so she gave up on that. Once she moved, the bees retreated, so she crawled after them.

  They disappeared behind a ledge of rocks. She pulled herself up the ledge, and if she’d had moisture left
she would’ve cried. The rocks had formed a tank and cradled water—life-giving, beautiful, muddy water. She didn’t hesitate; she stuck her face into the murky liquid and swallowed.

  This time she did throw up, and most of the stale water regurgitated back. With a shaky hand, she scooped out a small swallow and then another. Once that stayed down, she took a few bites of her granola bar. It was less than a cup of liquid, but it was something, and she gave thanks for it. She took the brown gunk remaining in the drained hole and rubbed it up and down her bare legs and arms. The mud would protect her from the sun.

  It took a few hours, but she stood again. People have gone longer without water, she reminded herself. You just have to slow down your pace. Even at that thought, she stared at the horizon stretching who knows how far.

  “Stop it. Just stop thinking and move slowly.” She laughed as she walked down the hill. I’m talking to voices in my head.

  On Wednesday, the church parking lot filled by 7:30, a half hour before they were supposed to start. Half the cars carried bikes, and trucks pulling trailers lined the street—horse trailers, four-wheeler trailers, even a catering trailer to feed the volunteers. SAR had set up a few tables under awnings to register searchers.

  Blake had called Sol the night before to warn him he was getting “help.” Sol’s reaction required Blake to hold his cell phone five inches away from his ear for a full minute.

  Organized chaos to search for one girl. As more people pulled in, the chaos overtook the organized part.

  Meeting at the church had been a necessary decision. The only parking lots larger were Bateman’s Grocery, but that had too many customers, and the ski resort, which was too far out of town to be handy. The church was more of a community center as most of Lost Gorge’s residents did their worshipping outdoors.

  Blake had one job that day and he wondered if he could pull it off—keep all the chaos away from Sol and his search. The commander had called that morning to report he’d found a few tracks of a woman’s bike. He wanted that trail left alone to see if he could follow them.