Winslow- The Lost Hunters

by David Francis Curran

In the shadows, the sleeper's body type looked heavier. It looked like the person had short hair. But those two things proved nothing. Pale bare feet lay against the floor. Had someone taken this person's boots and socks as they had hers?

  Avoiding shining the headlight directly on the person's face, she examined this person's feet. They were big, at least a size ten and a half. Encrusted between the person’s toes, dirt had been allowed to accumulate. The nails were unpainted, dirty, and didn't show signs of recent trimming. But why kidnap her and then a guy?

  As she shifted the headlight so that she could get a better view of the sleeper, her impression changed then from suspecting her new mine mate was her kidnapper to thinking that this was another victim. Whoever it was had their hands bound behind them.

  Her need to know pushed her resolve. She moved the headlight’s beam slowly up toward the sleeper's head, feeling reassured by the steady snoring which showed no sign of wakefulness.

  When her light finally illuminated the person's head, a black-looking substance gleamed around it. He had a stubbly growth of facial hair. Then she saw the gash on his forehead. He lay in a pool of his own blood. Cassie gasped. Her gasp seemed loud in the small chamber, but still, the sleeper snored on. Was he faking sleep? But the snoring seemed too steady and real.

  She was now pretty sure that this was not the man who kidnapped her but rather a victim like herself. With the index finger of her right hand, she gently poked him in the center of his back. The snoring paused for an instant then started up again. She poked him again, this time harder. The snoring stopped. The man groaned and seemed to try to lift his head. But instead, his head just seemed to wiggle a bit. His own blood had stuck his face to the floor.

  "Wait a minute," she said. She stood and went to the remaining water bottles in the package she had gotten, and took out a new bottle. She brought it back to the sleeper and opened it. He wasn't snoring but seemed to be breathing heavily through his open mouth.

  She splashed some water about the edges of his face where it touched the floor and seemed stuck. Using her fingers, she worked the skin free. Having nothing else to use she used her jacket sleeves to wipe up the wet blood and water around his face. All through this, he just kept breathing heavily and showed no sign of awakening.

  Cassie wondered if this guy, who she was now thinking of as 'the sleeper,' had a concussion? The gash in his head, though now crusted, looked like a nasty blow had caused it.

  She would have heard if he had been walked in and hit in the chamber. Pointing her headlight at the floor, she saw a trail of blood coming in.

  She didn't want to put his face back down on the stone floor, so she picked up one of the plastic bags nearby. She had tried burning the bags, but the fumes from the burning plastic smelled awful. She slid the bag under his face. As she lowered his head back down, he began snoring again.

  Cassie looked at him a moment. He had short dirty-blond hair, and from the side, it looked like he had an innocent baby-like face. His ears stuck out a bit too far. He probably got teased about that, Cassie thought. The thought came to her that perhaps she should search him. Even though he was lying face down she was able to lean over and pat the outside pockets of his hunting jacket. She found a set of car keys in the right pocket and some Slim Jims in the other. Throughout her searching him he never stirred. She was convinced now he was either drugged or badly injured.

  The man's hunting jacket was apparently zipped up, and though she tried, she could not get the zipper to open while he was face down with his hands bound behind him. Figuring there was no way she could search inside without turning him over, she used the knife on her multi-tool to cut the tight binding on each of his wrists. They had been so tight she thought they might have cut off the circulation to his hands. She moved his arms to his sides and tried pulling on his shoulder. As she pulled on his shoulder, he suddenly moaned. She stopped. She could no longer hear him snore or breathe. Was he hurt somewhere? She decided, for now, to leave him as he was. Unable to think of anything else to do for him, she decided to start up a small fire.

  As she gathered twigs from the seemingly endless packrat's nest, she looked toward the still figure and hoped he wouldn't die.

  Line of Sight

  October 29: Before Noon

  Goldstone heard me start my engine and asked, "Where are you going?"

  "No point in letting them see me if they get off here like we were thinking."

