The Waiting Hours

by Shandi Mitchell

  Heather lowered her head to double-check her calculations. Her diamond ring glowed blood red in her lamplight. Zeus, trained to check in and maintain contact, circled back and looped away again.

  “We’re losing time,” Kate said.

  She ducked under a sprawl of limbs and followed Zeus’s bobbing light, not waiting for confirmation. Heather scrambled clumsily to keep up. Kate heard the satisfying tear of fabric but didn’t look back. An owl hooted and the woods pulsed with the hum of crickets and the deep-throated throb of bullfrogs. Heather’s breathless voice relayed their coordinates to base camp. At least she could read a compass and was decent with a map. Earlier, though, Kate needed to correct her and tell her not to walk in front of the dog. Basic search knowledge—don’t contaminate the dog’s scent area.

  Nosing the ground, Zeus circled a spot and sat. Her headlamp flashed green off his eyes and flared white off a teacup garlanded with bluebells. Her amazing dog was on the scent. Kate dropped a red marker and glanced back to see if Heather was recording the find. Her lover’s wife’s sleeve was ripped and her vest gobbed with spruce gum. Zeus’s nose lifted. She wondered if the gully was indeed funnelling the scent over the ledge, giving him a false direction. They had circled this area twice. She might need to take him up the ridge to check the perimeter. He chose southwest again. Trust him.

  “Confirm with Command there are no other search teams within a kilometre.”

  At least a kilometre. Zeus had been known to pick up scents at .7 kilometres. She quieted the restless energy of hope and widened her gap between Heather’s overly enthusiastic walkie relay. The object find meant nothing other than that Zeus was on scent. It could have been dropped hours ago. They had found other articles on other searches and never recovered a body. Zeus’s collar wove back and forth.

  The point last seen was a modest fifties bungalow not far from the park. She checked her watch. Fifteen and a half hours had passed since the person went missing. As per protocol, the SAR teams weren’t deployed until after the K-9 trackers proved unsuccessful. Now they were searching an area contaminated by police, K-9, family, and volunteers. Just like in the ER, searches had golden hours and delays increased the risk of negative outcomes. The deployment protocol was a constant prick of irritation. Trackers were trained to police and apprehend, not find. And were known to mistake “lost” for “eluding capture.” SAR dogs didn’t bite their finds.

  Heather stumbled. Her flashlight beam careened across the twisted trunks and shattered limbs of hurricane-damaged trees. Kate picked up her pace. Laden with extra water and first aid supplies, her backpack scraped a low-hanging bough, showering her with needles. Riley had asked if she wanted to be taken off the active list, seeing as her mother was in hospital. In a moment of too many whiskeys and the false security of his embrace, she had mistakenly confided in him. His only concern was whether she could do the job. The mess of life wasn’t part of their exchange. He didn’t know about her brother. And never would.

  She glanced back at Heather. Her head was down, watching her feet. She held the handset to her mouth like a respirator. Kate shifted the pack biting into the small of her back. Riley worried about her ability to separate work and personal, yet he entrusted her with his wife. He didn’t worry that she could blow up his life. It both irritated and reassured her that he knew her so well.

  Zeus was leading them to lower ground. His collar skittered along a buffer of nettled bush. His sweeps were tightening and his trot quickening. He had found the scent cone.

  The missing person was a Wanderer, a seventy-eight-year-old female with mild to moderate dementia. When the teams were informed, they knew what that meant. Wanderers walked in straight lines and would keep going until deflected or stopped completely by an obstacle. They left roads and paths to follow visual breaks in the landscape and were known to walk into marshes and lakes as though on solid land. Unable to conceive of turning around, they’d push deep into impassable bush until hopelessly hemmed in. A twig whipped her cheek.

  Zeus was working closer. The red light bobbed in and out of the knotting branches. Nettles and burrs grabbed her legs. Heather’s nasal voice chattered unnecessary coordinates and Riley didn’t correct her. They were veering southeast, moving towards the outer edge of the area of probability, a five-kilometre radius from the heart-shaped pond where the missing person had walked daily for thirty years.

