Death Scent

by D. L. Keur

  “Figures,” he muttered, and headed back to the barn. Always on my day off.

  *

  Jessie took the whole pack—all the dogs. She did it on purpose. They took two rigs, Jessie in her Suburban, everybody else except her grandmother, in one of the pickups. “I happen to know Nelson,” Ana-Mari said. “I have no intention of subjecting myself to that joker.”

  John, however, was keen to go. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything,” he said.

  As previously arranged, the sheriff met them at the turn-off to the county road leading to Nelson Remmers’ place. He led in.

  Remmers came out of his house as they arrived, waved, then stood, hands in pocket, as they parked. Jessie let her dogs out, asked for the sit, then waited as Sheriff Reid spoke with the man. Just like last time, Remmers’ dogs barked and howled, only, this time, their attention was on Jessie’s dogs. Her dogs ignored them.

  Jessie saw Remmers’ nod, then glance toward her. He raised his hand and motioned.

  Asking for the heel, Jessie approached.

  “Which one are you going to test with,” Remmers asked her.

  “It’s a team. Treat the pack like one dog,” Jessie answered. She’d prepped herself for questions like this. She was also prepared for what would come next.

  But what she expected didn’t happen. Remmers just nodded, then said, “Okay. Follow me.”

  He led them over to a pasture gate beside the barn, beyond which was a field and woods. The back side of the barn—the same barn where he’d held his training session the first time Jessie had been here—opened out onto it. “You’ve got thirty minutes to find the subject,” Remmers said without preamble. “Go to it.”

  “One subject?”

  “Yep.”

  “Scent?”

  “Nope.”

  A no-scent trial. Just find a human—any human. Hopefully, there weren’t any strangers wandering around nearby. Jessie turned to her dogs. “Sitzen.” She held up her hands, indicated ‘single’, ‘live’, ‘human’, then released them to search.

  The pack simply sat, noses up. Even Queenie just stayed put. Within seconds though, both Oso and Mitch stood. With a glance toward one another, both of them trotted off in almost the same direction, Mitch angling off a little to the left. The rest of the dogs continued to sit, their attention divided between Mitch and Oso.

  Mitch angled toward Oso when they neared the woods’ edge. Then Oso braced his front legs mid-stride and abruptly stopped. Mitch joined him and immediately sat as Oso lifted his head high, turned toward Jessie and the dogs, and yip-yipped.

  Instantly, the rest of the dogs were on their feet and moving, Jessie running to keep up with them. They reached Oso and Mitch, who closed ranks with them, and the lot disappeared into the woods. Jessie plunged through the brush just in time to see her dogs disappear into even deeper cover. Within seconds came alerts—multitudes of barks, then, oddly, howling. A dog appeared—Sumi. She spied Jessie, planted herself into a sit, raised her muzzle and gave two distinctly insistent barks.

  Jessie had just about reached her when the dog, assured she was coming, stood, turned, then trotted ahead, turning her head back every few strides to make sure Jessie was following. The other dogs had grown quiet, now.

  Busting through the heavy undergrowth, Jessie finally saw them, as, following Sumi, she climbed around an old tractor. There, on the other side, sat her dogs in a circle, their heads turned to look at her.

  Mitch stood up and did his stiff-legged bounce, plus a double whine-bark. Approaching, Jessie saw that under his feet lay a circular metal plate, holes drilled in its top. “You’re kidding!”

  Jessie knelt down, put her eye to one of the holes, then got to her feet, pulled out her cell phone, and called her dad. When he answered, she said, “I need help. No emergency, but I can’t secure the search subject by myself.”

  *

  She heard them call her name once they got near—her dad, her granddad, John, and even the sheriff. Of course, they couldn’t see her, not in the heavy brush.

  She sent Milo to fetch them, the big white mutt pushing his way through the heavy undergrowth. A couple of his deep, throaty barks later, and back he came, everybody, except, notably, Remmers, following.

  “What’s going on?” her dad demanded.

  “The search subject is down in there, and I can’t lift this,” Jessica said, pointing to the heavy circle of rusty metal fitted into the ground, a plate almost three feet wide that looked about an inch-and-a-half thick.

