by Loree Lough
“Can I ask a question?”
“Sure you can. What’s up?”
“How come the kids have to be quiet and get to bed by nine o’clock, but some of the grown-ups get to make so much noise that nobody can sleep?”
“That’s a very good question. In fact, I was wondering the same thing. And you know what?” He reached out, gave the boy’s forearm a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to talk to the boss about the problem, just as soon as we get you zipped into your sleeping bag.”
“Awesome. Thanks, Ian!”
“Did you brush your teeth?”
“Not yet, but I’m gonna. Will you go to the community center with me?” The restrooms, attached to each end of the building, could be intimidating to autistic kids. Even when empty, the constant flicker of bright fluorescent lights, reflected by a dozen mirrors and stainless steel stall doors, set off an optical commotion in the kids’ heads. Add three or four more excitable kids to a room where even the sound of a penny hitting the tile floor echoed from every surface, and you had the makings of a full-blown anxiety attack.
“You bet. And as long as I’m in there, I might as well brush my teeth, too. But first, let’s find some wood, so we can feed the fire during the night. I hate to wake up cold, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
He high-fived Ian, who stacked logs in the crook of his arm, carried them to the tree nearest their tent, and placed them one atop the other.
“Looks like a pyramid,” Avery observed, hands together to form a triangle.
“Let’s make another one on the other side of the tree.”
“We can make three, and then the pyramids will be pyramids!”
Ian didn’t get it, but somewhere inside that brilliant mind, it made perfect sense.
It took half an hour to complete their chores and stow their toothbrushes in airtight plastic containers. Garbed in fleecy sweats and thick socks, the boy slid into his sleeping bag and waited for Ian to zip up the sides.
“Why do bears have better noses than people do?”
Obviously, Avery had been paying full attention when Maleah explained the importance of storing away anything that might attract bears, coyotes or even raccoons.
“Here’s how I see it... We can go into any fast-food store and say, ‘One burger, please!’”
“And an ice-cream cone!”
The sleeping bag’s plaid lining muffled Avery’s giggle.
“Can you imagine what the people who work there would say if a big ol’ bear lumbered up and said the same thing?”
“They’d scream. And run. Or throw pots and pans at it.”
“They don’t like scaring people, but that’s just how things are. And can you imagine eating nuts and berries, every day, all day, for the rest of your life?”
“Bo-o-o-ring.”
“You said it. But do bears complain?”
“I would if I was one... ‘Waa-waa-waa, the mean restaurant people won’t sell me fo-o-od, and I’m tired of woodsy stuff.’”
“Yup. So they sniff the air and smell the ground to find things that don’t smell like nuts and berries.”
“Stuff like toothpaste.”
“And trail bars.”
“And candy.”
“Especially candy.”
“But bears are a little selfish. And scare easily. So if they rousted out some cookies or brownies, and there was a person near it? They’d think ‘uh-oh, he’s going to take my treat.’”
“So that’s why they attack people?”
“That’s one of the reasons.”
“How many reasons are there?”
Kids like Avery were very literal. So Ian said, “Nineteen.”
“When will you tell me about the other eighteen?”
As soon as we have Wi-Fi and I can look it up.
“After we get home, and make sure your grandmother is all right.”
“Okay,” he said around a sleepy yawn.
“I’m going to see if I can find Maleah, tell her how we feel about all the noise.” He tucked the cover around the boy’s chin. “Stay tucked in there, okay? Weatherman said it’s only going to be thirty degrees tonight.”
He dimmed the lantern and ducked out the tent’s flap as Avery said, “...love you, Ian.”
After hearing that, it took a second or two to gather his composure. “Some kid,” he whispered.
“Yes, he is.”
“Holy smokes, girl. Sneak around much?”
Smiling, Maleah said, “I was just checking in to see how you boys are doing.”
“Funny thing, that...” He led her farther away from the tent. “What’s with all the racket at the other end of the campground?”
“The banjos and guitars, you mean?”
“And accordions.”
“I’ll have a word with them.”
“Good. Saves me the trouble of doing it at tomorrow’s meeting.” He held up his fist again.
She wrapped warm fingers around his. “Put that thing away. Somebody’s liable to see it who doesn’t know you’re all bark, no bite.”
Ian didn’t mind that she no longer thought him incapable of violence. Liked it so much that he had to resist the urge to pull her to him in a big hug. The only thing stopping him was wondering whether or not she meant it.
And then that kiss came to mind...
“Well, I’d better get back to my side of Tent Town,” she said, looking gorgeous standing there in the firelight.
“Yeah, it’s been a long day.”
He waited until she disappeared into her tent to add logs to the fire. Thunder rolled in the distance, and he hoped it would stay to the west.
Maleah exited her tent and looked at the sky. She’d heard the incoming weather, too. He had an idea that might prevent pandemonium, and hurried over to ask if she agreed.
