Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
A fork of lightning brightens the western sky as I drive through pouring rain, my pulse ticking faster and faster.
Bruneau sits alert on the passenger seat while I try to reach either Scott or Keith at the field office.
I finally reach Scott on his cell but he was away in meetings for most of the day and didn’t even know Linnie was in the field.
At least he was able to locate Keith for me, but it only confirmed what we already know: Linnea was surveying the upper section of Little Elk Creek.
She signed out a work truck just before dawn, probably to maximize the daylight.
But by now, she would have checked in.
Something is wrong.
Back when Linn was dating that controlling asshole Nathan, at first, I believed her claim that our longer periods of silence were due to her intense academic load, being busy with friends, and applying to grad school.
When it became clear that Nathan was manipulating her, I tried to intervene, but it only pushed her farther away.
After it was over, and Linn asked for space, I agreed with one caveat, that she always returns my texts.
Even if it was only a thumbs up or a random picture. I needed proof that she was okay.
When I round the bend in the forest road, my headlights flash on a silver IDFW work truck parked in a pullout next to the creek, with CJ’s blue Dodge parked in front of it, engine running like he’s just arrived. Bruneau gives a soft whine, no doubt reading my growing worry.
I do my best to park off the road behind the work truck then grab my heavy-duty flashlight from the back and tug on my rain slicker, hat, and a pair of gloves.
Bruneau bounds over the console then scampers down next to me.
I squat down, ignoring the tight ache in my hip, and take his big head in my hands.
“Help me find Linnie, okay, boy?” He’s not a search dog, so this request is bogus.
As if to prove my point, he licks my chin.
“Stay close,” I command, then click on my flashlight and shut my truck door. Another streak of lightning erupts from the west, illuminating the slanting rain and surrounding forest.
CJ materializes wearing a black raincoat with the hood pulled up over a ball cap, jeans, and hiking boots. Thunder booms, but it’s still distant.
There’s plenty I need to say to him, but it can wait until after we find Linnea. The steely look of determination on his face reassures me that we’re on the same page.
“Still no word from her?” I shout over the steady roar of the now-swollen creek and the driving rain splatting on my hat and shoulders. I can read the answer on his tense face.
He shakes his head. “The truck’s empty and locked,” he shouts.
“Is her gear inside?” We both walk alongside the truck toward the driver’s side.
“Not that I saw,” he replies.
A shine of my flashlight into the cab proves he’s right. The only sign of Linnea is her travel mug in the console, the one she insists saves trees. The truck’s bed is also empty.
I pull out my phone and tap on the text icon, so it can pull up the map of Linn’s last known location. But even as I squint, I can’t see shit in this light. Where are my glasses?
As if reading my mind, CJ slips my phone into his hands. “We’ll screen shot it, so we can cross reference later if we end up outside cell range.”
I should be grateful for his quick thinking, but I can’t deny the edge of frustration in my tone when I reply, “Good idea.”
After blowing up the map, he snaps the screen shot, then before I can blink, he texts himself the image and hands my phone back.
“She could be hurt,” he says in a firm tone, his eyes tense.
“Let’s go.” I tuck my phone away and point my flashlight toward the creek rushing past its banks. It’s been raining for several hours, so I’m not surprised to find no trace of Linnea’s boot prints.
We heel-step down the soggy slope, the rushing water louder down here.
Bruneau lopes next to me, tail wagging. The three of us cross the creek, the cold water swirling past my ankles.
With this rain and the warmer temperatures, this creek will soon be a raging river.
Could Linnea have fallen in? Maybe hit her head?
The water’s not deep or swift enough yet to carry her away, so that’s not it.
But she could have gotten hurt, then become hypothermic.
“We’ll grid search our way upstream,” I shout over the creek’s roar. Search and Rescue training is an integral part of becoming a conservation officer, but this is likely CJ’s first real search. “Let’s start with a call.”
CJ squints at me from under his ball cap. “Okay.”
I instruct Bruneau to heel, and he darts over to sit at my side while CJ turns his back to mine.
I remove my hat so I can hear better and count to three, then shout Linnea’s name in tandem with CJ, our voices dampened by the rain and the rushing creek. We stand frozen, listening. I close my eyes, tuning in with my other senses, waiting, waiting, but no reply comes.
If Linnie’s here, lying hurt, even if she can’t reply, maybe she’ll hear us. She’ll know we’re coming.
“I’ll take the north side.” I start moving again. “We’ll call every twenty feet or so.”
“Got it!” CJ pulls away, his flashlight beam sweeping over the wet cobbles.
Even though Linnea was working the upper section, she would have had to pass through this area on her way up and then back.
I try not to get too fixed on the information about her last known location based on the phone data.
What if the battery died? What if she dropped it by accident?
The only thing I’m sure of is that she was upstream of us at around four o’clock, and she didn’t return to the truck.
We sweep with our flashlight beams while Bruneau zigzags between us, tail wagging like this is just another fun adventure.
For an instant, I let it bring me back to happier times.
Hikes with him and Linnea. Summer cookouts and trail rides.
But emotions quickly overtake me, bottling up in my throat, and I have to fight to keep them there.
No. We’ll find her. Everything will be okay.