  “That has to weigh close to three-hundred pounds,” Sheriff Reid said, his astonishment plain.

  “Yep,” came Remmers’ voice. “That’s why the tractor’s here.” He climbed up on the machine, and, after a couple of coughs, the old tractor started with a belch of black smoke.

  *

  On her tracking app, Jessie clocked the pack’s find at two minutes-twenty-three seconds. Remmers grudgingly conceded that that was about what he clocked them in at, too, his son down in the hole having marked the time of the dogs finding him on his watch. “We synchronize our watches, and I mark when I tell you to start, and he marks when the dogs finally find him. You passed the test, so I guess you can consider yourself a member of our team, then,” Remmers said as they walked back toward his house, the search subject—Remmers’ youngest son—walking back with them after his dad fished him out of the hole in the ground. And Remmers was dead serious as he said it.

  Jessie considered the whole thing a joke, but went ahead and signed the ‘official membership card’ Remmers handed her. “Welcome aboard,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “See you at the next meet. But please only bring one of your dogs. Don’t need the whole crew. You can leave your family home, too.”

  Stopping in town for lunch, the sheriff inviting himself to join them—The Hereford, as usual—netted Jessie the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one who considered the whole thing laughable.

  “Never seen such a farce,” Darby said between bites of steak sandwich.

  “Dad warned me Remmers’ system is kind of a joke,” Landon said.

  “Kind of?” Oli chuckled.

  “Well, he didn’t tell me about the manhole cover, that’s for sure. He did warn me, though, that Remmers is a trickster.”

  “How did he wind up leading the county search and rescue, though?” Jessica asked.

  The sheriff shook his head. “Dad couldn’t get anybody else consistently willing to do it.” Then he looked slantwise at Jessica’s dad. “And I quote: ‘Including the new folks, name of Anderson’, end quote.”

  “I remember that,” Oli said, again chuckling. “We didn’t then and still don’t do SAR dogs, though. That’s all Jessie’s thing.”

  “The man and his teams do manage to find people, but, yes, I realize Miss Anderson is way more qualified. Two minutes, and her dogs had him. That’s something!”

  He turned his face to her. “Do you want to take it over?”

  “No. I’ve got other plans, now.”

  And all three, Darby, her dad, and John, shifted eyes her way and nodded.

  ***

  30 – Voices

  Landon scraped the last bit of shaving cream slather off his chin, rinsed his face, then toweled off. “Not bad. No nicks,” he muttered, checking the job in the mirror, this, despite the fact, that he’d woken up a bit ticked off, which usually meant he came away from the morning ritual looking like his face had met a meat grinder.

  He turned the water on in the shower and waited for the hot water. The whole thing had been a waste of time and effort, all of it just to mollify egos. Still, Darby Anderson had pulled the formal complaint. So, it was worth it, after all. But it irked him. “Waste of my time!”

  Stepping into the shower, his brain presented him an alternative, though. The dogs—how fast they’d found the target of their search. And they’d done it in a coordinated assault, just like a good S.W.A.T. team. That could be useful—a strategic asset. “Hmmph.
” She’d said ‘no’, but he was betting he could change that to a ‘maybe’, and, then, even to a ‘yes’.

  His phone jingled just as he was pouring shampoo in his hand. “Of course! First, you wake me up. Then, you disturb my first cup of coffee. Now, my shower. Leave a message,” he grumbled.

  The phone quit. Then, moments later, it rang again. He stood there, the water pouring on him, the dollop of shampoo cupped in the well of his palm.

  It quit again, but instantly went off a third time.

  With a sigh, he rinsed his hand off, turned off the water, and got out. Dripping, he picked it up just as it sang out ring number four. It was Daryl Brannigan, county commissioner. “Reid, here. What do you need?”

  He listened and squelched an exasperated sigh. The Hogalby Bridge repair was turning into a huge fiasco, and they acted as if he could do something about it. “That would be Roads and Bridges,” he said to the man on the other end of the connection, then listened to yet more tirade.

  Of course. It was Monday.