“Not a sliver of moon nor the spark of a star,” she said when he approached. “How about if we pass the word to the counselors...tell the old ‘the angels are bowling’ story to the kids before the storm reaches us. Even if they’ve heard it before, it might ease some anxiety.”
“Let’s do it.”
Ian walked north, Maleah moved south to deliver the message. Word spread fairly quickly among the campers, and before long, the area was abuzz with a cacophony of voices, each sharing the bowling angels tale.
And then, the blessed peace of Cash’s quiet snores and Avery’s steady breaths. Tree frogs, peeping from every branch, harmonized with the few crickets that decided to brave the sometimes-cold spring nights. Times like these, it was easy to forget that just a few miles away, traffic whooshed by on Maryland’s Interstate 68. Now and then, the far-off wail of the train’s horn floated down from the tracks that paralleled the Potomac, and lulled Ian to sleep.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when the sound of thunder woke him, but from the sound of things, it was raining on Warrior Mountain. If anyone else heard it, they weren’t stirring yet. Easing from the sleeping bag, he made his way to the tent Maleah was sharing with her secretary and an autism counselor, thinking to offer his help in guiding kids to the community house before the storm reached its full peak. Standing at the back of the shelter, he whispered her name, twice. In one moment, he heard the soft snarl of her sleeping bag’s zipper; in the next, she joined him outside, the bag draped over her shoulders.
“You heard it, too?”
“How soon do you want to round ’em up?”
“Before the rain starts. No sense letting the kids get wet. They’ll be miserable enough, crowded into the hall until it passes.”
The wind picked up and changed direction, and she tugged her thick, zippered cape tighter around her.
“It could blow over. Or go around us.”
&
nbsp; Nodding, she gathered up the bag and, taking care not to let it touch the ground, bent to step through the flap.
“Let’s tell them tent by tent, same as before.”
She nodded in agreement and took a last glance at the sky. “I really hate waking the children if it’s going to fizzle out before it hits.”
“They’ve had three great days walking the trails, learning to identify critter tracks, collecting bugs. Even if they went home right now, they’d say a good time was had by all.”
Taking a knee, he picked up the long stick she’d been using to stoke her campfire. It wasn’t out, but it soon would be.
“Go ahead and do what you need to,” he said, stirring the coals. “Soon as I get this going again, I’ll wake Avery, have him get—”
A young woman ran up to them. “He’s gone,” she cried. “Billy isn’t in the tent!”
Ian straightened. “Let’s not panic, Jen.” Yet... “What time did you turn in?”
“Ten-thirty, quarter of eleven, maybe?”
“And Billy was sound asleep?”
“Yes. I remember worrying I’d wake him, zipping up the tent flap.”
“What woke you just now?”
“I’m not sure.”
His watch said one-thirteen. No telling how long ago Billy slipped out of his tent, or which way he’d gone.
“He probably just crawled into a friend’s tent.”
“Steven, most likely.”
“There y’go. You check on that, and we’ll look around here.”
Once she was out of earshot, Ian asked Maleah to recommend her most qualified counselor.
“Betty.”
“Will you see if she can stay with Avery? I’ll go explain things to him.”
“Definitely.” She took off.
Billy’s mom showed up, carrying the T-shirt Billy had worn before changing into a sweatsuit, and handed it to Ian.
“Thanks, Jen. Now, I know how impossible this sounds, but you need to relax. We’re going to find him, and when we do, he’ll need his mom.”
Ian followed as the dog sniffed every corner of every tent.
Still no Billy. So much for the theory that he was sleeping peacefully someplace within Washburne’s area of the campground. Ian quickly called SAR.
Maleah raced up, breathless. “The camp director is sending two of his employees to look around. He said kids get lost in the woods all the time, and these guys always find them, happy and healthy...until their parents get hold of them.”
“That’ll help once the local SAR team gets here.”
“What? Already?”
“Walk with me and I’ll explain.” She fell into step beside him as Ian said, “I put in a call to the operations leader on a lot of my missions. He has a SAR pal up here, says they’ll issue a call-out within a few minutes. I told them to meet us right here, so they can set up a base camp and start conducting interviews.”
“With Billy’s mom?”
“With everybody. Sometimes the weirdest detail points us in the right direction.” When they reached the camp director’s office, Ian pounded on the door. An elderly woman across the way yelled, “He ain’t in there, mister. He’s in bed, fast asleep, like the rest of us would be if not for you.”
“Sorry, a kid is missing, and we’d like to find him before this storm hits.”
“His cabin is up there—” she pointed west “—last one on the left.”
“Thanks.”
“Good. There’s a light on,” Maleah said as they approached.
The door flew open and a balding, paunchy man stepped aside. “You the guy who’s organizing the call-out?”
“Ian Sylvestry.” He stuck out his hand.
“Duke Olinski. Operations leader. You want to take charge of the perimeter search?”
“Nah, your guys already know the terrain. It’ll save time if I start knocking on doors and unzipping tent flaps.”
“Give me five minutes to get dressed, and I’ll meet you in the community center.”
