Fall Hunter

by M K Dymock

  His first call went out to wake up his chief deputy. The next went to Solo Chapa, who agreed to meet him over breakfast to plan out the morning before daylight ignited the search.

  Daylight. Everyone kept saying the word as if it were magic. Come daylight, everything would change. He hoped they were right.

  5

  There were supposed to be three children. That had been Elizabeth’s plan before she’d conceived Keen. But years of trying brought only Keen, and Elizabeth knew that was her own fault. She’d poured a mother’s love of three into her daughter.

  Elizabeth had spent most of her life uncomfortable with communicating any type of emotion; it never came easy and it so often came out wrong. Most of her childhood was about saying and doing the right thing in her New York family but often failing. Shy and quiet by nature, the few times she did cry or even laugh too loud were followed by a quick shushing by her parents or closest nanny. Silence became her default.

  One Christmas her family had taken a ski vacation to Lost Gorge when Vail was booked. She’d been twelve and left alone to ski the mountain by her oblivious parents, who’d assumed she was with one of the nannies. For the first time, Elizabeth felt a sense of complete freedom. She sped down each run, the cold air blowing into her face, and she felt like she could breathe for the first time since birth.

  After graduating from NYU, out of place in her own life, she thought of the last time she remembered happiness and chased it into the Rockies. Hadn’t told her parents, just left. It took them a month to notice.

  The sheriff’s questions stayed with her after he left. Was that what Keen did? Did she escape? When she was little, Keen would hide under the table when company would come over. Elizabeth would slip her food under the tablecloth. The only difference between mother and daughter was Keen usually knew the right thing to say; she just didn’t say it often.

  No, Elizabeth’s gentle daughter wouldn’t put them through this hell.

  Once the sheriff left, Daniel escaped the house for the mountains, determined to hike the trails with a small spotlight. He stood eight inches over her with a stride she couldn’t match. She would only slow him down, so she remained home, waiting for news.

  Elizabeth sat for a few minutes, then paced the kitchen and living room, grasping her phone, willing it to ring. The women who huddled around her like she lay dying followed her. She didn’t need them. Keen did.

  A neighbor put a soft hand on her arm as Elizabeth unlocked her phone and checked it again. “Honey, let me get you something to eat.”

  “No.” She jerked away. “I need you—I need everyone to be out looking for Keen.” Her bluntness sprouted unchecked, because really, what was the point anymore? Elizabeth stood straight and caught the eye of all the neighbor women. “I don’t need you here.” The women glanced at each other. “If you can’t search, then go home to your kids. Make sure they’re okay.”

  She grabbed her keys and drove her Subaru up and down the highway through the Gorge. No streetlights shone on the road, and her headlights only lit up the few feet in front of her. Every time the road curved, the lights shone on walls of pine trees before she turned. Darkness crept from the river below, filling every void not penetrated by her lights. Her only hope of spotting Keen was if she walked within arm’s reach of the pavement. Still she drove on, up and down, with exhaustion settling in. The double yellow lines blurred together.

  A horn blasted, its brights filling her car. She wrenched the wheel to the right. Her car left the highway, sucked into the soft dirt on the side. She slammed the brakes, stopping with the bumper in a tree. Her lights spliced either side of it. Her seat belt locked across her chest and threw her back in the seat.

  As the long horn of the semi faded away, Elizabeth clenched the steering wheel in an attempt to control her shaking body. If she’d been on the downhill stretch, she would’ve gone into the river.

  Elizabeth laid her head against the steering wheel and sobbed. She needed to sleep because she couldn’t find Keen if she was dead, but how could she sleep with her child out there? She slammed her ineffective fists into the wheel and screamed until she ran out of breath.

  The car refused to start and she had no phone signal. She would wait until daylight, which would be within an hour, and flag down a car. At least here, she had to be closer to Keen.

  No one waited for the black of night to morph into a gray morning to search for Keenley, not even the one who knew best where she wandered. The night before had been an exercise in unpreparedness. Today would not be a repeat.