  Her name was Freda, but there was no point calling. She didn’t know her name anymore. She was last seen at breakfast wearing a blue nightgown. Her eighty-year-old husband went to the bathroom and when he returned she was gone, along with her cup of tea. Her slippers were still under the kitchen table.

  Deadfall cracked underfoot. She hoped the noise would flush wild animals out of the area. It had taken a long time to suppress her fear of Zeus being attacked. She had proofed him to avoid wildlife, but she was still hypervigilant to the danger of stray or unleashed dogs, and would never quell her worry over hunters’ traps. She swiped her flashlight over a copse of jagged stumps and splintered trunks, white as bone. Hale young saplings rose from the remains. After the hurricane, surviving trees blanketed the ground with pine cones and acorns and showered the forest floor with whirling maple samaras. She wondered how they knew to attempt to save themselves.

  A red blur and white-tipped tail burst from the thicket. Heather gasped. Kate panned her flashlight and caught Zeus’s vest in the light. He was still, facing the direction of the retreating fox. His nose flared, but he swung back, intent on his purpose. Good boy. She swiped a mosquito from her nostrils and stepped over the broken spine of a tree, steadying herself with the trunk of another. There wasn’t any pattern as to why some trees had fallen and others stood unscathed.

  She had been working the night of the hurricane. That was six years ago, but sometimes she still had dreams of being caught in its wind and lifted off the ground. When the storm began, people ignored the warnings and were in the streets with their arms outspread, leaning into the gale. But when it truly arrived, and the rain roared sideways and waves surged over the city, people cowered in their basements and under support beams as trees fell. The wind sounded alive and vengeful. Transformers exploded, raining fire, poles toppled, power lines roiled and arced, windows blew, roofs failed. They had to evacuate a whole ward.

  When the eye passed overhead, she had stepped outside. The air was thick with tropical heat and the sweet breath of dying trees and silence. She had never truly heard silence before. It made her feel small and afraid, as if she had trespassed and found herself inside a stillness humans weren’t meant to witness and knew it couldn’t last. When she looked up, there were stars and, oddly, she thought she heard birds.

  She had lost sight of Zeus’s collar. Branches clawed her arms as she wended her way around a thatch of spruce. Zeus barked. She stopped short, and Heather bumped into her.

  “Sorry.”

  She raised her hand to silence her. The barks were loud and insistent. Her flashlight pierced holes in the blackness. Zeus emerged from the briars to her right. His tongue lolled and his sides were heaving. Burrs tangled his fur.

  “Show me,” she said.

  He led the way, adjusting his pace so she could keep up. He spun in tight, joyful circles, coaxing her forward. She leaned into the dense undergrowth, pushing it back. A gnarl of upturned limbs carved her light. Zeus bounded ahead, bowing at the colossal roots of an upended skeletal tree. He barked, loud and deep and sure, Here, Here, Here. Kate slowed her breath and cloaked her heart, preparing for what was ahead. Another raised hand stopped Heather from coming closer.

  “Call it in.”

  Zeus’s tail circle-wagged and he ran squirming back to her. His nose bumped her leg and she retrieved his toy from her pocket. “Good boy,” she whispered and tugged twice before letting him win. He tossed his head in victory and plopped down on the ground. Reassured that he had indicated “live,” she proceeded. But Zeus couldn’t discern the degree of alive.

 
She saw the hem of a blue nightgown squirrelled in the cage of ancient roots, snagged in the bramble. Spindled legs streaked with dirt and blood flared under Kate’s glaring light. The still body was slumped to its knees against the heart root. Wide eyes blinked.

  She knelt beside the woman. “Hello, Freda,” she said. “I’m Kate. We’re here to take you home.” The woman’s fingers clenched the rich loam, and startled sowbugs scuttled over her quaking hand. The earth smelled sweet and the woman sour.

  “I’m going to check you over to make sure you’re doing okay.” She triaged the ABCs—airway, breathing, circulation. Took note of hypothermia, dehydration, lacerations, and bruising. She ran her hands over the trembling limbs. No pain response. No obvious broken bones. The woman’s piercing eyes, swollen with bites, studied her face. Her breathing was unobstructed. “Very good, Freda, thank you.”

