by M K Dymock
A good chunk of the volunteers would go out armed with posters a neighbor had printed. The roads between the trailhead and Keen’s home would be scoured again and probably again.
Neither Elizabeth nor Daniel were there to talk with volunteers. Daniel, Solo said, wouldn’t leave the trails without his daughter. Elizabeth waited in her car, and she didn’t trust herself to talk. She’d requested Grace speak for them. Grace now stood in front of a group at least a hundred strong.
“Daniel and Elizabeth,” she yelled, “wanted me to thank you for coming! Many of us have known Keenley her entire life and have been welcomed into the store with her shy smile.” She choked up on the last part. “They are still out searching and won’t stop until they find her, and neither will we.” Directions about where to go followed.
As the group dispersed, Clint flagged Blake over to a folding table where Mina had been writing down names. “Mina just told me something I think you ought to hear.” Before she could talk, the breeze picked up several of the volunteer sign-up sheets. She and Clint chased them down as Blake grabbed a few rocks to hold them to the table.
Mina spread the rocks across the table. “You know Jenny?” Blake nodded. “I work with her and ran into her at the café this morning. She was telling me about a couple of idiot guys who were hitting on her Monday night at the bar. She told them where to go and they made some comment about the bitch girls in this town, including one on a mountain bike who wasn’t too friendly to one of them. They’d also mentioned biking at the Pines.”
“Jenny know their names?”
“She didn’t say.”
Blake sent Clint into town to track down Jenny and her would-be suitors. When Blake jumped into his Tahoe to grab his notes, Elizabeth slipped into the passenger seat. She looked like she’d fallen off a cliff to climb up only to be pushed off again. Grace had stayed with her for a bit after they left the school but told Blake she could barely get her to eat, let alone shower. He didn’t blame her; nothing else matters when it’s your kid.
He was smart enough not to ask her how she was. “Where you headed?”
“I heard a group was going to search the cliffs along the river.” She spoke without inflection. “I know that area better than the trails. Tell Grace thanks for me; I didn’t want to spend the morning dealing with people.”
A car full of searchers honked as they went by and waved. “We’re doing everything we can,” Blake said.
“If that were true, we’d have found her. We’re just doing everything we know to do.” She pulled out a slip of paper. “Keen called this number while she was out biking Monday. I’ve tried calling it to figure out who it is, but haven’t made any headway.”
He took the slip and scanned it; it had the local area code. “How’d you find that?”
“I was going through the phone log. Thought of it when I was trying to track her phone. I just can’t get past that she called and I didn’t …” She dropped her face in her hands.
He pocketed the slip and reached out to touch her shoulder. She looked up at him with Keen’s same blue eyes. “We are doing everything we can,” Blake said.
13
The boy made no eye contact with the other searchers, nor they him. Gauge Ferguson didn’t look anyone straight in the eye. He knew what people thought of him, if they thought of him at all. Despite the fact he was twenty-one years old and had a decent paying job at the only mechanic shop in town, most people still referred to him as “that boy.” As in, “lock the car; that boy is hanging around.”
He was used to such words said not as quietly as the people saying them liked to think. Truth be told, not all reputations are unearned.
Most folks figured him to be fifteen, maybe sixteen years old based on his height alone. Take off another few years for his unkempt hair and a beard that just would not or could not grow in. He’d actually got a haircut recently by a pretty girl down in Summit. Nobody seemed to notice, but that was probably due to the greasy Cat ball cap that permanently rode on his head.
His family—or at least his father, brother, and him—lived in an old singlewide on a piece of property someone else owned. His father would be hard-pressed to say just who that someone was.
Gauge had known Keen for years, although she didn’t know that. He bought a lot of his fishing lures and the occasional odd and end at Dawson’s. She always smiled at him, and sometimes he lingered a little longer than necessary.
When he heard the call for searchers, he called in sick to work. His boss didn’t much care what the mayor said. His shop closed for God on Sundays and nothing else.
Gauge’s group had been assigned to search the many roads between Pines and Keen’s home. The other searchers gave him constant side-eye as they walked alongside him. Whole endeavor seemed like a waste of time to Gauge, but it felt important to be a part of it all.
During the morning, he caught sight of Elizabeth as she jumped into a car. He almost went up and spoke to her, something unheard of for him. She wouldn’t believe anything he had to say about Keen anyhow.
Elizabeth hiked down and up from the river far more times in one morning than she’d done in the three summers she guided solo river trips after college.
The searchers would cordon off an area and everyone would comb through each bush, tree, and rock. They started at the bottom of the canyon across the highway from the lower Pines trailhead and made their way up. Each trip became steeper the farther up the canyon they went. The first few hours, people had tried to either offer condolences or words of hope, but eventually they stopped trying.
About 1:00 p.m. Grace showed up with a sandwich and a water bottle and commanded Elizabeth to rest. Around her all the other searchers had chosen rocks and slices of shade to eat their own lunches. The rest of the crew, who knew each other well, chatted, while Elizabeth and Grace ate in silence.
