Chapter 5
The first pale light of dawn filtered through the thick canopy, casting long shadows across the rugged terrain.
Bear, Link, Flora, Sammy, and Rhys hiked to the edge of the creek, where the ground was soft and framed by wildflowers—the place Jim had said Nancy loved most. As they spread out to search, Bear, Link, and Flora kept a close eye on Sammy and Rhys, making sure the boys stayed safe amid the rough terrain while they focused on finding Nancy.
From that bank, Link carefully deployed the thermal drones into the cool morning air. The machines hummed softly as their heat-seeking sensors swept the dense forests and winding creek beds surrounding Jim’s farm.
Link’s fingers danced over the tablet, adjusting flight paths and zooming in on promising heat signatures. “There—south-east side of the creek. Something small… faint, but consistent.”
Flora adjusted the straps of her backpack, her medical kit securely packed inside, keeping her hands free and ready. Her eyes scanned the brush below for any signs of movement.
Following the creek’s edge, Bear led the way over damp earth tangled with fallen leaves and broken branches.
The scent of wildflowers mingled with the fresh, musky aroma of the forest floor.
They moved carefully, mindful of uneven ground and thick underbrush, pushing aside vines and stepping over gnarled roots.
Along the path, Sammy pointed out broken twigs and flattened grass—the first signs of a recent trail. His keen eyes caught details others might miss, subtle disturbances in the dirt marking where someone had passed.
As they pressed forward, Bear noticed something unsettling—drag marks carved into the soft earth. The scuffed lines ran alongside the creek bank, smoothed earth where it looked like someone had been pulled—or had dragged herself—through the undergrowth.
Bear crouched to examine the marks closely. “These drag marks…looks like she might have been hurt.”
The group exchanged tense looks, the urgency deepening.
The thermal drone hovered over a shadowed rock formation just east of the stream. As they rounded a bend, Rhys’s sharp eyes caught sight of a shallow cave nestled between moss-covered boulders—a dark hollow carved naturally into the rugged terrain.
“There,” Link said, nodding toward the cave entrance. “That’s where the signal’s coming from.”
As they approached the cave entry, Rhys’s voice broke the quiet. “Dad, look here.”
Inside the shallow cave, scattered on the damp soil and among fallen leaves, lay a pile of discarded wrappers and empty plastic water bottles. Nearby, a weathered plastic tote sat with its lid partly ajar, both resting close to the cave’s opening.
Behind the tote, pressed against the back wall of the cave, Nancy lay curled up on a bed of leaves and dirt.
She was wrapped tightly in a soft, worn blanket, its faded fabric a quiet refuge amid the mud streaking her torn clothes.
She hugged herself protectively, tucked as far back as she could, seeking the calm darkness that eased her restless mind.
Flora stepped inside carefully, raising a hand in a gentle signal. “Everyone, please stay right here outside the cave. I need some space to check on Nancy.”
Bear nodded and took a spot near the entrance with Link, Rhys, and Sammy.
Link cracked open a bottle of water, taking slow sips as he scanned the surroundings.
Rhys unwrapped a protein bar, nibbling thoughtfully while keeping his eyes sharp.
Sammy stretched his legs out, chewing slowly on a piece of jerky.
They settled on the damp earth, silent and alert, giving Flora room while keeping watch.
Inside, Flora moved slowly, her body language soft and deliberate to avoid startling Nancy. She began her assessment quietly, glancing over Nancy’s breathing and subtle responses before focusing on her leg. “Nancy, I’m Flora. I’m a doctor. You’re safe here. I’m going to help you now.”
Nancy’s eyes flickered briefly toward Flora but quickly dropped to the cave floor. Her humming pulsed softly—a low, even tone steadying like a metronome. As Flora knelt closer to examine the injured leg, the hum shifted slightly, a subtle rise and fall that hinted at her growing unease.
Flora kept her voice steady and soothing.
“Your leg’s broken, but I’ll be very gentle.
I’m going to make it better, okay? You just hold on a little longer.
” She carefully wrapped Nancy’s leg with an inflatable splint that she had in her kit, staying mindful of Nancy’s small movements and the rhythm of her humming.
While Flora carefully tended to Nancy, Bear’s eyes drifted to the tote tucked away in the dark corner of the cave.
Drawn by a mix of curiosity and quiet hope, he crouched down and edged closer.
The hard plastic container was weathered and scratched, its surface worn from years exposed to the elements.
The lid was slightly open, inviting a careful look inside.
Bear lifted the lid gently. Inside, he found carefully packaged food—protein bars and bottled water—along with several folded blankets.
Nestled among these were several books of poetry and a collection of notebooks that looked like journals.
Nearby sat a box of colored pencils, the colors still vibrant despite some smudges and wear.
The supplies showed signs of recent use, fresh enough to suggest Nancy relied on them during her time here. Yet the container itself seemed older, the kind of worn gear left behind long before Nancy had made this spot her refuge.
The discovery deepened the mystery in Bear’s mind. Nancy hadn’t simply wandered aimlessly into the woods. She had prepared. She had carved out a small sanctuary on her own terms—a place shaped by careful thought and quiet resilience, adapting and surviving with the few resources she could find.
As Flora gently eased Nancy into a seated position, a faint sound drifted through the quiet—the soft, steady hum of a melody.
Bear glanced over and noticed Nancy’s fingers lightly tapping on her thigh, perfectly in rhythm with the tune.
Her eyes were distant, focused on something only she could hear.
He looked toward Flora, and the memory of one of the team’s old BBQs came to him, the time he’d overheard Flora and Moose talking quietly about Moose’s mom.
Back then, Flora had mentioned they suspected she might be on the spectrum, not “retarded” or any of the harsh words some around their hometown used.
