Badge Boys

by Caliente Morgan

  Taking a deep breath, hoping for some luck, she reached up and tried the latch. It lifted. She heard the click. She opened the door after one false start, found it opened enough for her to slide out. It would be tight. But door was jammed into the hillside and if she shoved on it might help the truck fall. She had no idea how stable the truck was.

  She squeezed herself out, rolling onto the forest floor, dragging her tote and other booty with her.

  Thank God. She wouldn’t die in the wreck. But now?

  The truck hadn’t moved. Good. But the odd creaking and snapping noises sounded closer together. Not so good. Any minute now and it would break the tree and continue sliding down the hillside.

  She found her footing. For the moment. There was a lot of deep mulch covered with a lot of slippery leaves. But a tree that could hold her weight she thought she might be able to reach. She took stock.

  Annie knew she was facing hours stuck on the side of the hill. She could climb some but she would never reach the road. She couldn’t go down because she didn’t have a clear path to the bottom. If she slipped, she’d fall all the way down or slam into a tree and injure herself more.

  Clinging to the cliff side was the obvious choice. That was what they said to do. If you are lost, sit down. Stay put. Don’t wander. Hug a tree.

  Annie reached back into the truck and yanked the seat pad and the seat cushion out. Another reach had her truck jacket from the back seat. A nylon parka of indeterminate age and very oversized. Thank God. It would mean she wouldn’t freeze to death immediately.

  Good. She still had the knife. There was a ball of plastic bags under the seat. She took them. A box of tissues that had landed on the back seat in reach. She gingerly reached for it and scored. There were other items she would have liked, but she had to stop. They were out of reach. The longer she was next to the truck, the more dangerous her position became. When it cut loose, who knew what it would dislodge.

  The tree was creaking louder to emphasis that thought, so she backed off. Annie collected all these loose items and turned to start crawling to the targeted tree somewhat uphill and to the back of the crash scene.

  The suitcase in the back of the truck carried her phone, some books, her clothing. She could have used all of it. Not worth staying near the wreck. Not if it was as unstable as she thought. More likely the truck would slip further down as the snapping wood of the tree declared. That the vehicle could take part of the hill with it when it fell was a possibility she had to consider. The weight of the truck could likely uproot the tree. Cause a slide.

  Besides, she had no idea where the suitcase actually was.

  Give it up.

  Scrabbling in the mulch, slipping and sliding, Annie made her targeted tree, grabbed hold of it and hung on, panting. Her arm hurt and her neck was not going to be happy.

  The louder sounds of snapping wood made her look back and watch as her truck, slowly and then with more speed, continued its downhill plunge, dragging the stump and root ball of the tree with it. She vaguely registered that the rear door of the camper was missing. Meaning her suitcase was anywhere. Her laptop was in the suitcase. Her notebooks. Her stuff.

  The truck plowed down the hill, still gaining speed, crashing through undergrowth until she couldn’t see it anymore. She did hear it. She knew when it had encountered something immobile. The crash echoed on the hill just as the sounds of breaking wood stopped. So much for that.

  Her keys were something she had grabbed because there were so many other keys she didn’t want to loose. If the truck survived the fall, starting its engine would not be a given. She thought about the possibility of the truck being recoverable. Probably not. She felt a momentary pang of remorse. She really loved it. She had never realized how handy trucks were until she had one.

  Her laptop. Notebooks. Lost. Pushed that worry away. She had a flash drive in her purse.

  Enough worry about things.

  First, she had to be recoverable.

  She clambered around the tree, a young thing of barely ten-inch diameter, and put her keys into her purse.

  She still wore a meeting badge. She put that in her purse.

  If she died here, at least they would be able to identify her. She had an abundance of IDs. The pocket where the cell phone should have been was glaringly empty. If only she had remembered to grab it out of the suitcase to which she had banished it.

  Hang onto it, girl. Two studly and guaranteed horny cops are waiting anxiously for you to get home.

