Page 38 of Desperate Creed

Grace went through the motions, but she hadn’t latched onto another scent cone. Creed worried that she’d gotten too overheated and too worked up over the crying baby. In this kind of heat and humidity Creed always kept an eye on his dogs. He restricted Grace to twenty-minute searches followed by thirty-minute breaks. She usually fussed about the breaks, but now she appeared bored.

He led her to a grassy patch, free of debris and pulled out her water dish. She did a lazy-sit and stared over his shoulder. She was distracted. She sniffed the air then stood back up. Creed recognized her agitation.

He glanced over his shoulder, and now, he recognized what was making her anxious.

Grace could smell the approaching storm.

Weather patterns produced their own distinctive odors, and Grace was like a canine barometer. She wasn’t afraid like some of Creed’s other dogs, but she did become restless by a drop in pressure, and she could sense any shift in the static electric field. From the curl of her tail and the pitch of her ears, Creed knew she was already on edge. The incoming storm was close.

He still hoped Jason and Scout could do a fresh search of the field. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Elizabeth Garner out here to be battered by a second round of wind and rain. It no longer mattered whether she was alive or dead, he just wanted to find her. But the clouds were snuffing out the few hours of daylight that remained.

Sheriff Krenshaw waved at him and walked over. There was no hesitation as he sloshed through the receding water.

“We have to pull the response teams,” he yelled to Creed. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. The man didn’t look happy about it but also looked exhausted. “I have a couple of rooms reserved for you guys.” He gestured back to the interstate. “You can get on and head up north toward Montgomery. About five miles.”

“That’s nice of you, Sheriff. You didn’t need to do that.”

“It’s the least I could do. If it wasn’t for you, we’d never have found that little one.”

“Grace found him.”

“That, she did.” He gave her a genuine smile, but Grace had started pacing at the end of her leash. “She’s picking up another scent?”

“No, it’s the storm.”

“Look, Trooper Sykes told me you’ve been beating down this field looking for that missing driver.”

Creed rubbed at his bristled jaw. In the back of his mind he could hear the mantra: Grief belongs to the families. Dread belongs to the handlers. Did he do enough? Was it possible he missed something?

“Right now,” the sheriff continued, “You need to go take care of yourself and your dog, but I hope you’ll stick around the area tomorrow. Meteorologists are saying we’re in for a helluva weekend. I’d sure appreciate having your crew nearby and available if that’s possible.”

“Of course.” Creed’s eyes were on Jason and Scout. Despite the darkening sky Jason had the tailgate up and was getting his gear.

“We might do one last search,” he told the sheriff. “A fresh dog could make a difference.” He saw Jason glance back at him, and Creed gestured to him.

“Just make it quick. You know the way it is down here. Sunshine one minute and the next, all hell breaks loose.”

Scout was already bounding toward them. A couple of hours in the SUV would have the dog eager to get to work. He looked like an undisciplined jackass, practically dragging Jason, but the young black Lab had come a long way. And so had his handler. The two misfits made a perfect team.

Creed glanced over at the sheriff and saw the man’s gaze lock on Jason’s prosthetic. It was six months new to Jason and sometimes Creed saw the kid as uncomfortable with it as he had been with the empty hanging sleeve.

The technology was state-of-the-art, DARPA’s newest and best, but it came in stages. Jason’s version didn’t hide the black metal. A skin-like material was still to come, along with more sensors. For now, he looked like a bionic man with a sleek black robotic arm, hand and fingers. Hannah’s boys called him the Transformer, and Creed could tell Jason liked that. But then the kid would get out in public and practically hunch his body in a defensive mode. It had taken Creed a while to realize Jason’s chip-on-the-shoulder attitude wasn’t exactly all about the missing arm.

He introduced the sheriff to both Jason and Scout. Grace had come over to greet the Lab then she wagged in front of Jason until he reached down and petted her. They were close to the smashed vehicle, and Jason’s eyes were already scanning over it.

To Jason, Creed said, “The passenger was found belted in, but the driver’s missing. You might be able to get some scent from the inside. The seat, the floorboard. Maybe even the steering wheel.” By now, Michael Garner’s body had already been removed, but Creed knew Scout might still be distracted with the smells left behind from it.

Just then, Creed noticed the small door to the gas tank was open. The tornado had done strange things to the vehicle and prying open that compartment was the least of the strange things. But the gas cap hung loose by its cord. Would the storm’s pressure be able to unscrew the cap?

He turned to look back up the incline to the interstate junction. First responders, law enforcement officers and volunteers were packing up. Where there were once buildings—a gas station, convenience store and fast food restaurant—now stood piles of bricks, shredded drywall, cinder blocks and two-by-fours. A couple of tow trucks and a trailer were loaded with the crumpled remains of vehicles.

“Sheriff, is there anyone up there who went through the storm?”

“Owner of the gas station is trying to salvage some of his inventory before the next downpour.”

“Do you mind if I ask him a few questions?”

“What’s this about?”