7
BRINNA MADE IT to Mesquite, Nevada, before exhaustion hit like a brick. She had to stop, so she picked a hotel in the little border town. She called the search center in Utah to let them know where she was. They told her they couldn’t do much in the dark anyway and advised her to drive safe. The location of Mesquite was a blessing and a curse. A little over halfway to Bryce Canyon, Mesquite was in the middle of barren desert. Brinna hated deserts and wide-open spaces and knew the only situation that could pull her through the desert to a place like Bryce Canyon was a search.
She preferred her neighborhood, crowded with houses, and her city, packed with cars and traffic. The open emptiness took her back to her childhood and memories of crying out for someone to help her when there was no answer but an eerie, empty echo. Sleep for a couple of hours meant she could resume the drive in the dark and any more barren wasteland would be masked by the night.
The sky was turning pink as she entered the park. Mountain time made Brinna adjust her watch—it was an hour later here. She’d looked over a map before she left home and had it open next to her in case she had trouble. But when she told the ranger at the park entrance who she was, he directed her to the staging area. The kid had gone missing in a part of the park called Fairyland Canyon, and the searchers were staging in the parking area at the trailhead. Brinna had to admit the scenery was interesting here. She’d read that the towering geological formations she could see were called hoodoos.
“It would almost be funny,” she said to Hero, “to be lost in Fairyland with hoodoos.”
But it wasn’t. The boy had been out for almost thirty-six hours in the vast expanse Brinna could see all around as she turned in to the parking lot at the trailhead. The search and rescue operation was being run out of a large recreational vehicle. Local law enforcement, park rangers, search and rescue personnel, and people Brinna figured were volunteers seemed to be everywhere. She could also see a helicopter in the air in the distance.
She checked in with Jase Robinson, the park ranger she’d talked to on the phone. A large map covered one side of the RV.
“The boy, Stevie, was hiking with his family on the Fairyland loop trail.” Robinson pointed. “He thought he lost something on the trail and was angry when his father wouldn’t go back and look for it. He left their campsite on his bike, they think, around 2300 Monday. We found his bike on the Fairyland loop trail, but he has disappeared.” He dragged an index finger across the map of the terrain marked in grids to indicate the grid search. “Shaded areas have been covered, and we do have some rangers camping out in the area where the bike was found. We also had a team head out at dawn. We’ll pair you with Ranger Hara and a search and rescue volunteer.” He looked her up and down. “You look in shape; terrain’s tough.”
“I’m prepared. There’s no evidence the boy was snatched?”
“None at all. This trail is the least visited in the park and nothing indicates anyone else was here when the boy was. His bike had a flat tire, and initial investigation indicates he left it and walked off the trail and probably got disoriented and lost.”
Brinna considered this for a moment, but she didn’t want to second-guess them. “You have something of the boy’s for my dog?” Though Hero was not a trailing dog, or one that followed a scent with his nose to the ground, he did follow scent on the air, so it would be helpful for him to be exposed to what he was looking for.
He nodded and pointed to the RV. “You’re set to leave at 0830. Wait over there, and when Hara gets here, he’ll have something with scent on it.”
Brinna nodded and headed with Hero to the RV, where she saw breakfast being set up. She still felt a bit groggy but knew that a little coffee and starting her mission would change all that.
The RV bristled with activity as the food was laid out and people began to eat. The activity and the people brought a calmness to Brinna. I like a crowded universe, she thought.
The mood was upbeat as it usually was in the early stage of any search. The people around her were confident the boy would be found—and soon. Brinna felt the same way. It never paid to approach a search with dread. The coffee was good and strong, and the fruit and granola satisfied her hunger.
Every so often someone would comment about how beautiful the area was, an observation Brinna didn’t agree with precisely. If it wasn’t a wet, sandy coastline or a mountain covered with tall, green pines, it wasn’t pretty as far as she was concerned. But there was something about the geology and the red rocks that she had to admit was compelling. She also took special notice of the terrain because it would affect scent. Heat and wind could dry scent out, but gullies, rock formations, and these hoodoos could hold scent in. Wind was not an issue at the moment but heat would be, and Brinna would have to be certain Hero was hydrated.
