Dead, Without a Stone to Tell It

by Jen J. Danna

  Matt nodded grimly. “This is as unscientific as it gets, but something about this whole case feels off to me. It just seems too coincidental that there would be two sets of remains in the same area. Something else is going on here. I’m not sure what to expect out there anymore. Leigh can take care of herself, but those students are my responsibility and I watch over what’s mine.” His mouth tipped up in a half grin. “Although Kiko’s trained well enough that she could probably take me down.”

  Mike boomed out a laugh. “Not a chance. I’ve met Kiko; she’s a live wire but no way does she take down an ex-Marine like you.”

  “She doesn’t even know I served. She probably thinks I’m totally helpless.”

  The older man’s lips went flat behind his neatly trimmed white beard. “You know my opinion about keeping your time in the military a secret. You should share that part of your past with them.” He paused. “Or are you ashamed of it?”

  “No! Of course not. It’s just not something I feel I need to discuss with them. It has no bearing on what I do now.” Matt got up to pour himself a little more coffee, using the task as an excuse to put a little space between himself and his father. His reticence to discuss his time in the Marines was a sore point between them, and he was too tired and short of time to rehash it now.

  He was relieved when his father let it go, turning back to the situation at hand.

  “What time are you meeting your students?” Mike asked.

  “Five-thirty.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better get going or I’m going to be late. We have to repack the equipment we left out to dry last night, load up the SUV, and then hit the road.” He gulped the last of his coffee before rinsing the mug and leaving it in the sink.

  He picked up the Glock and attached the holster to his belt at the small of his back. Then he shrugged into the long-sleeved shirt, letting it fall loosely over the gun, hiding it from view.

  “Be careful. I want you back in one piece,” Mike said.

  “You know I can take care of myself. I’m probably overreacting anyway.”

  “Possibly, but I respect your feelings on this.”

  Matt started to move past him, but then stopped, laying his hand on his father’s wide shoulder to give it a firm squeeze.

  Then he silently left the kitchen.

  CHAPTER EIGHT: SALTMEADOW RUSH

  Saltmeadow Rush: Juncus gerardii, also known as Black Grass, is a wetland perennial commonly found in the high marsh zone.

  Wednesday, 6:44 A.M.

  Essex Bay Coast, Massachusetts

  The team members made their way across the salt marsh for the third time in as many days. Feet dragged clumsily and there was an occasional stumble as the sucking mud grasped at their boots. Kiko unsuccessfully attempted to cover a huge yawn behind her cupped hand as she trudged beside Matt.

  Leigh adjusted her pack and glanced over at Matt. He wore dark glasses, shielding his eyes from the bright morning glare, but he looked tired and the corners of his mouth were slightly pinched. She angled a bit toward him as they pushed through the salt grasses. “You okay?”

  He glanced sideways at her, his eyes unreadable behind his dark glasses. “Just tired. Had trouble getting to sleep last night.” Two more slogging steps. “You?”

  “I went to bed almost as soon as we got off the phone. It sounds like I’m in better shape than you are. We’ve probably got another very long day in front of us. If I can help, let me know. I’m not familiar enough with what you do to offer. You need to ask.”

  He gave a silent nod before fixing his eyes on the higher land rising from the marsh.

  Soon they were stepping onto dry forestland under the cool dimness of the trees. Matt stopped to take off his glasses and tuck them into the breast pocket of his plaid shirt.

  “What do you think?” Leigh asked. “Same formation as before? Start where we found the remains on Monday and keep moving north?”

  “Yeah.” Matt started to move into the trees and Leigh fell into step with him. “Is anyone else coming out to help search today?”