  They will be impatient. They will get anxious. More than that, they would know exactly what department to call, what resources to contact. They would know who to send to find her or how find out what happened to her. When she did not answer the cell phone, they’d know something was wrong. Because she should have had it in her purse. Should-a, would-a, could-a. Not useful thinking.

  They had her last call location. They knew her expected arrival time. If she were late, they would start driving toward that location, using the driving directions that she had gone over and over and over with them. They knew which roads she’d take. Which freeways. Where she’d most likely stop for gas.

  So now what? How long before they started looking? At least two hours, longer if they were out on a call. They were sharp guys. They’d get a search started as fast as possible after that. She was a heroine to the department. She had saved the life of a cop. The department wouldn’t ignore that fact when she was reported missing. It would mean bad press. She grimaced. She hoped they would think of that.

  Annie was still bleeding from hitting her head on the window and her neck was not braced. Head wounds bled a lot. She bled a lot. Oh well.

  Sugar. She needed sugar. She searched her purse and came up with a couple mini candy bars. Ate one. She had several peppermints. She had one of those too. She grabbed the Gatorade bottle, only one third left, and downed it. Her coffee had gone flying. It would have been good to have. She could suck on her jacket sleeve. It was evidently wearing the coffee.

  Annie looked around. She was apt to be here for sometime. Before the bruises started swelling, and she knew her right knee was a mess already, she needed to get to a secure position. She needed to do it before night fully fell. The only light she had was a tiny flashlight of the AAA variety on her keychain. It had, unbelievably, a new battery.

  There were clouds. It was already dark in spots. It had a twilight feel. Moonlight would not help. Starlight was too weak. Any light would be blocked by the cloud cover. She didn’t think rain was likely. Cold was the problem, cloud cover or no. She was not dressed for exposure. She was wearing clothing that the boys would have easily removed in a flurry of welcome home enthusiasm.

  The guys might call for a chopper and a searchlight. Good luck with that.

  Was there enough debris on the road that someone could see that there had even been an accident? How far down am I?

  She put the oversized jacket on. It beat trying to carry it. She had stuffed the seat cushions, bags, and tissues into the meeting tote. Tote and purse were slung cross-body style off her shoulder. Or the purse was. The tote she had tied to the purse. The purse was a tough travel purse, tough being the important word.

  She needed to keep the strap from riding up to her neck. She had no way to tie it to her. No scarf. No belt. She had to keep her hands free.

  Thank god she was in sneakers that tied. In spite of the crash, they were still on her feet. Probably that was courtesy of the air bag. She had chosen this sturdy pair because driving the backcountry at anytime was a bit of a jaunt, and she needed something other than a high heel or a slip-on. This was a truck. She needed clutch and brake and gas pedal. Her muscles were used to her being in heavy shoes when she drove.

  She tried to trace the truck’s descent and found the broken branches and mowed down bushes were a comfort in a strange way. The trail could possibly be spotted from a search chopper, so if she died out here, they’d eventually find her. Small comfort. She moved her hands protec
tively down over her belly.

  “Think, girl,” she said, her voice hoarse. She had screamed. She had heard screams. Must have been hers. Unless she had picked up a passenger she hadn’t known about! She needed hot tea. Hot coffee. Right.

  Annie looked around her, squinting, trying to see a less steep area, a gentler slope. If she fell asleep, she didn’t want to wake up to find herself falling down the hill after the truck. She found a ledge of sorts about ten feet above where she was and over to the side by about thirty feet, although she was shit at guessing distances. Could she get there?

  Annie studied the bushes and trees. Crawling was the only way to go. Gripping plants, brush, trees, and rocks. Cling to the bloody soil. She pushed the purse to her back and flattened herself into the hill.

  The ledge above her was closer. From here, she studied it. It did not look all that stable. But the one jutting out another twenty feet to the side and at the same level did look sturdy. It wasn’t sporting a large overhang where erosion had worn away the supporting soil.