  *

  She was excited. She had hope. A whole new horizon had just opened up for her. It gave her feet wings. And, of course, she didn’t want the work of running an on-call 24/7 county search and rescue group. Let Remmers bungle it. Let the big team out of Boise come. She had way bigger plans, now.

  Out since four, Jessie was just coming up on what her granddad called ‘Sentry Rock’, and she thought of as “The Sentinel’, a part of an uplift of basalt that looked like a obelisk that had splintered off and escaped an escarpment of similar rock formations named The Cliffs of Long that lay about a hundred yards northeast of it. The Cliffs were where Lower Long Creek Falls crashed down to form a small lake at its base.

  The dogs were already aiming for The Sentinel, more than ready for a rest. She’d pushed it this morning, maybe too much, taking the perimeter trail, though she’d cut off into the woods instead of doing the climb to the top of the cliffs. Even that, though, had added more than a mile onto her usual two-mile run, so she, as much as the dogs, was looking forward to a breather. What she didn’t expect when she finally planted her butt on the ground was the dogs to suddenly jump to their feet on full alert, Milo breaking into his all but inaudible deep bass rumble. “Was ist los?” she asked softly rolling to a crouch, instantly on edge.

  Acer and Mitch looked around at her. All of the dogs, even Sumi, had their hackles up and rippling, and, suddenly, Jessie felt fear crawl up her arms and neck. She heard voices.

  Giving a soft hiss to get all of them to sight her, she signaled the dogs to be silent and started creeping backwards. Quietly, they came, but kept turning their attention back toward whatever they sensed. And, by their attitudes, whatever they sensed was up on the cliffs.

  She was about five-hundred yards from the edge of the woods. She had two choices—take it slow and silent or make a run for it. She opted for slow and silent, glad she wore nondescript brown sweats that, if she didn’t make any sudden movement, wouldn’t be noticeable unless someone was really looking.

  Slowly, carefully, her nerves screaming with tension, her muscles threatening to seize, she kept backing until, with relief she realized the trunks of the outermost trees were to either side of her. Seeking even deeper cover, she kept her slow, steady backwards progress until she was deep enough that the treetops occluded her from sight from anyone up on the cliff top.

  Crouching there until all the dogs came silently in to stand around her, she waited, breath pent and listening.

  Moments later, she heard a scream that sent chills down her spine. One dog woofed softly—Mitch. Again, she hissed and motioned for silence, then for the down. All dogs dropped. ‘Still’, she signed. And, again, ‘silence’.

  There was the sound of a car door. Then nothing. Maybe two minutes after that, an engine turned over, revved once, then steadied. Then, the sound faded away. Pulling out her phone, she dialed 9-1-1.

  *

  Landon had just finished dressing for work when the night sergeant, a Will Demers called. “Can’t it wait?” Reid snapped. Then, “Sorry. It’s just been non-stop since I got out of bed.”

  “Here, too.”

  “So, what’s up?”

  “Ms. Anderson called in a 9-1-1 again a few minutes ago. She’s out on a run and heard voices coming from The Cliffs of Long on the upper end of the Anderson property. She said she also heard a scream. She’s there, hunkered down in the woods with her dogs. I listened to the recording, and she sounds freaked …er, panicked.”

  Yeah. I would be, too. “Is she armed?”

  “That wasn’t asked. I’ve sent three deputies. One’s close.”

  “Who?”

  “Kins lives out there and picked up the call.”

  “I’m going to head out there myself. I’m around the corner, so to speak, by about ten miles. Send a notice via computer, not the radio, to Kins. I’m on my way. And, Will, I want every available unit heading out there. And call the phone tree for that area. Get the locals to help. Tell them well armed or no go. In that case, they are to shelter-in-place and lock the doors and windows. I want all egress blocked out of there. I don’t care if it’s a dirt track. You get it covered. I want all vehicles stopped. Let’s catch this guy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, give me Jessie Anderson’s phone number.”

  “I don’t know how much service is there. The call was breaking up a lot, but it’s 208-610-0474. She’s way up on the northeast quadrant of that section.”

  “Yeah. I know The Cliffs. I’ll get there.”