  Along with a headlamp to extend the morning, a pistol was acquired. The end for Keenley would be quick, the body never found.

  She would be hurt; her head had left streaks of blood on a blanket now burned in the desert. Lack of food and water would weaken her. The elements posed as much of a risk as being chased. That would solve a few problems. The remote spot made walking out in a day impossible, under good conditions. One rough road in, and if Keenley followed that, it would be easy to spot her. If she didn’t, her bones would be carried away by a coyote. No different from an injured calf separated from the herd.

  Before the turnoff on the highway, a buzzing interrupted the darkness. A text heralded a message. The search for Keenley Dawson was already underway. One day someone would look back on this morning and ask where everyone had been. It would be good to be seen, be a part of things.

  The afternoon would be soon enough to resume the search.

  6

  Tuesday Dawn

  Keen’s body jerked awake with a dream she fell from a cliff. Turned out, she almost had. Her eyes opened to sand and sagebrush several feet beneath her, with one arm hanging over an edge. She scrambled back only to hit the side of a ledge. When she sat up, the rock above reminded her how small of a hole she’d retreated into in the darkness.

  What the hell had happened? Pain ricocheted out of her head and out her toes. The last night blurred in the gray dawn, but memories forced themselves into the present.

  The night before, after huddling under an overhang and not hearing anything for a while, she had continued her crawl across the hill. She had no idea where her kidnapper hid, but knew she needed more space between her and him before daylight. The rising moon gave her at least a vague idea of where she fled. Exhaustion had weighed each limb down. She crawled until she was physically incapable of further movement and tucked herself against a wall, determined to rest for only a few minutes.

  She had shivered in the cold night, shutting her eyes to escape the nightmare. Morning dawned unaware. It was neither dark nor light, and she was neither safe nor dead. Beyond that, she had no knowledge.

  Going by the treeless, rocky terrain, she was west of Lost Gorge, far west. To the east lay the Rockies and home. The small, barren hills around her blocked a distant view, leaving only the tallest peaks visible.

  The surrounding area was low, dry foothills. When ancient volcanoes had formed the mountains, this was where they spat out the lava, and the landscape was broken and full of sharp, black rocks. Out of all the miles of a childhood spent in the wild, they’d come here the least. Keen barely knew the area existed, let alone navigated it.

  She wrapped her arms around her knees to banish the goose bumps coating her bare skin. The short-sleeved jersey and bike shorts did little to hold out the cold and she guessed the temperatures hovered in the forties.

  Beyond the cold, thirst demanded her attention next. To get the moisture in her mouth flowing, she rolled a small pebble around on her tongue, but its rough edges and sandy coating only succeeded to make her crave water more.

  Hunger pangs jabbed her stomach. The last time she’d eaten was lunch the day before and the lightness in her head wouldn’t let her forget it. Her hand shot to her back pocket, now flat from losing the bear spray sometime during the chase. There, wedged into the seam, was her mom’s homemade granola bar.

  With shaking hands, she pulled apart the baggie and took one giant bite. Her l
ips quivered at the sweetness. She swallowed, but choked as the rock mixed with granola hit the back of her mouth. She spat out both into the plastic bag. At the sight of the partially chewed chunks next to the remaining granola, she realized her error. That little five-inch bar made from nuts and honey was all the food she carried, and she still had no idea where she was.

  With all her self-will, Keen pulled out a half-inch bite and placed it in her mouth. Her tongue rolled it around and pulled it apart, feeling every soft morsel before swallowing.

  Had her attacker abandoned her to the cold and darkness, or did he still hunt her? She had to assume he did and needed to move. Darkness couldn’t conceal her anymore. In the strengthening light of dawn, she switchbacked down the rest of the hill, stumbling a few times on the shale. Last night’s escape left her knees red and the same texture as gravel.