  She draped a thermal blanket over her and held a water bottle to her crusted lips. The woman suckled it with both hands. Her opaque eyes stared back. Kate pointed the flashlight away to soften its spill, and the tree’s silvered-grey heart clogged with mud and stones illuminated. Pacing in and out of the light, Heather radioed in their coordinates. She was speaking too fast and her voice was pitched high, betraying the emotion of her first find.

  “Hold your light here and talk slower. Tell them we have a find and require assistance.” Code for alive.

  Heather’s eyes were shining as though she might cry. Apart from that, she had shown promise as a team lead. Riley would be pleased. Kate tipped the bottle away and cold fingers touched the back of her hand. The old woman caressed the younger skin in long, reassuring strokes, then slipped her hand in Kate’s and held on.

  The hand was small and Kate could feel every bone under the papery skin. The palm seared into hers. Gently and professionally, she turned over the woman’s hand to expose her wrist. Her rabbit-pulse thrummed wild against Kate’s fingertips.

  “It’s okay,” the old woman said, her voice soft as moss. “Don’t be afraid.” Freda’s oceanic blue eyes flooded Kate with her love. “I’ve found you. You’re safe now.”

  * * *

  —

  Kate switched off the TV, silencing the infomercial selling pain-free miracles in four easy payments. She checked her watch. Another hour before dawn. Her body ached for sleep, but the night was still pumping inside her. Dangling off the couch, Zeus’s paws twitched and his legs jerked. He was burrowed against her belly, keeping her close. She ran her hand over his soft, warm fur. He groaned.

  She had treated the superficial scratches and nicks on his paws and forelegs with antiseptic, and after a massage to loosen his muscles, prepared a special meal with his favourite foods—egg, apple, raw salmon, steak, and raspberries. He emptied two bowls of water and fell asleep during his brushing, unfazed by the nettles, burrs, thorns, and ticks she had removed. He hadn’t stirred since. She managed a shower for herself.

  She stood under the warm spray until the water went cold. Pine needles, sweat, bug spray, and a spider circled the drain. The needles had hived her neck, her forearms were scratched, and a whipping branch had left a welt across her cheek. The scab on her hand had split and peeled. Soon it would be just another scar tattooing her with stories.

  Zeus’s nostrils crinkled and flared. He was dreaming. His eyes were partially open and his pupils rolled back, revealing the soft pink tissue of his flickering third eyelid. His paws paddled air and his tail thumped once, twice. He was happy. She hoped he was dreaming of her and not just his ball.

  The faint song of birds drifted through her open window. They sounded lonesome and uncertain in their solo performance: Anybody out there? She strained to hear a reply. There. Far off. The birds paused between the call and answer. Do I know you? More songs tentatively awakened, exalting the first light she couldn’t yet see. The chorus, Oh my god, you’re alive too? Give thanks, give thanks! Zeus’s tail whomped faster and his ears pitched back to the sound of its swish. His unseeing eyes opened and his legs stretched rigid. He sighed, and his eyelids slumbered shut.

  She suppressed a selfish urge to wake him so she could see his confusion and loving recognition of her. Her! He would nuzzle his head close or sprawl on his back for a belly rub. Give thanks, give thanks, you’re here! How wonderful!

  Her legs seared pins and needles. Zeus was a dead weight. She needed to eat. She needed sleep. She closed her eyes and was lifted into the whirling night of Freda’s blue eyes, chopper blades, flailing trees, and the basket slowly spinning, ascending into blinding light…She relaxed into the wind. Allowed herself to be carried up, up to the star sky, past red berries, swollen bites, and fox eyes. She rose through the swirl of birds calling, her mother’s still hand, petrified roots, sharp and boned as her brother’s ribs…she fell. Before she could catch her terrified heart, she landed in the soft cushion of the couch and Zeus’s heat. His head craned back. Hello, his tail wagged. Twenty minutes had passed.

  Zeus rolled over, pressing harder. She rubbed his hot, soft underbelly. The birds were singing Get up! The crows had joined in. If she started her day now, at 5:27, she could do what was needed, get home early, and then sleep until tomorrow’s shift. At some point, her body would shut down her mind. The longest she had stayed awake was three days, and by then she was seeing deceased patients at the foot of her bed. They didn’t say or want anything. They just waited for her. She slipped her arm from under Zeus’s head. Stay, he coaxed. She nuzzled his neck. He smelled of woods and air and summer. “Nighty-night.”