  She knew she was, no matter how many athletics she engaged in, a woman of a certain size. No longer a one-hundred-twenty pound weakling. The twins loved her curves. Her large breasts. Her handy hip handles. Her American thighs. Ivan loved her thighs.

  Annie decided she had no choice. She had to move. Must move. Sitting here in the dirt was not a good idea.

  Anything up was good. She reached out and felt the sturdiness of the brush roots. Shallow? Or could it hold her? She would have to use saplings where possible, which could very well slide right out of the ground.

  Chaparral, which was what she was surrounded with, were known to be shallow plants. They were also prickly.

  Grass was useless unless a big bunch and then it could be for stepping on. Provided she could even find that.

  Try. You have to try. You cannot stay awake with an injury and in the cold. You need to be safer.

  She reached out with her left foot to test if she had a foothold, and wiped one hand off on her pants. Blood would only make her grip slippery.

  It took a moment, but she found one. The foothold held.

  Annie started moving inch by treacherous inch.

  It was a long way down. She avoided looking in that direction.

  She took her time.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ivan and Troy were nervously waiting for Annie to come home. They had dinner plans. Dinner plans interrupted by a SWAT action. They stayed glued to their phones. Normally, private cells were not allowed to be turned on. Ivan had told the captain in charge that they were waiting for a priority notification. Muted the ring. They did not elaborate.

  The hour she was due passed and still no word. They were busy. They couldn’t do a thing. By the second hour, the SWAT call had been resolved and they both jumped on their cells, Ivan the first to start dialing her number. It rang and rang. Went to voice mail. He tried again.

  “Better not kill the battery,” Ivan said as he stopped the call.

  “Maybe she didn’t charge it.”

  “She told me she had. I asked.” Ivan said. She had called when she left the retreat, had left a voice mail, had said when she’d be home. She hadn’t made contact since.

  They had stripped out of the SWAT gear but were still in full uniform. Strapping on their equipment belts, Ivan walked calmly over to the captain, followed by a slightly agitated Troy.

  “Got a problem,” Ivan said.

  The captain looked up. “Your call?”

  “No answer. She’s overdue.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Our heroine from the hotel shoot out. Elizabeth Ann Burnside. Annie. She went to a conference. She had called and said when she would be back. She’s two hours overdue with no cell response.”

  Troy added, “She’s driving out in the boondocks. We have a map of the roads she would be on. Lots of canyon.”

  “Request to leave and start back driving those roads,” added Ivan.

  The captain looked hard at Ivan. “I take it you hooked up with her?”

  Ivan nodded. “We’ve been a couple for several months. This is not like her. We had plans. She’s very punctual. Very careful. She had a map. She knew the area. Lots of trees. Could be broken down. Her damn cell is a flip phone. Haven’t got her into anything newer. Doesn’t hold a charge for long. She has no GPS on her truck. But when she called us before she left the function, she had said her cell was charged.”

  “What’s she driving?”

  “A two thousand two silver Tacoma pick up. Extended cab. Standard bed. 4x4. Manual shift. TRD. Camper shell. Good all-terrain tires. I checked. She’s driving alone.”

  “Put out a BOLO to the Chips. See if anyone’s reported a breakdown or an accident. Go look. Too early to commit more manpower. Keep your radios on.”

  They raced back and jumped into their cruisers, and Troy laid rubber racing out of the turn out and onto the street, heading toward the freeway that she would have been on headed home. No lights. They both checked that their gas tanks were filled. Should be enough for a round trip. Good, because neither one wanted to stop.

  They kept to the speed limit and Ivan took the lead, if only to keep Troy from lead-footing it. Radioed in the BOLO and informed them to contact him immediately. The exit she was to have driven came up. There was a McDonald’s across the street. Ivan pulled a U-turn across four lanes of traffic and pulled up, hard stopping near their door. He walked in, asked the counter people if they had seen this woman and flashed a photo of Annie. “Probably in a silver Tacoma pick up, camper shell.”

