by Alan Monroe
Hugh looked up and smiled. “Looks like you did get the boss out of bed Simpson.”
“I just got up to see how you were enjoying night duty.”
Hugh kept smiling. “It’s worth every moment for getting to send you to Ms. Feyhee’s place.”
Davis stood next to Walker at the board. “Hugh, can you sum up this situation for me?”
“Sure, just about one week ago Chief of Special Ops, Lieutenant Tom Roundtree and a group of professors and students left Nighthawk on a three week trip to look for a Sasquatch on Little Chopaka Mountain. Roundtree checked in using his satellite phone every day at approximately 7:00 p.m. He usually called after they set up camp. He gave their gps coordinates each time he checked in. We have the coordinates plotted on the map here. Looks like they made pretty good time. They’ve traveled about forty miles in rough country. Based on his call at 7:00 p.m. on Sunday, they had just entered a section of old growth forest about five miles past this fire-break on the map. That's where things get sketchy. At 7:00 p.m. everything was fine when Roundtree called in. But at sometime after midnight Deputy Simpson received a phone call from Roundtree's sat. phone. The woman who placed the call was hysterical and scared to death. She was also incoherent, and probably just accidentally dialed the last number dialed on the phone. Deputy Simpson also stated that he heard screaming in the background. The phone connection was abruptly terminated and both Deputy Simpson and I have tried numerous times to reestablish contact with no success. We have even tried the number of a satellite phone that one of the professors is supposed to have. It rings, but no one picks up."
The sheriff thought for a moment. "Have you checked for either phone's gps signal?"
Hugh sighed with disappointment. "We tried that just before you got here. Tom’s phone is either broken or it's been turned off. The other phone is apparently an older model and does not give off a gps signal."
Davis turned to the undersheriff. "Logistically, what are our options as far as getting up there?"
The undersheriff shook his head and paced the floor. "We don't have any options. Manpower is down from 42 to 10 due to a wildfire that seems like it will never end. The ten we've got are scattered across the entire county manning a few substations. By the way that means that almost half the available officers are in this room right now. That ten includes everybody but the sheriff. We can't send up a small rescue team without leaving the rest of the county bereft of law enforcement. County search and rescue is no good because ninety percent of their resources are dedicated to the wildfire as well. A chopper’s no good; that’s one of the windiest areas in the state."
Davis shook his head. "Seems like bad things happen at bad times." The sheriff stared at the map and stroked his chin.
Hugh looked at Davis and then at the undersheriff. "Why do I get the feeling that he knew what he was going to do before we went through that entire spiel?"
The undersheriff agreed. "I think he knew before he got in the building."
The sheriff turned and faced the two men with a crooked smile on his face. "I just like to be thorough. Howard, can the department get by with nine instead eleven men for the next three days?"
The undersheriff's eyes grew wide and he took a few steps back. "Just barely, and the county commission will pass out if we authorize any more overtime."
“The county commission will live.”
Hugh smiled. "Why do I get the feeling that I just volunteered to take a walk in the woods?"
The sheriff slapped him on the shoulder. "We both did. Thanks for volunteering."
"This is all moving way to fast," the undersheriff debated. "It took them six or seven days to hike that far. Even if you move faster, the best you could do is four or five days instead of six or seven. If you get there in time to help them, what can the two of you possibly do?"
Hugh sat back and looked at Davis with raised eyebrows.
"Well, we won't be going alone," Davis said.
"More volunteers?"
"Tom's brother, Clint Roundtree will go with us, I'm sure. He'll come in especially handy if the gps doesn’t come back on. And I don't think I'll be able to keep Jared Frazier from going once I call him; as a paramedic, he'll cover the medial aspect of this operation."
"But you still haven't told me how you are going to get up there in time to do them any good,” Thomas said.
"Simple, we'll drive."
The undersheriff walked to the map and pounded the green are around Little Chopaka Mountain with his finger. "Drive? There is not even a passable logging road for fifty miles. You know that from you looked for a kidnapped girl up there. How are you going drive up there?"
The sheriff walked to the map and traced finger along a wavy grey line that traveled from Nighthawk all the way to the Canadian border. "This fire break cuts right across the path Roundtree took from Nighthawk to that section of old growth forest. As a matter of fact we should be able to follow that firebreak to within five miles of their last reported position. It'll cut thirty-five miles of walking and six days off the trip. We should reach their camp by sometime tomorrow night."
"Do you have any idea how rough that fire break will be?” Thomas asked.
The sheriff sat on the corner of a desk and crossed his arms. “Howard, I know you want to help that bunch as much as I do. That being said, it doesn’t matter how rough the fire break is. We don’t have any other options.”
The undersheriff shook his head. “What do you need from me?”
“You need to coordinate all operations from the station. Once we’re on foot, we’ll be checking in by sat. Phone every few hours. Recall as many deputies from the wildfire as you can. I need a backup group setup in Nighthawk by midday of the fifteenth.”
“I’ll get right on it. The forest service is going to hate us, but I don’t really care at this point.” The undersheriff walked to his office and picked up the phone.
After remaining quiet for most of the exchange, Hugh stood and looked at Davis. “Since I volunteered; I’m curious. Where do we go from here?”