  She squirmed out of his nest. Head on paws, he watched her pull on jeans and T-shirt, finger-brush her hair into a ponytail, and slip on her boots. She avoided making eye contact. When she picked up her keys, he scrambled for the door.

  “No, you stay home.” His tail drooped. His unblinking eyes were soft with disappointment. “Aren’t you tired?”

  He jumped up, paws on her chest, and licked the tip of her nose.

  Damn it. She grabbed his leash and Zeus barrelled out the door.

  * * *

  —

  The hospital corridors were empty and the patients asleep. The night nurses’ heads were lowered, and when they looked up, there weren’t questions in their end-of-shift eyes. She had come in through emergency to say hi, drop off coffees and teas, and ascertain if the search had mattered. But she already knew it had. Regardless of the outcome, the family had their loved one home.

  Amy was on duty and said Freda had been transferred to IMCU and was expected to recover. Her sweet husband of fifty-seven years held her hand the entire time and cried when the docs told him she couldn’t go home. The woman was raving about a little girl lost in the woods. They gave her a shot and that settled her down. Amy admonished Kate to go home, she had done enough.

  The eighth floor’s hall lights flickered on. The day shift was coming on. Outside, morning yawned orange and magenta. Zeus bounded into her mother’s room and nuzzled Ruth’s hand. To Kate’s ire, the overhead bed light had been left on again. The oxygen mask had been replaced with nasal prongs. Saturation still high. Vitals stable. Catheter clear. Wrinkles puckered the corners of her mouth around the feeding tube, and her thin lips were chapped. She gently pinched her mother’s forearm to check hydration. The skin was warm and supple. Kate clicked off the harsh light. In the dawn’s glow, her mother appeared to be sleeping. Her forehead, normally creased, was smooth, and the slightly upturned corners of her mouth could be mistaken for a smile.

  “Mom,” she whispered. “It’s me, Kate.”

  A small, childish part of her expected Ruth’s eyes to open or her hand to twitch. There were stories of people awakening after months, years, even decades. Some even returned intact. But then there were others who slept lifetimes and the families who waited beside them ever vigilant. Ever loving. Ever believing. Taking up a bed.

  Years ago, she had watched the news stories with Ruth about a comatose girl and holy statues in her room that supposedly wept. The girl’s mother hung cups fill
ed with cotton balls on crucified feet to catch the oil and gave it away for free. Pins were sold for fifty cents and blessings could be had for a quarter. There was an eighteen-month waiting list to be in the child’s miraculous presence. The garage was converted into a hospital room and a picture window installed.

  The room was pink and lace curtains framed the bed. Kate had envied its prettiness and begged Ruth to paint her bedroom pink. Her mother refused, so she strung a lace-edged tablecloth over her window and laid in bed pretending to be in a coma. She imagined pilgrims streaming past her second-storey window and her mother lovingly brushing her hair like the other mother, until Ruth doused her with a pot of cold water. Get up and live, she had said.

  The fifteenth anniversary of the girl’s accident was commemorated by wheeling her gurney into a football stadium filled to capacity with ten thousand believers. She had on sunglasses and a tiara. She was laid out in an air-conditioned room, specially built for the occasion. It had a bulletproof window. Believers said she was a living saint who could commune their prayers directly to God. The Church said no. Ruth said, Whatever helps them live. Kate hoped the girl wasn’t aware. Recently, she read the girl had died. She was twenty-three. Two bishops attended the funeral, testament to a mother’s unwavering love.

  “Mom, can you hear me?”

  Ruth breathed in and out. Someone had placed the angel, which had been in the locker with her mother’s personal belongings, on the bedside table. One lopsided wing was snapped and shoe prints sullied its dress. The doll’s downcast, frozen eyes looked down on Ruth and its open arms beckoned.

  “Mom…” She watched her mother’s unresponsive face. “I saw Matthew.”

  The oversized clock ticked and tocked. The climbing sun shafted through the windows and blazed Ruth’s cheeks. “Mom…” She wanted to see her oceanic blue eyes. But there was nothing to see. She spun the angel around to face the wall.