Elizabeth sat on the hill with her sandals stretched out in front to brace herself from sliding. Her toenails were painted a shade of electric blue that Daniel had teased were so bright she’d never lose her feet in the dark again. The toes had been Keen’s idea. She’d gone in for a pedicure at a salon the next town over and insisted Elizabeth go with her.
She didn’t understand her daughter’s insistence until she met the stylist who had lightened Keen’s hair the previous week. She recognized the girl from the summer fair when Jake had brought her around. When Keen saw them walking by the family’s booth, she slunk under the table and stayed there for a half hour.
A shadow fell over Elizabeth’s legs. Mina stood over her. “I just came from the Pines. Nothing so far.”
Her statement didn’t give Elizabeth time to get her hopes up only to be stomped on, and she appreciated that. “What now?” she asked without looking up. Grace’s hand clutched her shoulder.
Mina sat on the rock beside her. “Sol has everyone sticking to the trails while he’s found a few places he wants to search more in depth without people trampling through, messing stuff up. It’s early yet. Daniel’s been leading us up different trails he thinks she may have gone. Any place you think we ought to check?”
Below them the river rushed on its merry way, tumbling over boulders, not realizing how soon a dam would halt its progress. “She wouldn’t leave the green trails, not on her bike.” Elizabeth kicked a rock with her heel and watched as it rolled a few feet before disappearing over the edge. “She might’ve left her bike, though,” Elizabeth continued. “Maybe went for a quick walk without it to explore. She wouldn’t have gone far if she was in her bike shoes.”
“But she’s not an adrenaline junkie,” Grace added. “If she felt unsafe or something was too difficult, she wouldn’t go it alone.”
“No, she’s too smart to do that,” Mina said. “When she worked for the city, she got things organized so much better. We actually got reimbursed for stuff instead of begging for money months later.”
Keen had interned for the city over the summer a few days a week. She majored in business
in hopes of taking over the store. When she told her parents her plan, it was all Elizabeth could do not to yell “no freaking way!” She didn’t want her daughter trapped to that building like she was, but she swallowed her objection.
Her own parents had told her what to major in—business, ironically enough; who to marry—definitely not a ski bum; and where to live—New York, maybe Boston. Commands for how to live her life were about the only time they spoke to her. Her eventual refusal was about the only time they paid attention to their oldest daughter. Her younger brother and sister were far more pleasing.
“I’ll tell Sol to extend the search to some of the more difficult terrain, and look beyond bike tracks.” Mina stood. “Elizabeth, we’re doing everything we can.”
She didn’t respond. That phrase had long worn out its welcome.
14
Wednesday Afternoon
It was stupid not realizing it sooner. One could only blame the chaos of the previous day. Each trip to the backcountry required almost an hour drive, not to mention the time spent looking for her. Keenley wouldn’t survive long without water and only one place in that country had a reliable source. She probably wouldn’t know about its existence, but it wasn’t hard to spot from a distance. Her tracks had led in its general vicinity.
And if she didn’t find it, nature would take its course eventually. Three days, that’s how long the average person could go.
Didn’t need to track her, only had to wait for her.
Keen paused under a large juniper tree not long after noon. The uncooperative sun beat down on her, and she called a time-out. Her unseen attacker, while not forgotten, wasn’t in her most pressing thoughts. Sort of like being nauseous. You always feel it but you ignore it to go about your day, hoping it doesn’t get worse. While she rested and gnawed on a bit of granola, she looked to the east for any sign of … well, anything at this point.
The horizon held no sign of help, but something did catch her eye, something she couldn’t put a word to. “One of these things is not like the other,” she said, hoping it would help her identify what nibbled her brain.
She walked a while on before the answer came. “The green is different.” The juniper trees were dark green, but in the distance a spot of light yellowish green mixed in its surroundings.
“If that’s a mirage, it’s a crappy one.” She started walking toward it even though it looked to be a way off. Not like she had much else to do.
As she walked, Keen listed all the things that would be a better mirage. “My mom cooking a huge vat of eggplant lasagna and Dad singing with his guitar while I eat. My bed with freshly washed sheets dried on the line.” She’d listed more than a few things Jacob would be waiting to say when she noticed the colors had grown closer. Mirages don’t get closer.
The yellow-green blended in with the junipers but started to take on a shape of their own. A few hundred more feet and she could make out leaves—not pinyon needles, but leaves. A grove of cottonwood trees stood surrounded by the junipers. In dry country, cottonwoods mean water.
She wanted to sprint over and literally hug a tree, but she kept her slow pace.
Several cottonwoods grew taller than the surrounding brush, their leaves already yellowing in the early September. She swore she could smell water. That hope kept her going the last few yards.
At the edge of the grove stood a giant cattle trough. It was as if a halo of sunlight burst through the trees, highlighting this altar of life. At the sight of fresh mud, her resolve faltered and she broke into a stumbling run.
She grabbed the edges of the basin and stuck her head into the trough, ready for a dunk of water. Nothing.
Keen opened her eyes; the tank ran dry. “No,” she whispered. “No.” She reached into the bottom, fingering the edges for any remnant. Her finger came back damp, but not so much a drop came with it. She sunk down into the mud and sucked her finger until it stung.
