by Christa Wick
And they were definitely hunting. Big brother robbed them of their meal this afternoon before they had time to do much more than kill the cow. I inspected the carcass before heading back to the ranch. There wasn't a bite of flesh missing from it.
Two miles on, the wind changes direction. Half a mile further, it catches us in a swirl. Teddy fights the controls with everything he has.
Once more, I take my eyes off the tablet. When we are flying straight again, I check the playback.
"Turn around, half a click."
After a quarter mile backtracking, I see the solitary dot again.
"Circle," I order. "Lower."
"Distance is distance, kid. Doesn't matter if I'm flying horizontal or vertical. We're burning fuel."
I jab a finger at the tablet.
"That's him." I laugh, surprised as hell that I have finally found him. "Or a really skinny bear."
"Now what?" the old man asks.
I activate the radio then swipe at the screen as I type. I send the GPS coordinates in a text at the same time I speak them over the radio to Siobhan.
She immediately begins redirecting the closest search teams. With the day's dose of bad luck, I'm not surprised to learn that the nearest team is five miles out with the roughest terrain to cross.
"You think the boy will stay put?" Teddy asks.
I shrug. If we head back to the ranch, Caiden may try to follow the helicopter's noise or blinking lights—same as he followed after the butterfly. And if he does, we not only lose his position, but he would be walking straight toward the last location of the cougars.
I plug in new navigation coordinates for Teddy to follow, then stow the tablet.
"Are you on a suicide mission?"
Ignoring the question, I put on the rest of the rappelling gear then check the harness one last time.
"Boy, that wasn't rhetorical!"
Teddy can shout all he wants. I can tell from the feel of the chopper that he is headed toward the coordinates I plugged in.
Three minutes on, we are hovering at the edge of a stand of trees. Maybe a football field in length, an uneven field separates the pine from the rock face of a five-thousand-foot high plateau.
A fresh gust hits the chopper. My feet start to slide. I tighten my arms and my grip on the ropes. One foot leaves the floor of the chopper, but Teddy comes out of the tilt. I grab the roof of the helicopter to keep from spilling forward.
"Damn wind is pushing up hard from the ground."
I nod, then open the door.
Teddy barks a warning. "Barrett couldn't make that!"
"I'm not Barrett," I remind him as I step onto the skid.
Fresh sweat pours down the old man's face.
"I don't know how close I can get you."
He probably can't see my smile, but it's there.
Nervous as fuck, but it's there.
"Well, I've got two-hundred feet of rope."
Teddy swears under his breath but begins a slow descent.
Even now, when we are so close to Caiden, the wind refuses to relent. The chopper bobs to and fro as it loses elevation. Teddy calls out the distance as he wrestles the controls closer to submission.
"Four-hundred. Three-eighty. Three-fifty."
An upswell hits us.
"Three-seventy…damn it!"
Somewhere above us, God or the Devil presses his thumb on the rotors.
We plummet.
"Three-fifty…forty…twenty..."
Panic fills the old man's voice as we descend too quickly.
The strongest gust yet hits the tail rotor. We start to spin. One foot slips off the skid.
Too busy regaining control, Teddy has stopped counting out our elevation. But I see the ground coming up fast.
"Kid, no!"
I push off the skid, his warning coming too late to heed even if I wanted to.
The rope runs through both my guide and brake hands.
The chopper lifts, then dips, the wind slinging it toward the rock face.
Falling...
Swinging…
I'm going to hit the side of the plateau or the ground. It's even money which it will be. Teddy's odds aren't much better.
Beneath me, the rope whips wildly, its sound eerily reminiscent of the tattered strips of my torn parachute.
Ignoring a whisper of panic, I bring my brake hand up to the small of my back. The position and my gloved grip should stop my descent before I reach the end of the rope and hurtle fifty feet to the ground.
The maneuver works. I slow and, for one victorious second, I stop.
The stalled momentum is only vertical. Teddy regains control of the helicopter, sharply pulling back from the plateau. I am jerked away from the structure. A second correction by Teddy—or another blast of wind—whips me in the opposite direction.
I slam into the rock face. My grip goes slack, the ring finger on my right hand broken and its middle finger jammed when I hit the wall butt first.
The last dozen feet of rope slip through my grasp.
An outcropping on the rock face breaks my fall at the same time one of the sharp-edged stones littering its surface cuts a two-inch gash across the right side of my abdomen.
More stony blades slice at my harness and the straps on my backpack and holster. I scramble to keep hold of the outcropping.
"Talk to me, Sutton Lee!"
"Alive!"
I follow the confirmation of my continued existence with a mouthful of cursing as the last of my holster shears from the pistol's weight. My best chance at defending Caiden from the cougars bounces down the side of the plateau.
"Return to base," I yell. "I'm okay."
"Boy—"
"You don't have the fuel to argue with me, old man."
A fresh string of swear words assaults my ears, some of Teddy's combinations novel despite my eight years in the Army.
"Leave," I urge one last time as I settle onto the outcropping.
Relenting, he points the helicopter toward the ranch. I sit motionless, catching my breath, until Teddy's taillights begin to fade.