By the time 0830 rolled around, she saw that the thermometer on the side of the RV read eighty degrees. But with no ocean nearby to blunt the heat, it felt a lot hotter. All around, teams were forming up to begin searching. A short, stocky park ranger accompanied by a fit-looking older woman walked up to Brinna.
“Hello.” He held his hand out and Brinna shook it. “I’m Ranger Hara and this is Kathleen Wright. We’ll be your team today. I have a T-shirt of the boy’s for your dog to sniff.”
Hara led them back to the map and explained more about the area, making certain they were clear about their search responsibilities. Fairyland Canyon was filled with hoodoos that were relatively young, compared to others in the park, Hara pointed out. They weren’t as eroded, so there were places to hide and be hidden.
After he finished, they picked up water bottles and lunch. Hara asked Brinna if she’d mind spending the night at a campsite set up in the canyon if they came up empty in their search. Brinna had packed a backpack with a change of clothes and food and water for Hero for this situation and said she didn’t mind. She pulled out a collapsible bowl for Hero and gave him some water before they started out.
“We’ve had scent and trail dogs out, and none of them have keyed on anything. Your dog is a scent dog?” Hara handed her a small white T-shirt.
Brinna nodded and took the shirt from Hara. “Yes, but it makes no sense to have him smell the shirt here. Let’s head for our grid and get away from all these other odors.” She waved a hand toward the dwindling breakfast crowd.
Hara nodded and the trio hiked off for the trail.
They spent the day hiking over hot, dry terrain. Once she gave Hero a scent of Stevie’s shirt, she took him off leash. He took off at a leisurely pace and they followed. Hero sniffed and stayed on the trail, telling Brinna he wasn’t keying on anything. If he did key on something, it could take them anywhere, but as they hiked and it got hotter, they stayed in the grid designated by the command center. Kathleen and Hara took turns calling Stevie’s name.
Searching for scent, whether it be tracking with nose to the ground like a trailing dog or nose in the air like Hero, was tiring for the animal. Just before they stopped for lunch, as they hiked near a ravine, Brinna pulled out her cell phone to check the temperature. When her foot hit a rock, she was able to right herself and keep from falling, but the phone went flying.
“Arghh!” She bit back a curse as it hit the ground and broke into pieces, the battery disappearing down the ravine.
“Wow, that’s bad luck,” Hara said. “I should have told you that you’d get no signal here.”
Brinna blew out a breath and gathered the pieces she could reach. The battery was long gone; she could see it way too far down the gully to waste time chasing.
She turned to Hara. “It’s hot. Hero needs a rest and some water.”
“Good idea.” He pointed. “There’s a bit of shade there; let’s break for lunch.”
They sat and broke out the sandwiches, Brinna seeing to Hero first. He drank water and she wet down his nose and face before she unwrapped her ham sandwich. Hara got a radio message as they ate. The search grid was being expanded because none of the teams were
having any success. He’d brought a map with him and pulled it out to show the new parameters. The terrain looked rougher than what they had just hiked over.
Brinna felt an urgency to find the boy. No one knew how much water he had with him and that was not good. The wind picked up a bit as they ate, and that would mean scent being dispersed.
After they finished lunch and rested a bit, they continued their search as they made their way to the camp. Hara and Kathleen spent a lot of the time calling out for the boy. A pair of rangers who were relieved to return to the search center and take a break had set up the camp they came to. It lay on a flat portion of red rock in the middle of impressive hoodoos.
Kathleen and Brinna spent time after dinner circling the camp, calling Stevie’s name. It brought a shiver to Brinna when the silence set in. Deathly quiet was the phrase that came to mind when she and her partner waited to hear any response to the boy’s name. Darkness settled in late and the coolness was welcome. Hara chose to sleep under the stars, so Brinna, Hero, and Kathleen shared the tent.