  Landon tried Jessie’s phone. Twice. And got no answer. He tried a third time, and, finally, the girl answered, her voice a whisper. “I’m on my way. So is every deputy in the area, Miss Anderson. Have you told your dad?”

  “No, sir. I don’t want him alarmed. …He goes …all Navy SEAL, and, well….”

  “I understand. We’ll be coming in on the old Forest Service road.”

  “I think that’s where they were. On that road. I heard a scream, then an engine start, rev, and fade off.”

  Yeah, and that road splits and loops around in there. They could be headed right back toward you. “All right. Stay where you are. Are you armed?”

  “I’ve got my dogs with me. They alerted. That’s what warned me.” Then, “I’m terrified to move out from cover.”

  “I understand. Stay quiet and still. We’ll find you. I repeat, are you armed?”

  “No, sir. …Well, bear spray and a bear bomb.”

  Bear spray! Her answer scared, then angered him. She should know better, especially with a killer on the loose. “I’ll be there in no more than fifteen minutes. Stay in cover.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He heard the horrible tremor in her voice, and hated it. This should not be happening in his county.

  Turning onto the Forest Service road to Long Peak, he flipped his lights and siren on, dodged around the roadblock set up by two of the locals on a call from his sergeant. Both looked like they’d just climbed out of bed. Both had rifles and wore sidearms. Both of their faces were set and hard—determined. He nodded and touched his hat in thanks and respect as he went by and, ramming his foot into it, headed up.

  *

  Jessie heard the sirens. They were east of her position. Signaling the dogs, she moved, tree to tree, in that direction. The sirens stopped.

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she pulled it out, recognized the number as the same as had called earlier, and softly answered.

  “I’m nearing your position,” came Sheriff Reid’s voice. “Another deputy is above me, nearby.”

  “I’m moving toward you in the forest.”

  “Good. I’m picking up your GPS coordinates. I’m on foot, headed toward you now.”

  The connection terminated, and Jessie slipped the phone back in her pocket. She was having a hard time catching her breath. She bent over and worked on trying to stay calm, but it wasn’t working. All she felt was panic and terror and guilt
and horror, all rolled up into one. Her stomach lurched into her mouth, the acid of it burning.

  Mitch and Acer moved near, both dogs flanking her. She heard Milo begin to low growl again. Oh, God, no. Please. And, despite her best intentions not to, she dry vomited, her body shuddering. Stop it. Stop it. Get a grip. Now! Find cover.

  But she couldn’t even move. Couldn’t force her feet to obey her.

  Mitch’s nose hit her face. Acer leaned into her, pushing his weight against her knee. Milo woofed softly. Queenie let out a little whine. They wouldn’t do that if there were danger.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Sumi, Oso, and Britta all drop their hackles, but maintain alert. And, moments later, she saw movement—a man in uniform and a white Stetson, an assault rifle in his hands, was walking towards her.

  “Ruhig,” she said, but the dogs already knew—she was safe; they were all safe.

  *

  Seven dogs in the car packed the entire back seat—a wall of fur and panting. But, he admitted, they were very well behaved, despite all being sandwiched in side by side like sardines, the two smallest standing on the floor between the seats beneath the others, the biggest keeping his head hunched down to fit.

  The girl—woman, he reprimanded his brain—was sweating and shivering, both, her sweats sticking to her in places. “I’m going to say this once,” he growled. “You do not go out unarmed while we have a killer on the loose. You, of all people, should know better. In fact, you should know better than to even be out knowing that a murderer is using this area for a dumping ground.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He felt steam ready to explode out of him and clamped his mouth shut, doing his level best to lock his rage down. But he couldn’t. “You’re law enforcement. Or were. You know better!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He glanced a look at her. Put his eyes back on his driving. “Don’t you ‘yes, sir’ me. That’s a cop-out, and you know it. You’re paying me lip service, not listening.”

  “Yes….”

  In his periphery, he saw her look away out the window. But he’d already seen it. She was utterly terrified, her skin pale, her lips and fingers blue. PTSD—was this the result? May he never, ever suffer it.