Grimacing with every move, I manage to work the flashlight and first aid kit out of my pack. I check the gash in my side first. There's a lot of blood, but the cut isn't very deep. I clean the area, then pull out the wound stapler contained in the kit.
A shaky breath leaves me with each of the six squeezes it takes to hold the sliced flesh together.
Next, I splint the injured fingers on my right hand and repair the ravaged strap on my backpack.
I check my watch. The face is cracked but the display still works. The sky should begin lightening in two hours or so.
I can't wait for light before I descend to the field and head into the trees.
Even though time is of the essence, I stay where I am for a few more minutes, shining my light down the side of the plateau in search of the lost handgun and the best path down.
Seeing nothing but half eroded rock, I ease myself over the edge of the outcropping, one boot slowly sliding around in search of the first foothold. Finding it, I begin the slow, painful descent.
Reaching the bottom, I stop to inventory what remains and what is broken beyond use. The hydration chamber inside my military specification backpack absorbed some of the impact from hitting the rock face and survived without puncturing or breaking the seal. My hand radio and cell phone are busted as shit. But the damage to my equipment ends there. I have the med kit, flashlight, a flare gun and three flares, a compass, bear spray, a KA-BAR knife with a seven-inch fixed blade, food for Caiden, a multi-tool Swiss Army Knife, a fire kit, a signaling kit and a few more bits and bobs that will only matter once I find the boy.
With the helmet, I still have communications, but only at short range. Other than the gash in my side and the two fingers throbbing madly within the confines of the splint, I am uninjured.
Pulling the compass out, I head in Caiden's last known direction.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Clutching my arm, Delia pulls me onto the front porch of Lindy Turk's house as a navy blue helicopter lands on the manicured lawn.
"Is that Teddy?"
Before she can answer, there is a rush of feet through the house. Siobhan thunders down the stairs from her command post in the library. Lindy and an exhausted Sage burst through the double doors that separate the dining room from the great room.
Delia retreats to the side of the porch, her body melding into the shadows of a long night. Over the wash of the rotor blades as they wind down, I hear her whispering to herself, the words repeating.
"It's just the old man…it's just the old man."
Siobhan reaches the pilot first, practically dragging him from his seat. She is yelling, but I can't make out her words or his replies. Then she talks into her radio, her update to the wider network of search teams also transmitting to the radio Lindy clutches to her chest.
"Sutton is on the ground and moving toward target. I repeat, Sutton is on the ground and moving in on target's location."
There is another dash of conversation between her and the old man before the radio crackles again.
"All search teams be on the lookout for two cougars in the vicinity of target's location."
I reach Delia before she can collapse. Wrapping my arms around her, I brace her back against the house and push my torso against hers.
Emerson steps onto the porch. He glances at Delia, then at me. In that brief instant of contact, he offers the smallest of nods.
"We have another helicopter inbound," Emerson announces as Siobhan leads the exhausted pilot onto the porch. "They were dispatched shortly after we received the coordinates from Sutton."
"How long?" I ask.
He activates his phone to check the time. "Approximately seventy minutes."
Still propping Delia up, I feel her tremble against me. The same question running through my head likely races through hers.
Can Sutton reach Caiden before the cougars do?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cupping my hands to my mouth, I shout Caiden's name twice. Standing stock still, I strain to hear a reply. Only the wind rushing through the trees answers. After a few seconds, I move again, counting out my steps. When I reach another hundred steps, some two-hundred feet in new distance covered, I repeat the process.
I am on callout number forty-seven, putting me somewhere around one-point-seven miles into the woods. If I am headed in the right direction and the boy hasn't run off—or worse, been dragged away—then I should be damned close to being within hearing range.
With no reply, I trudge on. At twenty-five steps, I startle an irate squirrel. At fifty, I crawl over a cluster of logs that have fallen at different times, some to the point of rotting out. One looks like today's winds ripped it from the earth.
On the eightieth step, I enter a disturbing zone of silence.
Here, the trees are so dense that the sound of the high winds above the tree line doesn't penetrate. There is no scurry of critters, no nervous chirping of birds.
I cup my mouth and shout.
"Caiden!"
Then again.
"Caiden!"
Heart jackhammering in my chest, I wait.
"Dad!"
"Caiden, I hear you!"
"Dad!"
I break into a run, my flashlight sweeping side to side. This time I stop every ten steps and call his name. His replies refine my direction.
"I see you, Daddy! I see your light!"
It breaks my heart that Caiden doesn't recognize my voice. The pain is not for me, but for the boy when he discovers that it is not his father here to rescue him.
"Stay put," I yell. "I am coming to you."
I break past a tight line of trees. The beam of my flashlight falls on his dirty face and then the boy launches himself straight at me.
The flashlight escapes my grip. My right hand screams in agony as I catch Caiden.
"Sarge…" I set him on the ground and take a knee. Like Leah on the dock, he won't let go of me.
"Sarge, it's not your dad."
The boy pulls back, wipes at his face with dirt-streaked hands. Fresh grief flashes across his features before he throws himself at me again.