The large basin angled outward from its base, offering a few inches of shade, and she curled up in its coolness. The mud and sparse grass provided some softness and respite, and she wouldn’t move from the one spot where water might be.
Heavy footsteps crunching on leaves broke the interminable silence. Every cell in Keen’s body jerked at the noise and her imagination took a flying leap without her moving a pinky.
Another footfall snapped a branch, and she prayed it wouldn’t be her bones snapped next. She was a fool to sit out in the open in an area that would be an obvious place to find her.
Beside her a thick tree branch had been pressed into the mud. Using one finger on her right hand, she dug through the dirt until she could grasp the three-foot stick. Not much of a weapon, but it was all she had. Whoever followed her had only seen her running; maybe he wouldn’t expect her to attack. She crawled on her stomach to the edge of the trough, where she could peek around the edge to get an idea of where he stood. Once she knew that, she would charge.
One deep breath. Don’t hesitate when you see him. One more deep breath and she peered around.
A shadow of two legs stood not ten feet from her position. She leaped to her feet, branch in hand clenched like a club. She yelled as loud as she could to take him off guard.
The calf never saw her coming and leapt backwards as Keen swung through the air between them. She brought the stick back to her shoulder to launch another swing before her mind registered the sight of the small black animal, skittering back to a cow who bellowed at her calf. The two of them stared at her with accusing eyes as she took a moment to register she wasn’t in a fight to her death.
Keen shook her head and the calf shook its body, both filling the air with dust from their unwashed hair. “Sorry, there’s no water.” She retreated to the side to allow the cow access so she could see for herself.
The cow approached the trough at the other end, stuck her muzzle in the basin, and snorted in disgust.
“Told you.”
The solid black beast retreated to some cottonwoods that ran alongside a dry wash with the calf bouncing beside her, nudging at her shrunken udders. They thrashed through the brush a few minutes, and then sound ceased. The cow’s black coat flashed through the brush as she stretched her muzzle to the ground.
Keen followed, waiting for movement to prove that the animal failed in her search for water, but the cow held still.
“That’s no dry wash.” She crashed through the underbrush. The cow leapt up the side of the wash at her intrusion. In the sand of a dried stream ran a strip of mud with a few boulders, and behind one stood a pool of water. Not a couple of muddy mouthfuls like before, but an actual pool a few inches deep and a few feet across.
The cow’s footprints had already broken the edge of the pool, dirtying up the water. Keen treaded lightly as she knelt beside the glorious puddle and sucked down some water.
The hardest thing she’d ever done was force herself to pace it. She needed to hold on to what she could. The cow watched from a distance, not ready to relinquish the watering hole.
“I’m sorry, but I need this more than you.” Keen ignored the cow’s bellowing and went back for seconds.
As the cow waited, she grazed on some sparse desert grass by the wash, which made Keen envy the cow’s stomach.
“Maybe you’ve got the right idea.” When her mom would go hiking, she would inevitably fill her and Keen’s backpacks with greens she’d forage along the path. Her granola bar was down to a nub, and Keen needed something more.
A couple of thistles, long devoid of their flowers, lined the edges of the large, rusty tank. The thorns pierced her palm as she gripped the stem and bent it over to step on it. The fibrous stalks refused to break. She pulled off a few strands like string cheese and threw them in her mouth without thought. If the water she drank out of a mud puddle wouldn’t kill her, then this might not either.
She leaned against the rusty trough, streaking her rear with the same red, and sucked on the fiber. “Not bad. Be better sautéed with a little oil and
garlic, but a girl can’t be choosy.”
Back down in the shade of the cottonwoods, she sat down, feeling better than she had in two days. Maybe she could survive this after all. The question now was whether to stay here and hope someone came to check on the cows or keep walking. There might be a road or at least a path in she could follow out. It was late in the day, maybe an hour of sunlight left. Would it be smarter to spend the night here, rejuvenate for a long walk tomorrow, or start now? In good shape, she could walk four miles an hour. The pain, the hunger and thirst, and tough terrain slowed her down, and she wasn’t sure she managed more than two an hour.
Keen hiked through the grove of trees as the sun lowered to see if she could find any other puddles and a place to bed down for the night. After failing to detect any more moisture, she returned to the trough. It stood a few feet deep and a few feet wide, and going by the mud around, it had at least held water recently. Maybe she could find the water’s source and a puddle she didn’t have to fight a cow over.
She circled around to where it was even muddier on the opposite side, and it didn’t take long to discover why. A four-inch hole, about the size of a cow’s hoof, had pushed through the thin, rusty metal. She knelt next to it and fingered the edge of the opening. The inside edge glittered in the late afternoon sun, silver and untarnished unlike the rest of the tank.
“Did you kick this in?” she yelled to the cow, who munched on the yellow grass. She answered back with a moo. “That was stupid. You’re the reason we’re sharing a mud puddle.” The cow snorted before going back to the grass. “Jerk.”
On further exploration, she discovered what might loosely be defined as a road. At least it was tire ruts over smashed sagebrush that could lead somewhere. She didn’t dare follow it, but she could walk parallel to it at a distance and follow it out. Come morning, she would go home.
