Page 3 of The Search

Monty pressed against her legs. Sad.

“Me too.” She opened the door of the mobile home for Monty. “It happens. Maybe next time it won’t be that way.”

Sad.

She filled up Monty’s water dish. “Drink, boy.”

Sad. He lay down in front of the metal dish.

He’d drink soon, but she’d wait for an hour or two before she tried to feed him. He was too upset to eat. He never got used to finding the dead.

Neither did she.

She sat down on the floor beside Monty and put her arms around him. “It will be okay,” she whispered. “Maybe next time we’ll find a little boy alive like we did yesterday.” Was it yesterday? The days blurred together when they were on a search. “Remember the child, Monty?”

Child.

“He’s alive because of you. That’s why we have to go on. Even if it hurts.” Jesus, it did hurt. It hurt seeing Monty this upset. It hurt remembering that girl clutching the rosary. It hurt knowing there would probably not be another person found alive.

But probably was not certainly. There was always hope as long as you kept trying.

She closed her eyes. She was tired and all her muscles ached. So what? She’d have time for a long rest later. All she needed right now was a few hours of sleep and she’d be ready to go on. “Come on, let’s take a nap.” She stretched out beside the retriever. “Then we’ll go see if we can find anyone else alive in this hell-hole.”

Monty was whining softly as he put his head on his paws.

“Shh.” She buried her face in his fur. “It’s okay.” It wasn’t okay. Death was never okay. “We’re together. We’re doing our job. We just have to get through the next few days. Then we’ll be back at the ranch.” She began stroking his head. “You’ll like that, won’t you?”

Sad.

He was hurting, but it wasn’t as bad as usual. Sometimes isolated cases were worse for him. It wasn’t that he became calloused to the massive loss of life he encountered in major disasters. It was just that they were working so constantly, the reaction was delayed. He’d be ready to go again in a few hours.

But would she?

She’d be fine. Just as she’d told Boyd. The last few days were always the worst. Hope was dimming, desperation growing, and the sadness lay in your heart and mind until you thought you couldn’t bear it.

But she always did bear it. You had to bear it because there was always a chance someone was out there waiting. Someone who would be lost if she and Monty didn’t find her.

Monty rolled over and lay on his side. Sleep.

“Yes, that’s what we should do.” Sleep, friend, and so will I. Let the memory of rosaries and unborn children fade away. Let death go. Let hope come back. “Just a little nap . . .”

Santo Camaro, Colombia

June 12

“How many dead?” Logan asked.

“Four.” Castleton’s lips tightened grimly. “And two men are in the local hospital in serious condition. Can we leave now? The stench of this place makes me want to throw up. I feel guilty as hell. I’m the one who hired Bassett for this job. I liked him.”

“In a minute.” Logan’s gaze wandered around the scorched ruins that had once been a state-of-the-art facility. It had been only three days, but the jungle was already reclaiming its own. Grass sprouted among the fallen timbers, vines reached toward the site in a macabre embrace from nearby trees. “Were you able to recover any of Bassett’s work?”

“No.”

Logan looked down at the dark red carnelian scarab in his hand. “And Rudzak sent this to me this morning?”

“I guess it was Rudzak. It was on my doorstep with your name on it.”

“It was Rudzak.”