By the beam of my flashlight, I search for broken branches or overturned cobbles.
Any sign of disturbance that could indicate someone passed through here recently.
I’m also looking for anything Linnie could have dropped or left behind.
Like her backpack or the section of PVC pipe used to measure stream depth and that doubles as a walking stick.
But the creek bed has gone soggy and the branches droop from the rain, likely creating a very different landscape than the one Linnea worked in earlier.
“Let’s call again,” CJ shouts, trotting to meet me. We set up as before, back-to-back. I make sure Bruneau is settled before we call Linnea’s name into the storm. But there’s only the rush of water and the pounding rain.
Another flash of lightning. I scan the basin for anything that stands out, but darkness returns too quickly. Thunder rumbles, closer this time.
We continue searching, crossing the creek twice. Even though we’re upstream, the water is deeper, faster. The flood is already underway. If only the rain could have held off for one more day. This entire basin is going to be too dangerous for travel soon.
I have to find my daughter, and if she’s hurt, get her out of here.
We cross at a high bank, the water now a milky brown and so swift I have to concentrate on my footing. My feet are completely soaked, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
On the other side, we call again. I close my eyes, waiting, listening, but my heart is thumping hard and the creek is louder.
Where are you, Linnea?
After the long pause, CJ faces me, his lips tight. “We’re almost to the top of the field area.”
I slip out my phone. Sure enough, we’re out of cell range now. I point to my screen. “No service.”
“Yeah,” he huffs. “Same with mine.”
I open the screen shot, then glance up, shining my flashlight slowly. Map reading in the dark is darn near impossible, but I’ve been in this basin before, plus I’ve scanned the project overview several times.
“Let’s tighten our grid,” I say. “Even work into the woods.”
“What’s that?” CJ squats down, his light catching a flash of color.
I rush over the uneven cobbles toward it, CJ at my side, both of our flashlight beams bobbing in time with our hurried steps.
When I crouch down, my hip screams and a cramp shoots into my groin. I grimace, but the pain has claws. Fuck! I don’t have time for this right now.
CJ snatches the object, but it’s tied to a low-hanging hemlock bough, and rainwater cascades over us.
“What the hell is that?” I shout, lowering my left knee to the cobbles so I can breathe some relief into the joint space.
“I don’t know.” CJ turns over the colorful woven object. “We made these in Sunday School. Only ours were made with popsicle sticks.”
A memory fires—Keo saw one of these too, on one of her long hikes. The one that inspired those two paintings.
CJ flips the object back. “They’re supposed to symbolize protection, I think.”
I huddle in closer. “What’s it doing out here?”
CJ shines his flashlight beam slowly at the gently rising bank and the understory of the forest beyond it while my mind whirs.
Protection.
Sunday School.
Why would these two very similar objects be hanging from tree branches located at a creek’s edge in two completely different and very remote areas?
“Wait a sec.” CJ snatches his phone from his pocket. “That day we went to Sons of Eden. When you were inside the houses, I took some pictures. Some video too.” He scrolls quickly through his photos, raindrops splattering on his screen. “I think I saw one of these.”
He plays a video, which sweeps from the main road and farmhouse to the left, taking in the barn, the snowy pasture and black dairy cows, then the woods. He pauses the video and zooms in. “There.”
Though my vision is shit, there’s a blob of color tucked into the sea of green forest.
I close my eyes because too much information is bouncing around and I need to focus. Something that’s been bothering me about Colton’s escape. It started with Luke’s comment about him covering nearly forty miles. He couldn’t have wandered aimlessly and survived. So how did he know where to go?
I tried once before, but I lost the path, and they found me.
Could Colton have meant that literally?
“I think it’s some kind of trail marker,” I say. “Like a waypoint.” During the underground railroad, safe houses were marked by certain types of quilts that were hung in windows or on clotheslines. “I think the kids who have made it out of Sons of Eden follow them to safety.”
I stand, my thoughts running too fast to explain. I should have never let Linnea come out here alone.
CJ stares up at me. “You think they were patrolling, and they ran into her?”
I sweep my light again, panic filling my chest. “It’s possible.”
“But then what?” He jumps to his feet. “It’s not like she’s out here to hassle anyone.”
“What if they suspected she’s helping kids escape?
Or what if they thought she’s a cop?” Our IDFW jackets are identical, tan with the dark green patch on the shoulder, plus Linn most likely wore her army surplus wool pants today due to this weather.
She could have easily passed for someone in law enforcement.
CJ’s nostrils flare and his look turns pleading. “Do you think they’d…”
“We don’t know that’s what happened,” I interrupt. “Let’s keep searching. We’ll tighten our grid. Head into the woods from here. If we still don’t find anyth—"
“Where’s Bruneau?” he asks.
I whistle, sweeping my light until his silky brown coat flashes into view.
“He came from over there,” CJ says as Bruneau heels to my left.
“What’d you find, boy?” I ask him as CJ takes off. I hurry after him, scurrying over the wet cobbles to the low bank. The forest is thick here, wet branches slapping my face.
Ahead of me, CJ falls to his knees.
With panic chewing up my spine, I stop short behind him, panting.
Ripped in half, the contents strewn over the mix of cobbles and mud, is Linnea’s backpack.