  At the bottom, she dropped her head in disappointment. She’d hoped to find some water at the bottom of the ravine from runoff, but it ran dry. Another rocky hill and sagebrush faced her. Good sense dictated to go around it. Water, trails, or roads are usually found downhill. But Keen wanted an idea of where she’d been dumped.

  She had no idea which direction she ran the night before and didn’t know if her escape had taken her farther away or only in circles. She would ascend. The climb up the side of the hill took a few hours, giving her far too much time to think. Her parents would be in an absolute panic by now. They would look for her, but not in this place.

  Keen would climb up twenty or so feet only to hit an insurmountable ridge and go sideways until she could ascend farther. As she got to the top, she stayed closer the ground, climbing with both hands and feet. Partially out of steepness, but also out of desire to not be outlined against the ridge. Did he watch for her? She needed a view of the area without being a view.

  Her stomach growled again. When I get to the top, she silently told her gut, I’ll be able to see a house or a road. Keep moving. Blisters broke through up and down her Achilles tendons. That pain came in a far second to her head.

  The hill flattened at the top, but there was nothing in the distance. No splash of green marking a grove of trees with a home, no roads mapping a way out. Nothing moved, not a bird or lizard. She stared around her in silence, before falling to the ground.

  She sank to the dirt, head between her knees. As a kid, she’d been terrified to start kindergarten. She was an only child in a town where everybody but her was related. On her second day of school—the first had ended with her hiding in the coatrack for two hours—her dad told her when she got scared, she should close her eyes and sing the ABCs. Then when she finished, if she was still scared, she could hide. The first couple of weeks his tip backfired as she became the odd girl who sung outside of singing time. But eventually, she learned to sing in her head. It became her own version of counting to ten. The last time she sung it had been when Jacob broke up with her. She went through it twice but couldn’t find a response to his words.

  Keen sung it now, aloud but not enough to be heard. She made it to R, which stood for road. Her attacker had driven her out there in the night, and while the ride had been rough, she would’ve noticed going over sagebrush. There had to be an unseen road. It might be too dangerous to follow, but it could point the way home.

  She needed to find the road.

  If she found the road, would she find him? Who was he? She hadn’t seen a face or heard a voice enough to recognize him. Beyond being an SUV, she didn’t know what car drove her in. Everyone in this area had at least one SUV; the winter roads didn’t allow for two-wheel drive.

  Her thoughts turned to the jerk whose ride she’d refused. Had rejection pissed him off so much he returned to assault her and drop her in the desert? Wouldn’t be the first time a guy couldn’t take no. One particular jerk had literally kicked her college roommate out a car door when she refused a goodnight kiss.

  “You picked the wrong girl!” she yelled into the brightening day. “I’m coming home.”

  By 6 a.m., Blake drove his Tahoe to Beth’s, the local café, which had outlasted Beth by a good twenty years. Solo Chapa sat at a lone table with a topographical map spread out in front of him, weighted down by a steaming mug of coffee. A few farmers talked over breakfast; apparently, nobody agreed on the cast of the upcoming season of Dancing with the Stars. News about Keen hadn’t yet spread beyond her neighborhood. Within a few hours, the talk would change.

  Solo’s nickname had been in place since birth when he became the first and only son after four daughters. No one knew his actual name and in true western name fashion, even Solo proved too long and he became Sol.

  Blake pulled out a chair across from Sol and sat down, waiting until he looked up before speaking. “Well, where is she?”

  Sol pushed his ball cap back, revealing a balding head a few degrees lighter than his face. “Don’t know.”

  “That’s a surprise. But I guess you haven’t been at it very long.”

  While Sol headed up the volunteer search and rescue organization, he managed the searching part on his own and left the rescuing to his team. The man knew the county like most people know the path between their bed and the toilet.

  “Daniel Dawson called me at midnight,” Sol said.

  Blake stifled his irritation that they called Sol before him. He sometimes wondered if living in the town only ten years still made him that much of an outsider. He had to remind himself daily he won the election, not anyone else. Of course, having the mayor as a father-in-law didn’t help his insecurity.