“Our group is on their way there,” Maleah said.
“We won’t take up much space.”
“But these are special needs kids, as I explained to the woman who booked our reservation. Noise, activity, flashing lights...not good for them.”
“Yeah, I remember that now. Okay, then we’ll move into one of the empties.” He handed Ian a key ring. “Tall Pines, just two cabins down.”
On the way over, Ian said, “You might want to consider canceling the rest of the week. With all the lights and people running around yelling for Billy—and the thunder moving closer—the kids will go bonkers.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Hey.” He turned her to face him and, hands on her shoulders, said, “Billy going missing, that’s not on you. It’s not on his mother, either. He has a penchant for wandering, and from what I’ve heard, these kids are escape artists.”
“Nice of you to reassure me, but I’m the psychologist. I should have assigned a pro to keep an eye on him.”
“And insult his mom? That doesn’t sound like you.”
Stan joined them, huffing and puffing and mopping his brow. “Somebody bring me up to speed. Maybe I can pull a few strings back home to get things moving up here.”
Ian said, “You know how you can help, right here, right now? Start asking questions. Everybody should be under one roof soon, and that’ll make things easier for you.”
“What sort of questions?”
Ian slipped the pen from Stan’s shirt pocket, then picked up a campground brochure to write on.
He scribbled in the margins while he talked:
“First, see if Billy’s mom—her name is Jen—can give you his approximate height, weight, shoe size, what he was wearing, if he’d brought any electronic gadgets or stuffed animals on the trip that aren’t in their tent now. Then find out from his classmates if they know about Billy’s tendency to go off on his own. Chances are good their answers will shed some light on what lures him away. The rest of the adults...when did they see him last, and what was he wearing?”
He handed the list to Stan. “Think of this as a conversation, not a police interrogation. Don’t push too hard, or people will clam up.”
Stan said, “You continue to amaze me, Sylvestry. Is there anything you don’t do well?”
“Receiving compliments.”
“Still, I don’t know whether to salute you or hug you.”
“Save it for the ‘we found him’ celebration.”
The operations leader cut loose with a shrill whistle as four men, geared-up and ready to join the search, entered the room.
“There’s a topographical map over here,” Duke said, pointing to the cabin’s kitchen table.
“Have a good long look at it before you head out. If you have any questions, let me know. Otherwise, see me to find out who your team leader is.”
Stan, Ian and Maleah headed outside. The crisscrossing beams of flashlights that bounced from tree trunks and scrub brush told them that at least one team had already gone into the woods.
“Be careful out there, you two,” Stan said, and headed for the Washburne camp area. As Ian and Maleah headed for their tents, a misty fog swirled around their ankles, beading up on their clothes.
“Where should I meet you once I’ve changed into rain gear?” she asked.
“Meet me? I figured you’d be on the bus with Avery, explaining why I couldn’t take him home.”
“A boy went missing on my watch. My place is here.” In her shoes, he would have said the same thing.
“I’ll call Terri, give her a heads-up.”
“Good idea. She’ll need time to find another sitter for him in time for her mother’s surgery.”
>
“God willing, we’ll be back by then, and he can hang with me.”
She pulled her jacket tighter around her and stared at her boots, probably thinking about that kid, alone in the dark woods, without a coat or any real protection from the cold, soggy air. He slid an arm across her shoulders. “We’ll find him, so quit worrying.”
She looked up at him through long, mist-dampened lashes, just long enough to double his heartbeat. “Any last-minute tips for what I should put into my backpack?”
“Just that it’ll feel three times heavier in this uphill terrain, so leave those rocks in your tent.”
“Yes, boss,” she said, snapping off a smart salute.
He’d probably fail miserably at this friendship thing, because all he wanted to do was gather her close and kiss those full lips.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
NOSE TO THE GROUND, Cash led them into the woods.
“But all the others are going in the opposite direction,” Maleah said.
“I’ll trust his instincts over theirs any day.”
For the better part of two hours, they’d been zigzagging over rocks and fallen trees, taking turns yelling Billy’s name. If her own legs were aching, how must Ian’s feel, just two months after his doctor gave him permission to return to normal activities?
“How are you holding up?” she asked.
He’d just pulled himself onto a flat-topped boulder and, reaching down to give her a hand up, Ian said, “I’m fine. How’re you?”
“I don’t have steel pins in my leg.”
“There’s a cop-out answer if ever I heard one.” He pointed to the left. “According to the map, that’s Town Creek down there. Watch your step. These rocks are slick.”
Every few minutes, Cash stopped and looked back to make sure they were still following before darting back into the underbrush.
“I can’t believe Billy would have come this far,” Maleah said.
“You’d be surprised how far a scared kid can travel. Don’t know why, but in a lot of cases, they head toward the sound of moving water.”
“Makes sense, though I don’t know why.”
“Basic survival instincts. We’re all born with them. Kids listen to them better than adults, because they haven’t survived decades of second-guess mistakes.”