  “Not yet.” Leigh stepped over the trunk of a toppled tree. “I touched base with the Essex force this morning and they’re available if we want them. I thought we’d start with just us on the ground search but they can be here in about fifteen minutes if we want to go out to Cross Island.” She tapped the phone in a belt holder on her right hip. “I’ll call them later, either because we found new remains, or because we haven’t.” She glanced over her shoulder at the three students behind them. Juka was down on one knee, his shovel laid on the ground beside his boot as he retied his muddy laces. Kiko and Paul flanked him, waiting patiently. “The Essex cops think our remains don’t belong to anyone local. They don’t have any missing persons listed in this community and they’ve checked with the Gloucester and Ipswich forces as well and they’ve—”

  Matt’s hand suddenly shot out and grasped her forearm. She stopped abruptly, her head jerking toward him, all senses suddenly on alert. “What’s wrong?”

  Matt’s gaze was darting rapidly through the trees. “Do you smell that?”

  Alarm spiked through Leigh at both his tone of voice and his expression. “Smell what?”

  Releasing her, he took a single step away as if trying to locate the source of the smell. “That slightly sweet, nitrous odor. It’s been a long time but I swear it smells like putres—”

  A sudden crack split the morning stillness and something hot and furious stirred the air between them with a streaking, high-pitched whine.

  “Get down!” Matt sprang across the distance separating them, his arms locking around Leigh, the force of his body driving her off her feet. He twisted his body in midair so that when they hit the ground, he landed first with a force that left him gasping as she sprawled on top of him in a small depression.

  She lay stunned for only a moment, and then she was rolling off and pulling her gun from its holster. They both flattened to the ground as two more shots rang out. From over their heads came the dull thump of a bullet hitting a nearby tree.

  Leigh slithered out of her pack and crawled along the ground to crouch behind a fallen tree. Easing her head up a few inches, she peered over the top in the direction the shots seemed to have come from. A movement to her left distracted her momentarily as Matt inched up beside her. Gripped in his right hand was a Glock semi-automatic. Where did that come from? She pushed the thought away quickly. If there was more than one of them armed, so much the better.

  “Shots were from the north,” Matt hissed. “Single shooter. Handgun. Four shots so far. Could be a fifteen-round clip depending on the weapon.” He eased slightly higher and immediately dropped flat as a fifth shot broke the silence. “Guys, stay down,” he hissed, twisting back toward where his students once stood.

  Leigh followed his gaze, but the students were out of sight in the brush. “You stay down too,” Leigh snapped. “He’s got line of sight on us.”

  “We can’t just lie here, pinned down. There’s two of us armed, and one of him. We need to go on the offensive.”

  Leigh stared at him in amazement—he talked like a man familiar with high-risk situations, and, to her surprise, she found she liked this new trait. “Fine. We can take cover behind the trees and try to outflank him.” Surely, their shooter would try to head back to the mainland. “You go left, I’ll go right. Keep your eyes open. Do not shoot me. Preferably, don’t shoot period. But if you pin him down, call for help. We want him taken alive.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Matt ground out, irritation flashing across his face. He crawled to the left to take cover behind a tree, freezing in place briefly before moving deeper into the woods. Every motion was efficient as he crouched down to stay behind cover, stopping periodically to listen intently, eyes constantly roving.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d done this. If they made it out of this situation alive, she definitely had some questions for him.

  Breaking cover, Leigh darted from tree to tree, pre
ssing close to each, her cheek against the abrasive bark. She quickly peered around each trunk, pausing only long enough to listen for the sound of a branch breaking, or a rock tumbling out of place. Matt had melted into the forest like mist, and he moved so silently she couldn’t hear him at all.

  Darting behind a scraggly bush, Leigh crouched low, breathing hard. Only silence met her ears—no rustling or running feet. Not even a fluttering of bird’s wings or the chirp of a cricket.

  Silence.

  Matt broke cover, crouching low and sprinting toward a towering oak. He pressed his back against the thick trunk, looking back the way he’d come. Where were his students? Were they okay?

  It took a moment before his eyes found them, half hidden behind a rock and a scrubby cedar, lying belly-down together on the ground as ordered. Relief surged through him—they were alive and appeared unhurt. But their shock was evident in their upraised eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was because they had been shot at or whether it was at the sight of him, gun in hand, as he slid back into the role of soldier. Maybe it was both.