It was still dark when Brinna awoke in the tent, the ragged edges of a nightmare slicing through her sleep. Her watch told her it was close to 5 a.m. She pulled her shorts and shoes on, keeping as quiet as possible. Hero wagged his tail, anxious to get out and do his business. Grabbing a small flashlight, Brinna left the tent, the dog on her heels.
To the east, a light-pink glow faintly tinged the sky. Hero trotted away from the camp, and Brinna followed, relishing the cool predawn air. In the distance a coyote howled and she shivered. The memory of the nightmare was vivid, and for a brief moment it was Brinna lost in the California desert, six years old and shivering, scared to death a coyote would find her and eat her.
She rubbed her wrists, remembering the biting cuffs that had secured her to a post. The words to the song she’d sung the whole night in the dark desert came back to her all of a sudden: “Jesus loves me; this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”
I remember singing that song in Sunday school, she thought. I didn’t remember it when I talked to Tracy. Funny I remember it now. My mom sang it a lot when I was a kid. But it wasn’t any Jesus who saved me that night. It was Milo.
She clapped her hands and whistled to Hero, the terror of the nightmare twenty years ago spurring in her an urgency to find the missing boy. He’d been out in the desert for two nights now.
“Let’s find him today, boy,” she said to Hero as the dog trotted back to her. “I hate to think of him wandering around in this barren wasteland all alone.”
Breakfast was coffee, fruit, and protein bars. Brinna gave Hero the order to “find it” as soon as everyone was finished. They had been hiking for about thirty minutes when, to Brinna’s surprise, Hero took off south in a hurry, as if he was onto something.
“He have a scent?” Hara asked as they trotted after the dog.
“He’s acting like it.”
Hero stopped about seventy-five feet ahead of them, nose in the air, and then cut left.
Brinna gave a fist pump. “He’s got something.”
Hara reached for his radio as Brinna jogged after the dog, Kathleen on her heels yelling, “Stevie!” every few minutes.
Brinna was winded and sweaty when Hero stopped, sat, and gave a short bark, his alert that he’d found what he was looking for. She got to him first, dread forming in her gut because she didn’t see the boy. Did Hero find a body?
“He here?” Hara asked as he reached her a moment later. He was as sweaty as Brinna. Only Kathleen seemed unaffected by the heat, but she was breathing hard.
“Stevie?” she yelled, cupping her hands over her mouth.
They all looked down the rocky ravine Hero had led them to and listened. Faintly—oh, so faintly—they heard a voice respond, “I’m here; I’m here.”
Brinna knelt down and hugged her dog, letting his fur hide the happy tears.
* * *
It turned out that Stevie had started out looking for what he’d lost and ended up angry that his bike got a flat. He’d decided to run away and took off through Fairyland Canyon. In the heat he’d searched for shelter, lost his footing, and fallen down the ravine. He was wedged in between two large boulders and he thought his ankle was broken. His exposed skin was burned a dark red, and his lips were cracked and dry.
We weren’t a minute too soon, Brinna thought as she watched rescue personnel from the helicopter that had landed a short distance away assess the boy. They’d had to climb down carefully and pull him back up in a Stokes litter. Aside from his ankle, he was dehydrated, as well as suffering from exposure. His eyes were closed as they carried the litter to the chopper.
“Good thing your dog caught the scent,” Jase Robinson gushed as he pumped Brinna’s hand. “He wouldn’t have been spotted by the helicopter—or anyone else for that matter.”
“Glad we could help.” Brinna shielded her eyes as the medical chopper powered up, sending a cloud of nasty red dirt everywhere.
“We’d like to do something for you. How long will you be in Utah?” The ranger yelled to be heard over the roar of the chopper.
“I’m leaving as soon as I get my stuff together,” she hollered back, thinking she couldn’t get away from the godforsaken open space fast enough.
The hike back to the camp for her things and the hike back to the staging area took the better part of the rest of the day.