"Sarge, we can't stay here," I say after a few more seconds. I pry his arms from my neck, retrieve the flashlight and run its beam over his body.
"Are you hurt anywhere?"
"Hungry," he answers, his voice raspy. "Thirsty…can I go home now?"
I unwind the cord from the backpack's hydration unit, uncap it and order him to suck.
"Start with a little," I warn, worried that the water will make him sick from drinking too quickly after a hard day of nothing.
Finding a protein bar, I tear open the wrapper and hand it to him. As Caiden starts to eat, I guide him into a sitting position and remove his shoes. The socks are soaked from sweat. I peel them off, clean his feet and attend to the blisters that have formed on the left foot.
"Fresh pair," I say, removing the socks I brought with me. "Your mom said they looked just about the right size."
"Is she mad?"
"Worried," I answer. "We have to get moving, Sarge. There's a field big enough to land a helicopter about two miles from here. That's where we rendezvous."
"Will it wait? I'm tired."
I don't want to scare him with talk of the cougars I spotted. I hope the wind wiped out his scent, hope it whipped all traces of him around and up until the big cats are chasing shadows instead of dogging the boy's every step.
But it's not just Caiden's scent I have to worry about. I have been shouting his name, running my flashlight over the ground and across the trees. More than smell carries. My actions in searching for the boy were also a beacon for predators.
"Here," I say, fitting the backpack on him. "We'll give those feet a break."
Reaching into the pack, I shift the cargo around, transferring some of the weight to my pockets. There is a second light, one that clips onto my shirt. It is small, but the LED beam is powerful.
Removing the helmet, I strap it to his head.
He wiggles his shoulders, scrunches his neck.
"Doesn't fit."
"I know, but the wind broke a lot of branches and they're still falling."
I am lying to the boy. I want as much protection between his flesh and a cougar's claws as I can get.
"Here." I hand him a second protein bar and the water tube before hoisting him onto my back.
Half a mile on, I stop and give both of our bodies a break.
"You were snoring," I tease.
"Maybe a little," he admits before his voice drops low. "Is Leah okay?"
"Yeah. Her hands are a bit roughed up because she untied the wrong end of the dock line then held onto it until we found her."
He takes a sip from the water tube then offers it to me. I drink, one hand manipulating the pack to check the water level. The cushioned pouch holds three liters. I figure two liters remain.
"I shouldn't have left her."
"We'll deal with all that later."
In truth, others will deal with it later. It is for Delia to discipline the boy and for Jake to decide who he lets around his daughter.
"Are we still friends?"
"You and Leah?" I ask.
He shuffles his legs before answering.
"You and me."
"Always, Sarge."
In the dark, he finds my hand and gives it a hard squeeze. A few minutes later, I haul him up on my back once more.
With a rough estimate of the distance we travel, I repeat the break at the mile mark. Carrying the boy, it has taken an hour to reach this point. Light begins to filter through the top of the trees. What I can see of the sky is no longer black. Instead, pre-dawn has colored it a deep violet.
When we start out again, Caiden wants to walk on his own. His pace is slow, hard to match. I give it a quarter mile then fit the helmet and pack on him again before he hops onto a log and climbs onto m
y back.
Dawn penetrates the purpled gloom that we have walked in the last half hour. The trees are thinning, the gaps from one trunk to the next wider. I catch glimpses of the plateau I slammed into in the dark.
I hear the distant whir of helicopter blades. My heart sings. We are almost out, almost free.
"Hear that, Sarge!"
The boy answers with a fierce, excited squeeze around my shoulders.
Then every muscle in his body tenses against me as a new sound filters through the trees.
Not when we're this close, I plead with the woods. Not after all the miles, all the hours Caiden spent alone in the dark.
The snarl repeats.
I try to slide Caiden onto his feet.
"No!" He clings relentlessly to my back. "Don't leave me!"
"Need my hands free, Sarge."
I pry the boy off me, but seize his wrist.
"Do NOT run. You run and all you are to them is prey."
Facing the direction of the snarl, I move Caiden behind me and thread two of his fingers through my belt loop.
"Team formation, Sarge. You don't let go of me and you move when I move, got it?"
"Ye…yes."
Holding the flare gun with my injured right hand and the canister of bear spray with my left, I slowly back us out of the woods.
The helicopter confuses the cougars. That's not a bad thing. Otherwise, we probably wouldn't have known they were close until they went in for the kill.
"Don't you worry, Sarge. I've got a plan for everything."
Despite the still distant chop of blades, when we are fifteen feet into the open, I look up to make sure the sky above me is clear. Seeing it is, I fire the flare gun and immediately reload.
"Those cougars don't want shot with a flare gun," I assure the boy. "They want easy prey like cows and rabbits."
I can feel the shake in Caiden's hand, but he continues to match me step for step.
"Helicopter is on the way. We just have to stay smart and calm until it gets here."
Standing in the middle of the field, I look up and see the brown and gold paint of the Tri-County Search and Rescue team. Gaze jumping to the tree line, I spot one of the cougars poking her head out.