  He made a curt hand gesture—stay down—and then turned away.

  Explanations could wait. For now, there was a shooter out there who had to be stopped before one of them got hurt. Or worse, killed.

  Matt melted further into the woods. Every move was unconscious, every action second nature. Even after all these years out of the Marines, the cloak of combat slipped back over him so easily, so naturally, it was like he’d been training only yesterday. There were some things in life that a man simply never forgot.

  The quiet snap of a branch breaking far ahead made him freeze in surprise. He’s still on this side of the island. Matt had expected the shooter to circle east to cross the marsh and head back toward the mainland, so why was he here?

  Matt sprinted between the trees, stopping briefly behind each to check for movement, but all he could hear was the sound of his own ragged breathing, the pounding of his heart in his ears, and the dull thump of his boots on the dry, loamy soil. Branches whipped at him and he tried to keep his left arm in front of his face, protecting his eyes.

  Then a flash of movement to the left caught his eye. Staring intently through a break in the trees, he thought he could see a smear of dark color moving into the lighter marsh grasses. Going further into the marsh?

  Ignoring safety and cover at that point, Matt sprinted for the edge of the swamp. Forty feet ahead, struggling through the tall grasses was a dark head.

  Matt dove into the cover of the tall grasses, shouting, “He’s heading into the marsh!” hoping Leigh would hear him and give chase.

  Sprinting through the marsh was a challenge—his boots slid in the greasy tangle of rotting plant life covering the slick mud, and the grasses tore at him, unwilling to give way. The shooter spun around, and sunlight glinted off metal. Matt dropped to his knees in the wet muck as a shot sounded and a bullet ripped by, just over his head. The cold ooze of muddy water soaked into his jeans, but he didn’t pause as he scrambled to his feet again, running in a jagged zigzag line after his prey. He pulled off two shots, but he didn’t have much confidence of hitting his target during this mad chase.

  He’d only gone another fifty feet when he heard it—the unmistakable sound of an engine roaring to life.

  Son of a bitch! Matt poured on speed, muscles bunching and straining with effort, abandoning evasive maneuvers and simply running full out. At the edge of his consciousness, he recognized the sounds behind him—Leigh was hot on his heels; she must have heard the engine too.

  The engine roar increased in volume, followed by the unmistakable sound of water churning. The sound of the motor peaked before dropping in volume as the boat moved away.

  Matt ran faster, his breath sawing raggedly, his muscles burning, and his heart racing frantically as he poured every last ounce of energy into the chase. He broke through the grass and slid to a halt at the edge of a wide branch of the Essex River. He overstepped, one foot landing in the murky water at the edge of the wide stream, icy water flowing into his boot.

  He was standing near the middle of a short straightaway; twenty feet in either direction the stream curved out of sight, disappearing into the tall marsh grasses.

  There was no boat in sight and the sound of the engine was rapidly fading.

  They’d lost him.

  “Goddamn it!”

  Leigh suddenly broke through the grass five feet downstream, breathing hard, her weapon clutched in her fist.

  “He had a boat?” she asked between panting breaths.

  “Hidden here out of sight in the grass. I didn’t see it, I just heard it.”

  They were silent as they listened to the fading sound of the motor.

  “He’s gone north,” Leigh said. “Into open water.” She pulled out her cell phone and Matt listened as she quickly outlined the situation to the Essex police and requested both marine and ground backup. Her words were choppy, short bursts of speech between gasping breaths. Matt bent and braced his hands on his knees, the Glock still in one hand, as he desperately tried to pull some much-needed oxygen into his starved lungs.

  “They’re never going to find him,” Matt stated grimly, his head still bent, when she ended the call. “We didn’t even get a look at the boat. He’ll vanish into one of dozens of public or private marinas or out into open water long before they can get out there. The only trace of him is going to be the bullets and casings he left behind.”

