I shrug. “Fuck if I know. Maybe they were looking for a good stash spot.”
He nods, considering. After a moment, Sheriff changes the subject, asking, "How'd Jo end up with a son none of us knew about?"
"You'll have to ask her."
"Nah, that's okay. Not my business." He brushes dust off the top of the dash. "I expect you to thank me at your wedding. As far as I see it, you and Jo are together courtesy of me."
I smile. "How is it you thinkthisis your business?"
"Everyone loves love, Wyatt. You'll see. People will be all over your business now."
The sheriff's words make me think about the concept of marriage. I never saw it for myself. Never saw a wife and kids, like my brothers. I assumed I'd always be the fun uncle. Until Jo.
She makes me see different paths for myself when all I saw before were roadblocks. With Jo, the entire world is within my reach. She makes me better, simply by existing.
The sheriff takes the bumpy turnoff for Devil's Canyon, and I focus my thoughts on what we're setting out to do.
The county searchand rescue posse pulls in seconds after us. Six people climb out of the black SUV, all wearing red T-shirts and threading their arms through packs that they secure into place with clips on the front of their chests.
They are all volunteers and highly organized. Backgrounds in military, security, and medical environments have qualified them for this team, but it's really their desire to do good in this world that makes it possible.
I know this because I looked into the requirements once, thinking it sounded like something I'd be interested in. Turns out, I have the desire but not the background.
Sheriff Monroe hops out and begins barking orders. I creep closer to the edge and peek over. Sure as shit, down at the bottom are the prone forms of Ricky and Chris Marks. Still clipped into their harnesses, they lie on their backs. From this distance, I can't determine their injuries.
"Wyatt," Sheriff hollers. "Show search and rescue where you think they might be able to get in. And hurry up, the storm’s not going to hold off on our account."
I hurry to the group with the red shirts and SAR emblazoned on their chests. After a short nod of acknowledgment, I start explaining where I think we can enter the canyon without rappelling or needing a helicopter. "There's a spot on the far side, almost like a hiking trail, but you have to be careful because it drops off quickly. But if you stay pressed to the canyon wall you can follow it and it leads to a bit of a shelf about halfway down. It'll be a lot easier and safer to rescue from there instead of up here."
"Got it," a large, bearded man says. "Show us where it starts."
As one, we jog to the spot. Like I told the sheriff, it isn't easily accessible. Prickly pear cactus grows between us and the place where the small dip into the canyon begins.
I eye SAR's T-shirts. "Do you have more to wear than that?"
Without responding, each person removes a long-sleeved shirt and gloves from their pack and puts them on. The bearded man gives a hand signal and they fall into line. He leads them into the cactus, and they pick their way through. It's not dense like a jungle, but it's not pleasant to walk through, even with a layer protecting the skin.
All this for two guys who are rebuilding a meth lab and cherry-picking potential customers. Not to mention preying and capitalizing on an old woman's mental illness.
When SAR pulls Ricky and Chris out, I might just shove them back in.
In the not-too-far distance, a lightning bolt fractures the sky. I hustle back to the sheriff and tell him the team is descending. The way the canyon is situated, with the recesses and grooves, it's difficult to see the team.
"Who called for help?" I ask, just now realizing I don't know any details of what actually happened.
"One of them boys down there. Lucky as hell one of them was able to reach their phone."
"Do you know how they fell?"
"Best I can tell, they anchored in around that tree"—he points back at a thick-trunked, mature Bald Cypress, much like the ones behind Jo's house—"which seems like a perfectly good idea. The locking carabiner is still in place, too. But the rope is missing, which leads me to believe they made a mistake in knot tying."
I know nothing about rappelling, so I nod at everything he says and accept it as fact. A deputy I don't recognize comes over, turning up his radio so the sheriff can hear. The buzzy sound of a voice crackles through.
"We've made it to the shelf, but the water's rising quickly. There's nothing to anchor to here, so we're going to free climb."
"No," the sheriff barks. "It's too dangerous. I'll call in the chopper."
"We can reach them, Sheriff."
