by CJ Lyons
I like to think of it as stalking my prey. Actually, to tell the truth, it’s the most fun part—well, other than the getting away with murder part.
“Right,” Gleason says. “Harriet says your paperwork is all in order.” He clears his throat, eyeing both of them. “Nick, I have a team down a man—they’re out in the field, but I’m set to go out and get them their new assignments. So if you don’t mind riding with me?” He nods to his Forest Service pickup parked behind him. “Lucy,” he clears his throat again, “you’ve already met Judith Keenan, right? She’s headed back to Bill’s house. How ’bout you go with her and coordinate with the family? That all right with you, Judith?”
“Of course.”
No hesitation. I hate that. The way we all jump to, following the rest of the flock.
Except Lucy. She’s not merely hesitating, she’s holding an entire silent conversation with her husband. His eyes narrow the slightest bit, her lips tighten, but then she nods. “That would be fine.” She hands her fancy walking stick to her husband. “Guess you’ll be needing this more than me.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go find Bill.” Gleason slides his hands together either wiping away dirt or silently applauding himself.
It’s everything I can do not to smile as I watch the crowd scatter, off to their oh-so-important and oh-so-futile assignments. They’re not going to save Bill. Not today. Not tonight. Not ever.
I’ve made certain of that.
Chapter Twelve
Once the rest of the volunteers were sorted and on their way, Nick joined Gleason in his truck, and they headed east on the dirt road. After a short distance, the road intersected another dirt road and narrowed from two lanes to one. There was a signpost pointing in a variety of directions, basically confirming that nothing was nearby, along with another large sign that further emphasized the fact that they were in the middle of nowhere.
CAUTION, it read. No services 113 miles, 8-10 hours of driving time. Narrow mountain road. Axe, shovel, bucket, and potable water essential at all times. Proceed at your own risk. Below it was a list of prohibited vehicles and a map of the route, which from a distance appeared more like a coiled rattlesnake than a road.
“You guys take your warning signs seriously,” Nick said.
“Wish the tourists took them as seriously—or bothered to read them at all,” Gleason answered. The radio in the truck was tuned to the search channel, but chatter remained sparse.
“Are you from here?” Nick asked.
“Seattle. My mom’s an orthopedic surgeon at Harborview, and my dad’s a landscape architect. But my grandparents lived up in the mountains, so every chance I had as a kid, I was out of the city and up there in the woods.”
“Do you work much with Bill?”
“Oh, yeah. We meet for coffee most weeks at least once or twice, especially during tourist season and hunting season—that’s when most trouble happens, whether it’s in town or on Forest Service land. I’m a law enforcement ranger, so he’s also deputized me to help—kind of a mutual aid sort of thing. Good guy.” He shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Have to tell you, I’m more than a bit worried. It’s not like him, not calling Deena, not leaving word before heading out. He knows there are plenty of places around here where a cell or radio can’t reach you, especially if he was heading east like his cell’s GPS suggests. He would have called in a position—if only to avoid folks worrying and coming out to search.”
“So you think he’s more than just lost?” Nick couldn’t help but think of the text Bill had sent Judith a few hours ago.
Gleason sighed. “I don’t know what to think. But the sooner we find him, the better.”
They pulled up to where a SUV was parked off the side of the road. A girl in her mid-twenties hopped out and approached the truck, smiling. “Hey, Gleason. Nothing to report here.”
“Hi, Amy.” The ranger smiled back. “Got a new volunteer for you, and some new maps and search coordinates. And lunch.”
“Great. Ginny and the boys are headed in.”
Gleason grabbed a box from the back of his truck while Nick took his daypack and Lucy’s walking stick. Then, with a wave, Gleason was gone. Amy hoisted the box of lunches, shaking off Nick’s offer to help, and they sat down in the shade of a group of birch trees that lined a trailhead.