  From the Bearmouth exit, a vehicle could go south or north. The area where the body had been found could be reached by going north. If the suspects turned left off the end of the exit ramp, they'd come to a T at the base of a huge mountain. East on the T went past the Chalet and to the Bear Gulch Road where we suspected they were headed. Going west at the T gave you a drive down a long dead end that followed the Clark Fork River.

  "I'll park back aways on the dead end. That way they might not even notice me."

  "Good thinking," Goldstone said.

  When I had driven far enough down the dead end to still see back to the T, but far enough away to almost be unidentifiable, I parked without turning around. I was pretty sure a vehicle parked facing away from a suspect was far less suspicious.

  I looked down at my iPhone and saw that I was just in time. The red truck was slowing for the Bearmouth exit with Bobby Wesley driving less recklessly than Nate Hanassey had.

  I turned in my seat and watched the actual truck turn at the T. The driver and passenger, blaze orange clothing visible, seemed to be facing the front and took no notice of me.

  Curious, I opened my driver's side window and listened. I could hear the highway traffic, but I heard nothing like the sound of a drone. I left the window open.

  On my iPad I watched the red truck pass the Bearmouth Chalet. I knew the road curved around the mountain, and I would now be out of sight. I turned the Jeep around and drove back to where I had initially been parked by the T. Once there I opened the passenger side window.

  On my iPad, the drone seemed to have a close-up view of the red truck, but I knew it could be quite a ways away. But I assumed it would be coming past me somewhat soon and listened for it, curious as to whether I would be able to hear it, and on hearing it, be able to see it if I looked. My real concern was would it ever get close enough to Nate Hanassey for him to hear it? In my cabin, I could hear helicopters and planes coming from miles away.

  It seemed like five minutes before I thought I detected a slight buzzing sound above the din of the traffic on I-90. The sound seemed to come from outside the passenger side of the Jeep. I couldn't see anything from the driver's seat, so I got out keeping my iPhone in hand.

  It took me a few moments to find it. It was a hundred yards almost directly above me when I spotted it, and it quickly moved on toward the Chalet. I knew they tried not to fly directly over the highway for fear of being spotted by the suspect or other drivers who might be distracted and cause an accident. It didn't look very big from the ground, and I was only able to follow it for seconds before it got so far away that I could no longer make it out.

  "We're getting off at the Bearmouth exit. Where should we deploy?" the voice I'd come to understand was Yash Havish's, the guy in charge of the van surveillance, asked.

  "Winslow," Goldstone asked, "where are you now?"

  "Back in the parking area by the T," I told him.

  "You're in your red Jeep?"

  "That's a roger."

  "Yash, once you get to the red Jeep parked by the T, follow it. Winslow will lead you guys to a spot where you can park."

  "You'll find them someplace safe?" Goldstone asked, and I assumed he was talking to me."

  "I'll take care of them," I said.

  A moment later a white van came out from under the highway overpass and was soon pulling up behind me.

  I got out of my Jeep taking my iPhone with me and walked to the van window. I stopped and stood still, frozen, mesmerized as I caught a glimpse of the young woman with very short auburn hair
who began rolling it down. Her face looked so very much like my Lomahongva's, they could have been twins.

  "You don't look like a Yash," I managed to say.

  “Rylee Blouin,” she said, offering me a hand.

  "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Blouin,” I said.

  “Rylee, please,” she said, “Deputy.”

  “Winslow, please, I’m only a part-time deputy.”

  “Winslow,” she repeated the name as if it amused her.

  There was a door between the front seats and a thin, dark-haired, dark-skinned head peeked out. "Hi, I'm Yash, gotta get back to the console."

  A moment later another head peeked out. "Ken," a man with long hair and Native American features said. "Nice to meet you." Then he disappeared too.

  "So I am going to follow you?" Rylee asked.

  "That's the plan," I said. “Let me get your phone number, a direct line to me, and give me yours,” I stopped. “You do have a cell phone?”