  Sol took a swig of coffee, then pointed at the map, continuing. “She said she was heading to the Pines. Her dad thinks she would’ve biked down the trails a few miles and then back out. It’s about a mile from their house to the top trailhead.”

  Blake stood and came around the table so he could look at the map right side up. “Elizabeth said she left for the store around three; the sun’s been setting around seven. That gives her about a four-hour bike ride at most.”

  “Pines is the starting point of fifty miles of biking trails. A lot of those trails follow along cliffs so steep a strong breeze could nudge you off.” Both glanced up to stare out the window at the Rockies at their doorstep, a hint of the gray dawn at the highest ridges. Across the street, the town’s ski lift, which when finished would be used to take guests from the hotel to the resort base, swung slightly in the wind.

  They discussed the logistics of the search. Search and Rescue, or SAR, acted under the direction of the sheriff’s office but as its own entity. “It’s early yet,” Sol said. “The likeliest scenario is that she walks out of the mountains on her own after spending the night lost or broken down.”

  Blake knew Sol was right, but he also knew more would be expected from him than to wait around and hope she came home. “What do you need from me?”

  “Nothing yet. I’ve identified the trails she’s most likely to be on. I want to search those myself with my crew. Daniel made some noise about organizing a search party. I don’t want a bunch of people wandering around, screwing up the tracks, and getting in the way.”

  “You can’t tell parents not to search for their kid.”

  “Not the parents I’m worried about.” Sol’s voice rose a notch and a few of the farmers glanced over from their booths. “To keep people from wandering around destroying tracks and getting lost themselves, I have to send some of my people out with search parties, and that’s fewer capable people looking for a girl who knows better than to get lost. If anybody else gets hurt out there …” His fist knocked his coffee mug over, spilling brown liquid onto the map.

  Blake waved off a waitress, old enough to have walked across the plains, who glanced over in annoyance. “You okay?” He grabbed the map and shook the coffee off it; luckily it was waterproof.

  “Sorry, it’s harder when you know the person,” Sol muttered.

  Common sense dictated Blake should ask if Sol felt up to the task, but he knew he’d say he was, and truth wa
s, nobody else would be. “Let me know if you need anything from my people. I’m going to see if I can narrow down the area at all. Someone had to have seen her.”

  “What I need from you is to keep people off the trails. If folks do show up to search, and they probably will, keep them off the trails. Have them search the highway or something.” Sol wiped off his map and stood, offering a hand to Blake. “She’s out there, McKenzie. We will find her.”

  Blake left the restaurant and went a few blocks down to an old house surrounded by fruit trees still laden with peaches. Mountain Brewer Café came into being about the time he showed up in town and it was still called the new place.

  Forget religion, money, and politics, this town fell into two groups: the tree huggers and the gas guzzlers. At least, that’s what each side called the other. The tree huggers were newer to the town and drawn in by the mountains. They hiked, biked, and snowshoed everywhere their Subarus couldn’t get. The gas guzzlers, like his wife, came from the farming and ranching community, descended from the pioneer stock who had looked down on the miners. They four-wheeled, snowmobiled, and drove their way through everything. The only thing the two sides agreed on was skiing.

  Blake spent most of his political life—and no one should think for a second being a sheriff wasn’t political—balancing these two sides against each other. Being new sometimes helped, and being married to old, although his wife would object to that term, helped more.

  While Beth’s café catered to the old, Mountain Brew attracted the new.

  A few mountain bikes were leaning against the oak tree out front, unlocked. Most of the tourists would’ve gone home. Inside, a few guys about Keen’s age sat over lattes, debating their next move. Going by their conversation, khaki shorts, and long hair pulled back with bandanas, they were seasonal workers. The town pulled in half its population in river guides, dude ranch cowboys and cowgirls, and forest rangers. Mostly young and mostly transient.