“George had to get home in time to feed the livestock,” Amy told Nick, after quizzing him on his wilderness skills, checking his gear, and briefing him on radio protocols. “That’s who you’re replacing.”
Nick swatted at mosquitos and biting flies, but never fast enough to scare them away. “Why aren’t you out searching?”
“I am,” she answered. “This position here, at the confluence of a trailhead, the road, and that gulley over there? It’s a constraint position. I watch anyone coming in or out, and make sure no one gets past me. That way the search area has a limit more than just an imaginary grid on the map. It’s important work.” A hint of defensiveness entered her voice.
“But also boring.”
She chuckled. “Boring as hell. Other than Ginny and her team, you’re the first person I’ve talked to all day. But I can’t go too far from the ranch—in case my Paps needs me.”
“So this is your land?”
“My grandfather’s. As far as you can see. It’s been in the family over a hundred and fifty years. The road,” she gestured to the width of packed dirt as if it were a bustling interstate, “was named after my great-great-great, go on back a few more generations, uncle. Lloyd Magruder. He was a merchant from California. He came out here to visit his brother, who was staking a gold claim and ended up selling supplies to miners. In 1863 he was headed back home when he was jumped by three strangers, robbed, and thrown over a cliff.”
“Wow—your family must be one of the oldest around here other than the Nez Perce, of course.”
“Nez Perce,” she corrected him, pronouncing it nezz purse. “But yeah, we were some of the first who settled here. Along with the Beacheys.”
“Bill’s family?” Nick knew Bill had grown up here, but had no idea his family had roots here.
“Bill never told you? His great-great something, Hill Beachey, was Lloyd’s best friend. He tracked those three killers all the way to San Francisco, dragged them back to Lewiston, and made sure they were hung for Lloyd’s murder. It was the first execution—well, legal one—in Idaho’s history. He became the county’s first sheriff; brought law to these parts.”
“That’s some friend.”
She nodded. “My guess? They were more than friends, but don’t say anything like that around any of the older folk like my Paps. Or maybe friendship just had a different meaning back then—seems like things like honor meant more than they do now.”
Nick glanced at her; she didn’t seem old enough to be so cynical. “You don’t think there’s any honor in today’s world?”
“If there were, I wouldn’t have had to leave school to come and take care of Paps all on my own. Seems like no one else in the family gives a shit about him or what he wants. They all just want to lock him up in a home and steal his land, take away his dreams.” She shook herself and gave Nick a half-smile, half-grimace. “Sorry. I don’t mean to dump on you. Anyone ever tell you you’re easy to talk to?”
“Occasionally.” His smile was a full smile. Footsteps sounded from the path behind them, and a girl even younger than Amy appeared, trailed by two teenaged boys. They were covered with sweat and dirt and carrying packs and radios matching the one he’d strapped to his pack’s hip belt.
“This our new guy?” the girl asked.
“Yep.” Amy didn’t stand up, just gestured to the water jug and cooler parked in the shade. The boys rushed over and dug in. Their arms were crisscrossed with scratches and bug bites. “Got some DEET if you want it.”
“Oh, yeah.” The girl sighed. “That would be awesome.” She tossed her water bottle to one of the boys to fill. “We covered G4 thru 7 and F3 through
5. No signs of anyone.”
“Plenty of fresh bear scat,” one of the boys added.
The girl rolled her eyes. “There’s always plenty of bear scat this time year. Huckleberries; they love the huckleberries.”
“So do I,” the boy said, talking around a mouthful of ham and cheese and white bread. “We headed over past the burn next? Tons of huckleberries there.”
The girl ignored him to turn her gaze on Nick. “I’m Ginny. This is my stupid little brother, Tim, and his friend, Alan.” She didn’t indicate which boy was which, as if it didn’t matter.
“Nick, Nick Callahan.”
“Good to meet you. Let me check in and get our new coordinates and we’ll be headed out.” She turned to the boys. “Eat and pee and get your shit together. We’re out of here in five. Did you hear me? Five minutes.”
