As she leaves mud spray in her wake, Jeff wonders, “Does she have a scent to follow?”
“No. She’ll lead us to any humans in the area. Because of the rotten weather, we might get lucky. Hold on, my sister is calling me.”
“Hi, Kell, wazzup?” I aim for casual, but with muck dragging at my boots, it’s hard to hide the knot tightening in my gut.
She huffs out her breath as she slams a car door. “Holy crap, Kade. I heard how you saved Buttons. Are you okay? How many stitches this time?”
Shaking my head at the damn rescue, I step around a deep puddle. “None. Listen, I’m in the woods. Lost hiker. Before I lose signal, has there been any increase in Canadian activity?”
The short pause tells me her trauma still remains close to the surface, making me feel guilty for bringing it up. “Sorry to ask.”
“S’okay. It’s been quiet since Hunt shut down the coyotes bringing in the Iranian chemists. Want me to check with him?”
“Yeah. Tell him Griff has the lead.”
“Yikes. Is he with you now?”
“Nah. Jeff and I moved forward with Becca. Frank went with Manny to the border. Celia’s in the parking lot, waiting for volunteers. Not sure how long this will take.”
“Understood. Stay safe. Love you.”
“Love you, too, sis.”
After she hangs up, miles of damp, endless wood stretch in front of us.
Jeff and I hike hard, barely pausing. Our canine scouts ahead, occasionally circling back with a bark to move us along.
As the trail narrows to little more than a deer path, fog curls, swirling in the hollows. We pass tree trunks splintered by past storms, moss-covered rocks, and the occasional muddy boot print—not fresh though.
Despite trying to focus on the way forward, the missing woman’s face keeps floating to the surface. There’s something familiar about her, but I shake it off. This is not the time for déjà vu.
By the time we reach the clearing with the charcoal-blackened fire pit, my thighs burn. A muddy Becca whines while she sniffs the overlapping footprints.
Normally, I’d let her track, but layers of treads crisscross the dirt. There’s no way to know which, if any, belongs to our missing pilot.
“I’m going to check the perimeter, be back before dark.” My partner’s frown echoes my frustration.
“Go girl, go with Jeff.”
My dog hesitates, glancing between us, tail twitching with uncertainty, so I wave her on. We all have jobs to do.
Now alone in the pink twilight, I launch my drone. Far below, Celia directs the volunteers to make camp.
On a whim, I try the SAT phone. As expected, there’s no signal.
When darkness falls, I switch the hovercraft to infrared, scanning the forest canopy until my partner returns. “See anything?”
“Nothing.” I exchange a grim glance, say goodnight, then retreat into my tent.
Tonight, none of the usual dreams invade my subconscious.
Gunfire explodes around me as I sprint for the extraction point.
The helo pilot’s voice crackles in my earpiece, “Say again? Comms are down. I repeat—comms down. If you can hear me, Zulu-Five, I’m landing in three. You’ve got one minute.”
Fuck.
The bird drops lower, rotor wash kicking up sand.
