The next kid that hopped out was clean cut, his gestures and his stance speaking of crispness, of confidence. Even the soles of his boots were clean. He boldly displayed the Boy Scouts of America patch on his shoulder, and Ken instantly understood that this was an Eagle Scout. He was a dark blond, and handsome enough—of average height and age for an ESARian.
The girl he helped down landed face to face with him. They kissed. She had a pretty face, and her hair poked out elfishly from under her stocking cap. From a distance, she could easily be mistaken for a character in one of those identity-confusing Shakespeare plays. She was roughly the scout’s age. Ken wondered if their parents knew where they were.
The last two were boys. The first was a redhead with freckles and a crew cut. He hopped out of the truck and inhaled deeply, surveying the forest in a princely fashion. He was a little taller and older than the Eagle Scout, but not as tall as the Scandinavian. He wore mirrored Ray-Bans, a ski parka and a machete, and from the sneer on his lips Ken could tell that he’d be trouble.
The other was thin, but not wiry, and tall, but not imposing. He was in his mid-teens, his hair almost black. He had a single small earring—a gold cross—in his right ear. His outfit was subdued, except for his rainbow suspenders and his baseball cap. He wore it backwards, and when he turned around to retrieve his pack, Ken read, “I’m going nucking futs!”
“Well,” he started, after everybody had their gear, “My name is Kenneth Holbrook. You can call me Ken. I don’t know any of you, but I started out just like you and I’ve been doing this for a hell of a long time. Our team sign is Omega, which, for those of you who don’t know, is the last letter in the Greek alphabet. Meaning, we may be this poor family’s last hope.” Ken let his words drift off into the forest. The teens listened in varying, but not uncomplimentary, states of attention.
Ken offered his hand to the boy on his right, the redhead. “And you are?”
“Ron Kramer,” he said, looking Ken up and down with a face of careful scorn. Ken saw his reflection frown in the boy’s sunglasses. The boy had a firm grip.
“Ron,” Ken repeated. He looked to the tall blond boy.
“Olaf Jarlson,” he said without being prompted. The other teens snickered at his lilting Swedish accent. His grip, though, made Ron’s feel like a massage.
“Olaf,” Ken said.
The spectacled boy stepped forward. “I’m Lee Fleming. How do you do.”
He reminded Ken of a stubby traffic cone. “Nice to meet you.” The boy’s handshake was formal, but light. With manners like that, Ken wondered how he got through training.
The couple was next. “Thomas Weatherby,” gestured the girl, and “Kara Braddock,” nodded the boy.
“Thomas,” Ken said as he shook his hand.
“Tom, please.”
Ken offered his hand to the girl. He said her name as she shook it lightly and dispassionately.
“I guess that leaves me. I’m Brandon Oaks.”
“That’s one helluva hat,” Ken said.
“Thanks,” he beamed. “I like it.”
“Well, with that over with, let’s go ahead and spread out at fifty-foot intervals. I’ll walk the center. We are looking for the Petersons, a family of four, not dressed for the weather and with little or no supplies. Joseph, Cindy, Becky and Bridget. Try to keep each other in sight as we go. Yell the moment you find something.” Ken saw in their faces a mix of boredom, pride, passion and resentment. A typical teenage Search and Rescue Team.
Ken turned on the radio and reported that Omega team was entering the brush.
“Stay safe,” Paula warned through the speaker, “and don’t get lost. I don’t want to have to come out there after you. Just remember, we have a date.”
“I remember,” Ken replied. “And tell Bruce to re-hinge his jaw. Omega Team out.”
Paula laughed through the radio and the static laughed with her. “You just did.”
After a hundred yards of even ground, light underbrush and widely spaced trees, a wall of devil’s club and blackberry thorns awaited them. The ground began to pitch under them as they climbed over fallen trees and sidestepped muddy bogs. Ron broke out his machete and carved a wide swath for himself, while Ken and the others used their gloves and brute force to power through the undergrowth. It wasn’t long before Kara called down the line that they found something.
“Who is it? What have you got?”