“You contact Frazier and I’ll call Roundtree’s brother. Make sure Jared is aware of everything so he’ll bring his medical gear along. Go home, get your gear and meet me at Nighthawk at 6:00 a.m. You bring the department Hummer.”
“You know, we really don’t know what happened up there. Could be nothing. How do you want to handle this?”
“You’re right. It’s probably just a rock slide or something, but for all we know they got attacked by a bear or some psycho. We’ve had more than our fair share of crazies around Nighthawk. We definitely need to be armed.”
Hugh picked up the keys to the department’s Hummer, and took the stairs down to the basement. Davis walked out the front door and opened the door to his truck scrolling through his phone’s contact list until his finger settled on Clint Roundtree.
Monday, May 13 5:15 a.m.
Stars blinked in the night sky when Bruce pulled his black Dodge Ram off the road; the Cummings diesel engine rumbled through the quiet night. Each deep rut the tires fell into and climbed back out of jiggled the thick jowls hanging from his neck. The four wheel drive pulled the truck up a slight incline until it rested behind a heavy stand of trees over one hundred yards from the road.
Bruce turned off the noisy diesel engine and paused at the stark contrast between his truck and the silence. As he slithered out the truck’s door, the shock absorbers and springs relaxed allowing his side of the truck to rise four inches higher into the air while his four hundred pound body made deep footprints in the dirt. He opened one of the back doors and two ragged seventy pound pit bulls jumped out of the truck. Their putrid snarl matched their masters, but the ripples across their frame outlined muscles instead of fat. Scars started at their snout and ran the length of both dog’s bodies; some matched the bite marks of dead fighting dogs while others matched the edge of the long belt around their master’s waist. The two dogs slowly wandered away from the truck boldly sniffing th
e ground.
“Bear, Rat!” he yelled at the dogs. “Get to the back of the truck.”
The rugged looking dogs cowered and moved to the indicated spot while their master loaded his rifle and walked back to the road stomping down the ruts created by his tires. After returning to his truck, he pulled to long aluminum ramps out of the bed and rolled a large four wheel drive all terrain vehicle down to the ground. Camouflaged paint covered the entire ATV except for the engine and tires; the rifle slid into the scabbard fastened to the right side. The flick of a switch brought a deep rumble back to forest.
“Boys were going to have some fun on this trip.”
The dogs wagged their stubby tails as Bruce started to chuckle. He went back to the rear passenger side door of the truck and removed five empty heavy duty kevlar back packs and strapped them down to the rear of his ATV along with his camping gear and supplies. His greasy palm patted the stack of shovels under a tarp in the truck’s bed. Before placing his own pack on his back, he pulled out two large pieces of beef jerky and threw it to the waiting pit bulls who snapped it up in a few seconds.
The big man straddled the seat of his ATV and it sank toward the ground. “Dogs, we gonna ride up this here mountain and find us some gold.”
The dogs finished their jerky and cocked their heads towards their master.
“Gonna have those tenderfoots tote it down for us. Even gonna let them dig their own grave.”
Bruce laughed as slobber ran out of the corner of his mouth and down his chins, and the dogs wagged their tails more with each chuckle. “And you know what the best part is? That little punk, Wallace, is gonna end up in that hole too.”
Bruce laughed even harder this time, and the dogs began to snarl and bark. The springs popped and squeaked under his weight as he repositioned himself on the four wheeled vehicle. Bruce popped the big ATV into gear and began roaring up the mountain in the early morning light with his dogs running to keep up.
Monday, May 13 6:00 a.m.
Davis finished folding the tarp and slid it in one of the three aluminum toolboxes that covered the front and sides of his truck’s bed. The Nighthawk Inn stood across the gravel street from where Davis parked the twenty year old Ford F-150. He walked around to the already open hood and tugged each cable leaving the distributer cap leading to the eight cylinders; a quick swipe from his knuckles wiped a smudge of oil from the bold “five point eight liter” stamped on the engine. A tap to the side of the coolant reservoir sent ripples through the fluid along the fill line. He stood on his toes and reached behind the motor pulling out the long dipstick for the transmission fluid. A quick look showed the transmission fluid covering the checked area.
A big right hand slammed the hood closed, and Davis leaned on the hood glancing into the passenger seat at Clint Roundtree. The man sat with his head bowed and his hands folded; lines creased his weathered face making it hard for Davis to believe only two years stood between Clint and his younger brother. Tom earned a degree in pre-law and worked his way up the ranks in the Sheriff’s department while Clint quit high school a year before graduation and hired himself out as a guide to hunters and fisherman. Fifteen years working in the wild built Clint’s reputation as a guide and tracker without par which allowed him to charge fees without par.
A wooden spring loaded door slammed shut, and Davis turned to see Hugh, Jed Curtis, and Jared Frazier walking across inn’s porch. Jared stopped and offered Jed a hand down the stairs. Long blonde hair fell across the young man’s tanned face; the bright orange jacket with a red cross on the back stood in stark contrast to the wooden inn. Jared bared a perfect set of teeth in a wide green when Curtis shoved him away and hobbled down one step at a time on his own.
