“But really what happened was?” Reaper asked.
“I saw her when I was an adult and asked. She said she’d shift so she could see behind her in a shiny surface.”
“In my experience, there’s usually an explanation.”
“And in this case?” Gabriel asked.
“I have nada. Whiskey bays when she’s on track. I’ve heard her howl at an occasional fire truck. But I don’t know any dog that could remember a song and spontaneously sing it. That’s …” Reaper taped the screen and leaned in to watch again. “Yeah, that’s just remarkable. I’m a little bit siding with Cathy here. I think your dog is possessed.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sommer
When Sommer descended the mountain, the exertion had been a lightning bolt of nerve pain that shot from her foot, up her leg, and into her sciatica. And there it blazed for most of the trek back to base.
To say she had been elated to be down was an understatement.
But those feelings were weighed down by the blanket of concern she had for the kids.
Wendy had moved off to the side to radio in her headcount.
Sommer heard the comms person ask Wendy what her confidence was that they’d searched the trail thoroughly. Wendy said thirty-five percent, and Sommer had to sit with that number.
That number was probably based on some formula Wendy had learned in search school, the leader's field experience that took in things like light quality, volunteer behavior, but mostly it sounded like “vibes.”
That was okay with Sommer; she’d save more than a few lives with vibes.
But after all that effort—and it was effort to scale that particular trail at night in complete silence, so they might hear the children off on either side—thirty-five percent felt low.
Sommer tried not to take it personally.
Marna had leaned in. “You only get a hundred on that test if you come back with kids.”
Sommer nodded then took a swig from her water hose. She was getting low and had to suck hard to fill her mouth.
She turned to Abbie, who had her phone out. Abbie said without looking up, “The closest hotel with rooms available is farther away than home.”
Marna stood wide-legged, looking like she could sleep standing up. “It’s the number of people they have out on the mountain.”
“Amazing,” Abbie grinned as she swiped her phone shut. “This really makes me feel good about our community.”
“Heartwarming,” Marna murmured. “I’m going to set up my tent by the car. None of us can drive.”
“You don’t think we should go to my house?” Sommer asked. “If we’re all singing with the radio, we should be okay.”
“You’re a nurse,” Marna said. “You deal with traffic accidents all the time. You know better than that. Sleep-deprived is as hazardous as someone who's been doing shots.”
There was a commotion at the other end of the tent, and everyone stilled and watched, holding their breath, crossing their fingers.
And then things settled back into the same rhythm as before.
“Ladies,” Wendy said, speaking to their group, “thank you for coming out in the middle of the night. Your help was greatly appreciated. There’s food and beverages available in the support tent. Take a nap in your cars to make sure you can drive safely.”
The team hugged and said good-bye; then it was done.
No resolution.
“This sucks,” Abbie said as they turned to leave. “I know you two are used to this because your shift ends at the hospital and you hand your patients over to the next round. But I want to know the kids are fine before we go.”