“It’s Olaf,” Kara yelled. “It’s a necktie, hanging on a tree branch. Half of it anyway.”
Ken radioed in the find to Bruce and asked permission for a voice check. “Let ’er rip, ol’ friend,” he told him.
“Let’s do the father, Joseph.” Ken passed the word both ways. Everyone moved so that they could see each other. Ken raised his arm and even the birds seemed to quiet.
“Search Base, this is Omega Team commencing voice check on three. One. Two.” Ken let his finger slip from the key. “Three!”
Ken lowered his arm like a race official as all of them shouted ‘Joseph’ at the top of their lungs. Each teen studied the treetops and listened to the way the call echoed ahead of them, as if this were an empty aircraft hangar and not a forest.
Silence played among the trees.
Ken hated the silence after a voice check. Silence equaled death. This was the difference between a missing person and a dead body. He could see the eerie silence cast its spell on Tom, Kara and Brandon. Their mouths hung open in awe, like they were listening to a choir of angels singing from on high.
No answer.
Ken shook his head and radioed Bruce.
“You’ll find them, don’t worry,” Bruce told him.
Ken held his doubt in check and called for everyone to move ahead.
Before they got twenty feet, Ken called for them to stop. He realized suddenly that he hadn’t seen Lee, the short one, during the voice check.
“Ron, where’s Lee?”
The redhead looked to his right—Lee had been on the other side of him—then looked back at Ken. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? What the hell do you mean you don’t know?” Ken left his position in the center and moved toward him. “Nobody move, Lee’s missing,” he called down the line. Ron stood mute as the leader approached. “When is the last time you saw him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Didn’t I tell you to keep an eye on each other?”
Ron looked at him defiantly. Ken watched his grip tighten on the hilt of his machete as a sneer washed over his freckled face. Ken tensed.
“Hey guys! Thanks for waiting.”
Both swiveled to see Lee trudging slowly up the path Ron had made. “I heard your voice check. Did you hear anything?”
“Not a thing. How about you? Are you all right?”
“Oh my, yes, quite fine now, thank you.” Lee sauntered up to them and collapsed on a log. “I just got a little winded back there. And I got caught once or twice.” Lee removed his pack and unzipped a side pocket. He removed an inhaler, shook it, then made use of it. Ron shook his head and walked away.
“Where the hell you think you’re going, pal?”
Ron turned and glared at Ken.
“Both of you come with me. I’d like you both to stay close.” Ken turned to Lee. “Asthma?”
Lee nodded.
“Bad?”
“Bad enough,” he said. He was taking some pills with a sip of bottled water.
“Lee, I want you on my right. Ron, you’re on my left. Brandon!”
He came running, thumbs under his suspenders. “Yes boss?”
“Take Lee’s position in line. C’mon guys.” The two followed Ken. With Brandon on the far right, Olaf and Ken would flank Lee. Ron would be to Ken’s left, then Tom, then Kara.
“Okay, let’s go,” Ken called.
“Try not to get lost this time,” Ron yelled to Lee. Ken shot him a hard look. Ron returned it as they marched off.
To complement the
dense underbrush, tightly spaced trees and unfriendly plants, fog settled in among them, thinning what little natural sunlight made it to the forest floor. The team occasionally had to stop to wait for Lee to catch up. Ken noticed the team pressing closer to center as the people to Ken’s left and right became dull moving outlines. He pulled out the map Bruce had given him, now folded inside a clear plastic cover, and studied it. “Hold up!” he yelled.
He could hear the order go down the line as he looked at his watch. He keyed the radio mic, saying, “Omega Team to Search Base. Search Base this is Omega Team, do you copy?”
Bruce’s voice broke in over the static. “We read you Omega. How’s tricks, Kenny?”
“Shitty. This fog is as thick as hell. I can barely see my team. Plus, the topography on this map you gave me makes no damn sense. Shouldn’t we have rendezvoused with Alpha Team by now?”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Kenny. You’re right on schedule by my clock.”