  “Yep,” she nodded and held up a pink one. “Why don’t you just type your number into my phone, and I’ll do the same on yours.”

  She had to show me how to put my number into her phone but knew how to put hers in mine. When we were done, I felt just a bit embarrassed.

  “Back to low tech,” I said. “I will put my left hand out the window, point my hand in the air, and wave it in a circle if I want you to stop. Is that clear?"

  "I think I got it," Rylee said.

  I looked down at my iPhone. The red truck was turning onto Bear Gulch Road.

  "They're headed in the general direction I thought they would be,” I said. “Let's hope you guys can help us pinpoint exactly where they're going.”

  Just then Goldstone spoke over my iPhone. “Is there room in their van for you, Winslow? I’d rather they have some protection just in case they run into our suspects.”

  I looked at the empty seat next to Rylee. She caught my eye and said, “Sure, you can ride up here with me.”

  “No problem,” Yash called from the back.

  I drove the Jeep back to the spot on the dead end road where I had previously parked to watch for the red truck and locked it. Rylee drove up, and I got into the van on the passenger side. I was hoping the van would be able to handle the rough roads.

  Before she turned the van around Rylee smiled at me. I guessed she was around twenty-two. I always thought twenty-two-year-olds would think of me at thirty-five as an old man. I studied her for a moment while she was concentrating on driving. Shorter, petite, and a little skinny where Lo was voluptuous, Rylee's resemblance to my Lomahongva was still incredible.

  Thirty-five minutes later the van was safely parked on some clear-cut private property just off four corners which was posted as private, and an unlikely place for most hunters to enter. Yash and Ken had, after I told them there weren’t many turnoffs on the road the suspects were traveling, actually landed their drone next to the van and swapped in a new battery. To me, the thing sounded like a giant bee and looked like a grimy white flying saucer with a camera and microphone hanging down from its bottom. With a loud droning buzz, the thing lifted into the air and was off.

  Within minutes of it's taking off, the boys found the red truck again. Rylee and I were sitting on a bench that folded down from the wall so that visitors could watch the computer monitors along with the two at the controls. Yash had explained the bench was for faculty to monitor students running the unit.

  The students focused on their work and spoke little. Aside from the console and the seat Rylee and I sat on the only other thing in the van was a bookcase-like tower of wire cages holding supplies. Two rolls of duct-tape in the top cage made it seem the tower watched Rylee and me with giant eyes. I did learn on the drive here that Rylee was a graduate student majoring in Communication Studies at the University of Montana, and she had been recruited because she lived a few houses away from Yash.

  The drone followed the truck around for hours, coming in twice during that time. While Yash landed it, I watched Ken take the battery out, replace it with one freshly charged, and step back. The drone seemed to leap back into the air.

  It was getting late when, to my surprise, the suspects' vehicle headed down the long dead-end road I had searched while looking for Carew’s truck the other day. Where they could possibly be headed--I did not know. I watched them park in the same short turnoff that I had and get out.

  “I’ll turn the microphone on,” Ken said.

  The camera zoomed in on the two men. The technology amazed me. It seemed as if someone was standing with a camera just a few feet from the men.

  An instant later the voice of Nate Hanassey rang clear. “What do you mean you’re not sure this is the right place?”

  “I haven’t been around here in years.

  “Shit,” Hanassey cursed.

  We listened to the crunch of their boots on the snow. The men didn’t speak at all until they had rounded the curve and looked in every direction.

  “I must have missed a turn,” Bobby Wesley said.

  “Fuck,” Hanassey said, “It’s almost dark. You gonna be able to find it in the dark?”

  Bobby shook his head. “We’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  “Fuck,” Hanassey said.

  We watched them get into their vehicle. This time Hanassey got behind the wheel and began the drive back out the dead end.

  I looked out the front window of the van. It was just after sunset. It would be completely dark in twenty to thirty minutes.

  We followed the red truck’s progress until it passed through four-corners not four hundred yards from us in the direction of the highway.

  “We're low on power,” Ken said.