  The result was fruitless. He told them to contact him if they saw her and handed the clerk his card. He was back out in a hurry, half-running to his car. He repeated the U-turn to get back on the connector. Troy was ahead of him now and Ivan was the one lead-footing it to catch up. The miles were flying by. CHP called, reporting no truck or woman with a wreck or a breakdown had been spotted. But they had also noted that there were sparse at best patrols of the canyons. They were rolling a couple of cars out. Could be awhile. They asked which roads in particular, and Ivan rattled them off.

  Ivan discussed her planned route. “Cell phone’s not answering. No GPS.”

  He felt like he was trapped in the Dark Ages. Damn he should have put a GPS tracker on her truck. When she was finally safe at home, he fully intended to do just that. He would insist this time. Damnit! He’d hide it in the damn engine if necessary. He had seen her checking under her car.

  He radioed Troy the status.

  “Calm down, brother. We’ve got a long night. No good to her if you fall apart.” Troy must have picked up on his panic. Ivan did some breathing exercises, and they checked off where the next turn was.

  They sped through that canyon and then they were in a section of flat farmland. Nothing. The sun was setting. It would be very cold, very soon. They entered another section of two-way traffic on winding roads. Thirty minutes later, Troy slammed on his brakes and pulled a four wheel drift and donut spin. His cruiser shuddered to a stop. Ivan had stopped just in time without crashing into him.

  Both of them jumped out of their cars. The road had collapsed across both lanes. Sinkhole.

  Something caught Troy’s eye. “Over here.”

  Ivan ran up with a high-powered flashlight, “Jesus. Someone went over. It’s a full slide.”

  He backed up and positioned his cruiser so the flood could shine down the hill. When he got out, he could see the path that something large and heavy had taken.

  Troy was busy on the radio, calling for help from highway patrol, giving them the location of the road collapse. It was a man down call. He asked for a chopper and a full search team. They had a woman and a truck to locate. He then reported into the captain.

  Troy moved his cruiser, too—shining headlights at any on coming drivers, hit his flashers. Ivan had already turned his on. Troy also aimed his flood toward the hill.

  Ivan called. He called until Troy told him to stop. “I
f she could have heard you, or responded, she would have.”

  “I’m going to try the phone again.”

  He stepped away from the running car. Away so he could hear. Dialed her cell. Heard it ring. Heard it ring.

  “Troy! Her cell phone’s down there!”

  Troy blanched. “Dear God. We need climbing rigs. That’s maybe a mile drop.”

  Both men got on the radio. One for an update for Highway Patrol. And the other to call home base. She was part of the family. And she was down.

  Ivan tried to control the clenching of his gut, the spike of fear that slivered through him. Down. The one word in the language no officer wanted to use for a loved one. She was loved. Every fiber of his being knew he loved her. Marriage or no, they were bonded.

  His entire world shrunk to a pinpoint focus. He needed her. Alive. Safe. In his arms. She already lived in his heart. He was also pretty sure there was something else he had to worry about. She hadn’t cycled. It would be early days. She was not a twenty-something. Maybe she was waiting to be sure before she told them. He was sure. He had seen the glow. The new way she moved. Her breasts were larger and more sensitive. She had stopped wearing perfume.

  She was carrying his child. He was sure of it.

  Deep breaths, he told himself. Deep breaths. No good to either of them if you lose it.

  Think! She was resourceful. She would have tried to save herself. If she suspected she was pregnant and he had no doubt about that, she would be driven to survive. He knew her well enough to believe that. He had seen her in action before after all. Images of the hotel shooting flashed by.

  But neither Troy nor he could see her climbing up a steep hillside nearly a mile high. This was a deep canyon. Heavy brush on some of it. The cruiser floodlights got lost in it.

  Sirens roared up the road behind them and three CHP cruisers arrived.