Ken looked at the map again. “That’s bullshit,” he said to himself. To the others, he said, “Take a break, ladies and gentleman.” Then he resumed with Bruce. “There’s a stream that parallels the road, Bruce. Look for yourself. We should have hit that stream by now, I know it. We came down a slope that should have led to it, then went back up another one, but there hasn’t been any damn stream.”
“Relax, Kenny. That’s a USGS survey map I gave you. It probably hasn’t been updated since the fifties. Besides, it could have dried up. Don’t worry, it’s just been a while for you, that’s all.”
Something in Ken’s stomach flip-flopped. “Bastard,” he said aloud. Then, into the mic, “Bruce, let me do a voice check. Then radio me if Alpha Team has any contact with us.”
“Okay, I’ll humor you.”
Ken stood up straight. “Listen up people, we’re doing a voice check.”
By then, most of the team had taken off their backpacks and were at rest. Olaf was letting Lee take a long draught from his canteen, while Tom and Kara fed each other trail mix. Ron sulked nearby, stripping the leaves from a bracken fern. Brandon reclined against a tree, his hat down over his eyes.
“Come on,” Ken said. “Let’s do this.”
No one exactly protested, but for a moment none of them moved. Then Olaf stirred, and helped Lee to his feet. “What name?” he asked.
“Joseph,” Ken returned. “We ready?”
By then, every one of them stood, but none was happy about it.
Ken radioed it in. “One. Two. Three.”
The forest rang with the call as the fog deadened the force of their combined lungs like a clapper in a broken bell. Somewhere nearby, a bird loudly vacated its nest. Then, through the muffled silence, a voice in the distance called, “Heeeeeeeeey!”
“Did you hear that?” Tom said, pointing to where it came from. Kara hugged him as Lee patted Olaf on the back. Brandon went to high-five Ron, but he only shook his head.
“We have contact,” smiled Ken into the radio. “East-southeast. Repeat, we have contact.”
There was a pause, then, “Alpha Team has no contact, Kenny, repeat, no contact with your team or the subject.”
“The sound must be playing tricks off this damn terrain,” Ken replied. “Omega Team is proceeding to intercept. Over.”
Ken yelled, “All right, let’s go. Pull in and we’ll stay together.” Everyone hurried back into their gear and followed Ken into the fog, scurrying over fallen logs and tangled brush. The pace was tough, but Ken drove them for nearly ten minutes. The fog became increasingly dense. They individually called out the names of the Petersons at intervals, but there was no response. When their adrenaline had worn off, Ken called for them to stop and take a break.
“Where the hell are they?” Ron asked between mouthfuls of jerky.
Tom said, “You would think we’d have found them by now.”
“I know. We should be right on top of them,” Ken acknowledged, noting the satisfied smirk on Ron’s face.
“This terrain is very interesting,” Lee noted. They sat between two small hills, at the mouth of a narrow valley. “These hills and valleys make for very interesting study for someone with a psychoacoustical background.”
The group fell silent. “Yeah, what he said,” Ron smirked.
Olaf stood. He swigged from his canteen and looked out into the fog. “They are close. I can feel it.”
“Well! Good thing we brought you along,” Brandon said. He and Ron high-fived and chortled as Olaf moved off into the brush.
“Don’t go far,” Ken said absently, his nose in the map.
Olaf nodded. Tom and Kara used a cigarette lighter to heat slices of sausage, then fed them to each other. Ron and Brandon swapped dirty jokes. Lee engrossed himself in a very interesting toadstool growing on a fallen log.
After a while, Olaf returned. Ken checked his watch and found it almost two-thirty.
“Well, let’s get going. After we’re set, we’ll do another voice check.” Ken watched the teens scramble into readiness while he picked up the radio. “Search Base, this is Omega team requesting a voice check.”
A loud burst of static came in response. Ken repeated his request. After a moment, Bruce’s voice came through in a shrill cry. “Omega…repeat…voice check?”
“Yes, Search Base, a voice check. Do you copy?”
“Barely…ahead and try, you should be…them.”
“Search Base, voice check on three. One. Two.” Ken released the key. “Three.”