The command center was just about completely broken down by the time she, Hara, and Kathleen got back. There was no press anywhere to be seen now, and Brinna patted herself on the back as she quickly loaded up her truck and headed out, happy to have avoided all the pesky TV cameras.
On the seat next to her sat her sad cell phone. First order of business once home would be procuring a new battery.
Brinna’s mood soared. She and Hero were now officially two for two.
“We’re not just on cloud nine,” she told Hero. “We’re on cloud K-9.” Chuckling to herself, she turned up the radio and sang along when she knew the words of a song, happy to have the Utah desert fading behind her.
8
JACK STOOD just behind the twenty-yard line, waiting for the range master to check the line’s readiness and start the course of fire. Downrange, he imagined Gil Bridges’s face plastered to the bull’s-eye on his target.
The order given, Jack pulled the slide back and slid the first round into the chamber of his automatic. He stepped up to the line to begin the qualification course. The shooting line was full. Jack had waited until the last day in the quarter to qualify.
Officers on his right and left began to shoot as he sighted the target. He shut out the noise and concentrated. All four of his first rounds went dead center. Into Gil Bridges’s drunk face. The remainder of the fifty-round course continued in the same manner. At the fifteen-yard line, the seven, and the five, Jack imagined pumping rounds into the man who’d killed his wife.
When everyone finished firing and the range master cleared the line, Jack stepped forward to collect his target. The bull’s-eye was a gaping hole, Jack’s cluster of bullets neatly destroying the center of the target. Officers on either side of him congratulated his marksmanship.
“Good shooting, O’Reilly,” the range master said when Jack handed him the target to score. He scribbled 100% on the cardboard and reminded Jack to fill out a qualification slip. “It’s a nice feeling to know you’ll hit what you aim at.”
Jack nodded and filled out his slip. As he cleaned his gun, he considered the fantasies running through his head. Fantasies of chasing Gil Bridges down and shooting him dead in the street. The closer the sentencing drew, the darker his thoughts became. They fascinated him as much as they disgusted him. For sixteen years he’d carried a badge to protect life, not contemplate taking it.
Somehow his fantasies sent the message that Gil Bridges’s death would ease his own pain, make Vicki’s death more manageable.
“You have to let go of the bitterness you feel toward Bridges,” Doc Bell had tol
d him. “It’s eating you alive.”
“I can’t help it,” Jack had said. “Why did Vicki have to lose her life to a worthless drunk?”
“There’s no answer to that. No way to change it and bring Vicki back. Grieve, Jack—that’s normal—but don’t brood. Don’t let hate fester. It will poison you. You’ll never forget, but you must try for some level of forgiveness. Have you contacted any of the support groups I suggested?”
“No, I’m not ready for that. I just need to work, get out of the house. I think patrol will be a good change.” I’ll never forgive.
When Doc Bell was silent for a minute, Jack had feared he’d failed the interview, feared Bell would see through him and take away the gun, the badge.
“I agree a change will be good for you,” Bell had said finally. “And patrol was something you excelled at five years ago.” He’d tapped on his chin with his ballpoint pen. “I’m going to approve the transfer, on one condition.”
“Condition?” Jack swallowed.
“I want you back in my office after you’ve been in patrol for a bit, and after the sentencing. I want to hear from you how patrol has been and I want to see how you handle whatever sentence Bridges is given. Agreed?”
Jack had let the thinnest of smiles cross his lips. “Sure, Doc, two weeks.”
Now Jack reassembled his gun and loaded it for duty, wondering what on earth he’d have to say to Doc Bell after Gil Bridges received his sentence.
* * *
Brinna stopped again in Mesquite, desperately wanting a long, hot shower. She felt she could take her time getting home. She even had a plan about a place to go before she went directly home. She and Hero left Mesquite early and were back across the California border that afternoon. They stopped for lunch in Baker. Brinna eyed the pay phone and thought about calling Milo. His fishing trip would have ended two days ago.
“How about we surprise Milo?” she said to Hero as he sniffed around a vacant lot. “We haven’t done that in a while. I need to talk to him.”
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