Davis walked across the street and extended a hand to Curtis. “I see you’ve met Jared.”
Curtis took of a weathered cowboy had swatted Jared in the back of the head. “I don’t need help down the stairs of my own home.”
Davis smiled. “How’s the hip.”
“I think the doctors did more damage digging the slug out than the bullet did when it went in my hip.”
“Didn’t improve your disposition,” Hugh said.
Curtis scowled at Hugh. “My attitude is just fine; I’ve just had to slow down.” Curtis nodded toward the green Ford. “How’s Clint?”
Davis glanced over his shoulder. “He asked about three questions when I told him about his brother, but once we got in the truck he didn’t say a word.”
Curtis shook his head. “I’ve known those boys since they were born; hunted with their granddaddy for years. Clint always was the quiet one of the pair. I sure do wish I could go up there and help you boys.”
“Jed, you've always done more than enough to help me and any of my officers,” Davis said. “You’ve got nothing to feel bad about; I’m the one that owes you. I should have several officers up here in the next few days setting up a base camp. “
Curtis patted Davis on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of the boys. Good luck to you four, and I’ll say a prayer for you Sheriff.”
“Say one for us all, Jed.”
While the old man limped back to his inn, Hugh banged on one of the aluminum toolboxes on the Ford. “You sure you want to take this old thing up that mountain? We can all fit in the Hummer”
The sheriff allowed himself a crooked smile. “Don’t you worry; it’ll get the job done. Besides, we’ll need a second vehicle when that trashy Hummer gets stuck.”
Hugh and Jared stopped chuckling when Clint got out of the truck and approached the three men.
Hard lines creased the tanned face. “What’s the plan?”
The sheriff unfolded a map on the hood of his truck while nodding toward the Hummer. “Hugh and Jared will follow us in the Hummer. I’ll drive while you make sure we don’t go past this point on the map. That’s where we park. From there, we hike to their last known campsite.”
Jared pointed to a spot on the map. “Looks like they crossed the firebreak here based on the GPS coordinates Tom called in. Why not park there?”
“They took kind of a winding route from the firebreak to their last known position, probably due to the terrain. The point where they crossed the firebreak is two miles further up the mountain, but this point is closer to their camp. Shorter drive and shorter walk.”
Jared pushed the long blonde hair out of his face. “Sounds good to me.”
Davis looked at each man for a moment. “Thank you for doing this. None of you had to. Let’s move out.”
Davis stopped the truck at the edge of the firebreak and looked up the side of Little Chopaka Mountain. The firebreak crawled up the side of the mountain like giant brown snake creeping through green grass. Boulders the size of the truck covered the muddy track while rotten logs and piles of brush scattered the landscape. Davis sighed pressing the button to engage the four-wheel drive in low range before easing the truck into the firebreak and up the mountain.
“I thought a firebreak was supposed to be cleared of all wood and debris,” Clint said.
“Lowest bidder,” Davis replied. “This is going to be a nightmare.”
“I don’t think a firebreak with so much wood everywhere could stop a forest fire.”
Hugh’s voice squawked over the police radio. “I’ll follow your lead, but I think I should stay at least a hundred feet back.”
Davis pressed the talk button. “Not a bad idea.”
The tires dug into the mud as the old truck clawed its way up the firebreak; rocks scraped the skid plates covering the undercarriage every time they dipped into a gulley left by erosion. Rather than tell another grown man what to do, Hugh allowed Jared to ride without his seatbelt on. The first gulley the hummer slammed into knocked Jared out of his seat and into the floorboard. Thankfully, the early spring snow melted several days earlier and the ground turned from mud into soft dirt. Even so, the hummer’s fat tires sank into the dirt on three separate occasions forcing Davis to pull it f
ree with the winch on his front bumper while the Ford climbed the mountain without incident.
Dark skies filled the horizon when Davis finally pulled the truck onto a level clearing near the old growth forest beside the firebreak while hummer slid onto the same clearing a little closer to the forest. Davis stepped out and ran his fingers along the side of the truck leaving four perfect trails in the thick dirt covering the green paint. He drew his pistol and racked the slide placing a forty-five caliber bullet in the chamber.
Hugh slammed the hummer’s door. “Sheriff, what is it with you and old things, you drive an old truck and you still carry a Colt 1911 instead of a man’s gun like my Glock.” Hugh patted the 9mm around his waist as he loaded the Remington 1100 tactical shotgun.
“Department regulations don’t specify a specific caliber or manufacturer, and this forty-five is only a year old.”
"It’s still an old design," Hugh replied.
“This is a Para P14 tactical with a 14 round clip and 255 grain hard cast slugs. I’d like to see any 9mm match that firepower.”
“No rifle?” Clint asked.
Davis pulled the hammer back on his pistol and engaged the safety. “I think I’m gonna leave it in the truck. I’m not really expecting anything big enough for that rifle.”
Clint only shook his head while popped a five round magazine in his .306 and polished the scope.
The moon crested the peaks in the east when a long deep howl cut through the cool night air. After what seemed like a minute, the howl deepened in pitch and turned into a distant roar.