  Yash turned to me. “Can we bring it in?”

  “I think so,” I said. Then added loudly for the sheriff and the others in the group listening. “It looks like they're headed home. I think we can call it quits for today. I’ll wait with the drone crew for a half hour to make sure Hanassey and Wesley are on the highway then get these guys home.”

  “Let’s do that,” Goldstone said. “We can pick up our surveillance tomorrow.”

  “Bringing the Condor in,” Yash said. The van was not quite tall enough for me to stand fully and so, crouching, I headed for the front and the passenger door. I got out and stretched leaving the door open behind me because I thought Rylee was coming out, too. She seemed to have taken up studying me. I wanted to make sure I did nothing to lead her on. I found being of interest to this much younger woman who reminded me so much of my Lo disconcerting.

  As I stretched and looked to the sky for the incoming drone, the wind began picking up. I looked back to the van. Rylee did not come out, and I felt slightly disappointed. The wind increased in power. Snow devils swirled about me. At the top edge of the logged bowl where we were parked, I could see tree limbs swaying. A moment later I heard a cry from the truck.

  “Shit,” Yash cried out so loudly I could hear him over the wind.

  I swung back up into the van and asked, “What happened?”

  It was as if they didn't hear me.

  “I’ve deployed the chute,” Ken said.

  "No!" Yash wailed. "What were you thinking? It's too soon. Now the wind's got it," Yash cried.

  The three were grouped around the monitors. Yash and Ken sitting on the edge of their seats and Rylee leaning over them. I caught a glimpse of the camera’s view on the screen spiraling around and then tree limbs, and then the view went black.

  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Yash was crying.

  “We have the coordinates,” Ken said. “We can get it.”

  “Is it by a road?” I asked.

  Both Ken and Yash looked at me now, disbelief over the situation on their faces.

  “There are no roads there,” Yash said, pointing to the screen.

  I looked at the screen. Now there was a topo map on the screen with a red pin indicating the spot where the drone had landed. It was pretty far from where we had watched Hanasse
y and Bobby Wesley.

  “No,” I said recognizing the general area. It had been logged, and so there were not many trees. But it was far from level, the topo map showed many close-together wavy lines delineating deep gullies. The drone, itself, was situated on the far slope of a very deep ravine. The location was not that far from us but getting in there in the dark would be treacherous. “We won’t be able to get in there tonight,” I said.

  Yash looked at me in disbelief.

  A Change in Plan

  October 29: Early Evening

  They were a few miles from the frontage road when Nate slowed his truck to a stop.

  "Why you stopping?" Bobby asked.

  "Why go back to town?"

  "We could go to my brother's trailer?"

  "And then drive all the way back here? We got beer. We got jerky. Sleep in the truck tonight and start out at daylight."

  "I was hoping to sleep in a bed."

  Nate gave him a look that said that wasn't happening. Bobby knew not to protest.

  It wasn't until Nate started backing up that Bobby realized they were by a little side road that was almost invisible from the road due to the snow. Nate swung in, in reverse and backed in about twenty yards or so. Pines on either side hid them from the road.

  Nate had just finished his fifth beer and had stepped out of the truck to pee when lights announced another vehicle coming down the road. He stepped back and watched out of sight behind a small fir as the vehicle approached. As the vehicle, a van, passed, its headlights bouncing off the snow reflected back enough to give him a view of its side.

  It was the van he had seen near Billy's trailer. Nate did not like coincidences.

  Memories After a Long Day

  October 29: Evening

  That evening I went to bed early expecting an early morning start to lay in wait for the red truck. As far as the sheriff was concerned the condor was unrecoverable for now and no longer an option. But I had trouble sleeping. To say the young man from India, Yash, was upset about leaving the Condor behind was an understatement. He had been vehement, or perhaps I should say manic, about recovering the drone immediately. My arguments about the inadvisability of trying that in the dark on treacherous terrain with the possibility of Nate Hanassey and Bobby Wesley coming back at any time went unheeded.