The team yelled into the damp fog. They waited no more than a moment before a male voice called, “Over here!”
“South,” Olaf said. “Due south, down this valley. I’d bet my life on it.”
“No need,” Ken said. He depressed the mic, saying, “Search Base, this is Omega Team. We have contact bearing one-eight-zero.”
The radio was silent.
“What’s wrong with it?” Kara asked.
“Nothing,” Ken said. “It’s this gully sucking up our signal. They can’t be far off, so let’s go.”
The team set off in as much of a jog as they could manage with Ken at the point. They pushed through the fog as the gully deepened. The walls of the gully went from a thick carpet of moss to exposed earth and loose rocks. The trees stood impossibly taller above them on the hilltops.
Then the gully opened into a wide and flat depression. The pines were old growth, with no branches lower than twenty feet. Oregon grapes and bracken ferns carpeted the forest floor in the pleasant, park-like way of undisturbed nature. Behind them on either side of the gully, a cliff rose invisibly into the fog. Ken stopped and squinted into the haze.
“What the hell?” he asked the trees around him. “Where the hell is he?”
“Maybe he’s hiding,” suggested Brandon. “We should have tried olly-olly-oxen free.” Ron, Kara and Tom snickered.
“The scenery is quite remarkable,” Lee said, “but I must agree with Ken. We should have found them by now.”
“No shit, genius boy,” Ron shot.
“Shut up,” Ken said. He looked to the map and cursed again. He cracked his knuckles before he clutched the microphone. “C’mon, let’s go,” he said.
After marching ahead for a few hundred feet, he keyed the microphone. “Omega Team to Search Base, do you read, Search Base?”
Horrible buzzing static squelched from the speaker. Ken adjusted a dial and tried again. “Search Base, this is Omega Team. Do you read me?”
The static was quieter, but unbroken.
“Batteries shot?” Tom asked Ken.
“Not with that static,” Lee answered for him. “The unit appears to be adequately powered, just not receiving any coherent signal.”
Ken removed his pack and examined the radio closer. He checked the antennae, the battery, he even shook it to listen for any interior component that might have come loose. After checking everything, he looked around. The terrain was low and flat. Nothing to block the signal.
Ken’s
voice tensed as he keyed the mic again. “Search Base, this is Omega Team. Are you receiving us?”
The static crackled ceaselessly.
Ken looked ready to smash it over his knee, but he stopped.
“Here,” he thrust the radio at Kara. “We have to keep trying. Voice check on three. Ready?”
Ken did a countdown before they let their collective voices thunder into the forest. There was an incoherent cry in the distance, not as loud as before, but still close.
“Do you think he’s a runner?” Tom asked Ken.
In all of Ken’s years as a searcher, despite all that he had seen, he had yet to encounter a subject who, being lost and alone in the woods, suffered from a phobia that caused them to run from their approaching rescuers.
“Could be,” Ken admitted sheepishly, “but I’ve never heard of one who answered voice checks. And that means he could be separated from his family.”
“Well then, let’s find these folks and get back to camp. I’ve got an appointment with my own bed I’d like to keep.” The others echoed Brandon’s sentiment. They spread out and walked toward the voice.
For twenty minutes the team walked in silence, broken only by the sound of their footsteps and Kara entreating Search Base to respond.
“Oh, I give up,” Kara snarled. “This thing is a worthless piece of crap.”
“Oh come on,” Tom chided her, throwing his arm around her. “Cheer up. It’s not like we can get lost out here.”
A current of uncomfortable laughter ran between the teens. Ken felt as if someone had slapped him in the side of his head with a two-by-four. He stopped and checked his map again.
The rest of the group stopped behind him. Lee leaned against a tree.
Olaf put his hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”
“I’m all right,” he panted, taking off his glasses to wipe them.
Ken, meanwhile, had removed his map from the ziplock bag and unfolded it, revealing all the territory in the area. “Fuck,” he finally said.
Tom put the group’s concern into words. “What?”
“Now I definitely don’t know where the hell we are. Dammit!” His cry echoed between the trees like a muted voice check.
Lost and Found Page 2