The boys ignored her. Ginny unfolded a large map, took the new smaller one Amy handed her, and sat down on the ground comparing the two, talking to someone on her radio. One of the boys brought her fresh water, a sandwich, and a protein bar, which she accepted without a word.
“She seems a bit young,” Nick confided to Amy. “They all do.”
“Gotta be fifteen to join Search and Rescue. Ginny’s a freshman over in Boise, home for the summer. This is their sixth search this season. They know what they’re doing. Follow their lead; you’ll be fine.”
Ginny finished talking on the radio and returned to where Amy and Nick were waiting. “Okay, the plan is to move east, over to grids K4 thru 8, and give them a straight run.” She pointed on her map, and Amy circled the areas on her own map. There were an impressive number of grids with a single hash mark through them. Not bad for a day’s work, Nick thought. These kids took their search and rescue seriously.
With Bill’s life at stake, it was good to know.
“Everyone ready? Let’s go,” Ginny said. She gestured to Nick to join her as she began walking down the road. He moved to walk beside her, and the boys quickly fell in behind her after grabbing one last sandwich.
“We’ll pick up our new trail about half a mile down. Amy checked your gear?” Ginny asked.
“Yes.”
“You ever done any SAR work?”
“No,” Nick admitted.
She sighed in the way that twenty-somethings saddled with incompetent elders sigh. “Backcountry experience?”
“Yes.”
“Here?”
“Appalachians, Blue Ridge, Smokies. Not here.”
Another sigh, this one accompanied by a half eye-roll. “You at least know how to read a topo map and can navigate, right? I mean with a compass, not a damn phone.”
“Yes.”
“Right, then. You stick with me.” One of the boys, the tall one, snickered and elbowed his buddy, who seemed heartbroken that he hadn’t been assigned to partner with Ginny. “What we’re doing is a hasty search. Basically we’re clearing our assigned sectors of any obvious places where a person wanting to be found could be, and looking for any signs that Bill could have come through there—so be careful on the trail that you look before you step; we don’t want to disturb any tracks. We move fast, so stay in sight of your partner at all times and within voice distance of the rest of the team. Always.” She searched out each of their faces to make sure they understood. “We shout out for Bill and then we’re quiet. We listen. We look for movement. He might be hurt and lying someplace we can’t see, so no chitchat. Listen. Watch. Move on. Got it?”
“What if we clear our area but miss him, and he’s actually there?” Nick asked, regretting how old and pessimistic he sounded. No, actually he sounded like Lucy, always preparing for the worst.
“That’s why this is called a hasty search. We’re gathering any evidence we can to bring back to the team leaders so they can prioritize where to spend manpower on a more thorough search.” She jerked her chin at Nick. “I know you’re a friend of Sheriff Beachey’s, but trust me, we know what we’re doing. Even those two clowns.” She frowned at the two boys, who were half turned away, giggling at some private joke.
Ginny gave Nick a map and pointed. “Here’s where we are. We’ll head off the road here to our first quadrant.”
Nick stumbled down the road behind her, studying the map. At least some of the land appeared relatively flat—a meadow alongside a stream at the bottom of a valley. But all the land on either side was indicated by stacks of topo lines, meaning steep going up and even steeper coming down. Why would Bill ever have headed into such extreme wilderness without letting anyone know? He was an experienced outdoorsman; he knew better than that.
“This search area, it’s based on the location his last message was sent from?” he asked Amy, catching up to her.
“We’ve narrowed things as much as we could based off how far they estimated he was from the cell tower in Elk City. It’s still a big country, and with only the one tower to ping from, there’s nothing to triangulate with to limit our search area.” She gestured with her chin and stopped to let the boys catch up. On the north side of the road, the land rose gradually. Trees crowded together as they fought for light. But on the south side, there was a clearing—or rather a cliff. A sheer drop of maybe a hundred feet leading down to the creek he’d seen on the map. Sharp granite jags of rock surrounded by breathtakingly stunning red, blue, and purple flowers covered the base of the cliff.