  “That’s why I requested ground support. I need a team out here for evidence collection.” Her eyes trailed down to Matt’s gun, still braced on his right knee. “I’m going to assume you have a permit for that. Don’t tell me if you don’t. Right now, I don’t want to know.”

  “Don’t worry, I have a Class A carry permit.” He straightened and turned to face the island across the swamp, his mind already back with his students. The tops of the trees were just visible over the tall grass from the stream bank.

  He heard her sharply indrawn breath. “Matt! You’re hurt.”

  He spun back to see her staring at his upper arm and the spreading stain of dark blood that marred his sleeve. He remembered the white-hot pain of the bullet ripping along the top of his right biceps as he’d been in midair, his arms locked around Leigh, but he’d forgotten the injury in the hunt and chase that followed. Now, as Leigh brought it back to his attention and his adrenaline level fell after the chase, the wound started to burn and throb viciously. “I’ve had worse,” he said flatly.

  Leigh looked at him sharply, her gaze automatically moving to the scar partially hidden under his windblown hair. “Let me see it.” Grasping his arm just above the elbow, she gently pulled the material away from the wound.

  Matt hissed as she tugged threads of fabric from the wound. “Careful!”

  She examined the wound. It wasn’t a through and through, but rather a ragged furrow that steadily seeped blood. “This looks bad. We’d better get a paramedic team out here to stitch you up.”

  Matt stubbornly pulled his arm from her grip. “No paramedics. It’s not that bad. The bullet just grazed me. It needs to be cleaned and covered, and I have supplies in the packs for that.”

  “An open wound like that is going to scar.”

  “Just one more for the collection,” he muttered under his breath.

  The expression on Leigh’s face clearly conveyed her inner argument. Then she gave a small shrug as if letting it go. “Can you explain something for me then?”

  “What?”

  “What happened back there? You come armed to a recovery operation and then when all hell breaks loose, you handle yourself like a veteran.” She froze as if realizing what she’d just said, then her eyes rose to his slowly. “I’m thinking veteran cop, but that’s not it at all, is it? Where did you serve?”

  A range of emotions swept through him at her question—surprise at her intuitive leap, then irritation at her discovery, followed by resignation. “I guess there’s no hiding it after thi
s. I was a battlefield medic in Afghanistan with the Marines from two-thousand-and-one to—”

  A piercing scream sliced through the air.

  Two heads jerked in unison toward the island. “Kiko,” Matt said sharply.

  They dove back into the grasses, pounding back the way that they had come, adrenaline flooding back in a new, frenzied rush. They ran shoulder-to-shoulder, keeping pace even in full sprint, guns gripped tight in damp palms as they ran. Suddenly Leigh’s boot skidded and she started to fall, but Matt managed to reach out with his left hand and grab her right elbow, keeping her upright. She staggered for a pace or two and then found her footing again and fell back into step with him.

  They sprinted up onto dry land, both of them frantically trying to identify where the scream had come from.

  “Kiko!” Matt called.

  “Here!” Paul shouted.

  They both veered left, running through the trees and darting around rocks and rotting trunks.

  “There!” Matt wheezed between gasping breaths, pointing even further north as he spotted Juka’s blue sweat jacket through the trees.

  Moments later, they broke into a small clearing and stopped abruptly. Juka, Paul, and Kiko huddled on the far side of the clearing, Paul’s arm around Kiko as she hid her face against his shoulder. Paul and Juka’s shocked gazes were fixed on the ground.

  Suddenly, the nitrous odor he’d smelled earlier hit Matt like a wave and his stomach rolled.

  He looked down at the floor of the clearing. Then everything went gray, the forest and its inhabitants disappearing into a dark vortex of misery and pain that dimmed his vision …

  Falling to his knees beside the soldier, his rifle falling from nerveless fingers.

  Ripping open the uniform to reveal tattered, bloody tissue. Warm blood gushing over his hands as he desperately tried to quench the seemingly endless flow. His own blood flowing freely from the gash on his temple, down over his cheek and jaw, soaking his uniform.

  The burning heat from an explosion, the shock wave sending him tumbling.