“Fireweed,” Ginny told him. “And paintbrush and lupine.” She pointed to the flat stretch of meadow on the other side of the stream, then beyond it to the rugged wall of the other side of the canyon and the heavily forested peaks beyond. “We aim to clear all this before nightfall.”
Nick sucked in his breath and gripped Lucy’s walking stick tightly, taken aback not just by the beauty but also the challenge. He could understand the allure of getting lost in such overwhelming, pristine wilderness. Everything was sharper, every step fraught with danger and the anticipation of what wonder might be found around the next bend. Everything was clearer. Was that what Bill was searching for—clarity?
He remembered the text, and his heart grew heavy. Bill’s words didn’t sound like a man eager for enlightenment. They sounded like a man who’d given up hope.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucy said goodbye to Nick and climbed back into Judith’s van. Soon the staging area was vanishing into a cloud of dust behind them as the van rattled back down the dirt road. Since the staging grounds were on the far western edge of the search area, they were the only people going in this direction; everyone else was headed farther into the wilderness, traveling east, north, or south.
They were maybe halfway back to town when Judith turned up a narrow gravel and dirt lane that led through a stand of beech before winding its way up the mountain. The ascent was gradual, passing meadows that opened out onto southern or western-facing vistas then returning to the thick cover of the trees, a variety of evergreens interspersed with oak and aspen.
But what struck Lucy was how quiet it was. So peaceful. Growing up, their tiny home near the top of a mountain in the Alleghenies had never felt like this—as a kid, she was always thrilling to the next discovery and adventure that the forest brought. What she sensed was probably due to the difference in her age. Now she was old enough to simply lean her elbow out the open window and bask in the light and the sweet scent that changed subtly with every curve they rounded.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked Judith.
“Going on ten years now,” the older woman answered. “But if I live here another ten, I’ll still be considered a newcomer.”
“Have you been coroner all that time?”
“For the past eight years. It’s one of those jobs no one really wants—the pay won’t even cover your gas, the hours are definitely not convenient, and there’s no budget, so you have to get creative with what tests you run. Guy before me was a EMT, but he joined the Army and left, so Judge Carson asked me—and here I am.”
“Is it hard? I mean, since you’re not a m
edical doctor?”
“At first I was worried I’d miss something. I bought a whole slew of reference books and subscribed to all the journals. But turns out what kills people is a whole lot like what kills animals. Doing stupid shit, eating stupid shit, fighting over stupid shit. Kinda ironic, if you ask me.”
Lucy glanced at Judith, taken aback by her vulgarity. But then she realized that the other woman was finally letting her guard down and relaxing. “Guess we’re not as evolved as we’d like to think.”
“I’m sure you figured that out pretty fast with the cases you handled with the FBI. Bill said you caught serial killers and child predators.” Judith’s face wrinkled with disgust. “We have our share of trouble up here—too much drinking, not enough work to pay the bills—but nothing like that.” They rounded one last curve, a sweeping meadow of wild flowers below them and a large log cabin with a wide veranda coming in sight at the end of the drive. There were more flowers lining the front walk—native wild flowers interspersed with cultivated plants like hydrangea and floribunda roses. Vines of sweet pea released a heavenly scent as they curled up the porch columns.
Judith and Lucy climbed out of the van, Lucy clutching her now useless daypack, feeling awkward and hesitant. A woman appeared at the screen door, peered out at them, then vanished. About the same age as Deena and same dark hair—her sister?
Judith didn’t hesitate. She bounded up the steps and through the screen door, almost as if she owned the place. Lucy wondered about that, but then Deena appeared from the far side of the veranda, a shawl wrapped tight around her despite the heat. “Lucy, you’re here.”