The thought offered a quiet understanding as he watched Nancy with renewed insight.
Link frowned. “She’s humming.”
Flora nodded quietly. “It’s a coping mechanism. A way to comfort herself.”
Nancy didn’t meet their gazes; she seemed wrapped in her own world.
The humming continued, a fragile, haunting melody that filled the cool cave air.
When they tried to engage her, she subtly resisted—no answers to questions, no response to voices.
Instead, she rocked gently, hands folded in her lap, as if the music was her anchor.
Bear exchanged a look with Flora. “She’s not ignoring us. This is something else. Probably doesn’t handle strangers or sudden changes well.”
Flora’s voice dropped to a calm, steady tone. “I suspect we’ll find that Nancy has high-functioning autism and non-verbal. People like her often find safety in patterns. Music helps regulate overwhelming emotions and keeps the world from feeling too harsh.”
“We’ll respect her space,” Bear said firmly. “No pushing. Safe and comfortable first.”
Link glanced toward Flora, concern flickering in his eyes. “Do you think we can get her out without upsetting her? Should I hold off on calling the helicopter? Maybe we should carry her through ourselves.”
Flora met his gaze “Honestly, carrying her out might be better. The noise and chaos of a helicopter could traumatize her more than help. We need to keep things as familiar and quiet as possible. We’ll take it slow and watch how she reacts. Her calm is the priority.”
Bear nodded firmly, feeling the weight of the responsibility. “We adapt as we go. No sudden moves. Nancy’s comfort comes first.”
He turned to Rhys and Sammy. “You two, find long, sturdy branches—something strong enough to carry her weight. We’re building a travois to get her out gently.”
Rhys and Sammy nodded promptly, already scanning the woods for suitable wood.
With the branches brought back, Bear and Rhys set to work, using rope from their packs to lash the frame together. Bear coached Rhys patiently, as they created a stable but comfortable support, a makeshift stretcher tailored for Nancy’s needs.
As they gently lifted Nancy onto the travois, Bear moved with care, ensuring she felt secure without any rush. Flora stayed close, whispering soft, calming words to ease her anxiety and offer reassurance.
As they began moving Nancy carefully, Bear noticed a subtle shift. Nancy’s humming changed pitch, rising slightly when her eyes suddenly locked onto Rhys. For the first time since they found her, there was a flicker of recognition—something deeper, quieter, but unmistakable—in her gaze.
Rhys caught the moment too. He froze, breath catching as their eyes met. Slowly, he offered a calm, reassuring smile and spoke softly. “My name is Rhys. I know your son, Mikey.”
Bear watched the exchange with hope stirring inside him. In that fragile connection, he sensed a bridge starting to form.
“Alright, Nancy,” Bear said quietly. “We’re gonna take you home now. One step at a time.”
Link and Sammy positioned themselves smoothly on either side, lifting the travois while Bear stayed alert, scanning their surroundings every step of the way.
The journey back to Jim’s farm was slow but steady.
Bear maintained a calm rhythm, mindful of Nancy’s comfort and the delicate balance of keeping her safe without overwhelming her.
Nancy’s eyes, despite her weakened state, frequently found their way to Rhys.
She followed him carefully, as if drawing strength from his presence.
Noticing this, Flora subtly signaled Rhys to remain within Nancy’s line of sight, knowing the quiet comfort he provided was grounding her amid the uncertainty.
Rhys adjusted his pace accordingly, staying visible but unobtrusive, a steady anchor for Nancy as they made their way back through the rugged terrain.
As the group neared the clearing where the ambulance waited, Bear spotted Jim standing nearby, leaning on his trusty old pickup. His weathered face looked tired but determined, jaw set stubbornly as always.
Jim grunted as Bear approached. “Ain’t gonna leave this place. Too much work. Can’t just up and abandon the farm, even for Nancy.”
Bear nodded, understanding the man all too well. The farm wasn’t just land and buildings—it was Jim’s livelihood and his pride wrapped into one. “I get it, Jim. You keep things sorted here. We’ll make sure she gets where she needs to be.”
Jim gave a reluctant grunt of thanks but refused to budge. Bear watched him for a moment, recognizing the gruff love beneath that stubborn exterior.
Bear watched closely as Flora carefully lifted Nancy onto the stretcher, her movements precise yet gentle despite the urgency of the moment. The paramedics moved swiftly around them.
Softly, she relayed the critical medical stats in clear, measured tones: heart rate, breathing patterns, level of responsiveness. Her experience as an EMT and forensic pathologist showed in every word and gesture, a steady presence amid the controlled chaos.
As the paramedics adjusted their plan, Flora leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Nancy is neurodivergent. Please keep that in mind during transport and evaluation. She responds best to calm, minimal stimulation.”
Bear nodded silently, appreciating the nuance and care Flora brought to the task. “I’m going with her,” Flora said softly, glancing back to Stephan once more with a reassuring nod just before the ambulance doors slid shut, sealing them inside.
Bear climbed into his truck with Link, Rhys, and Sammy close behind. The early afternoon sun cast warm light over the landscape, but tension vibrated beneath the surface inside the cab. As the truck rumbled down the dirt road leading away from the farm, Rhys broke the silence.
“Dad, why was Nancy humming instead of talking to us? Did the fall do something to her?”
Sammy leaned forward, eyes earnest. “Yeah. Did she hit her head or something?”
Bear tightened his grip on the steering wheel, eyes scanning the road ahead. “That humming? Not from the fall. She’s using it like a shield, something to lock her focus when the world gets messy.”
Link turned in his seat to face Rhys and Sammy, speaking crisply. “Analyzing behavioral data, the humming aligns with self-regulation techniques often seen in neurodivergent individuals. It suggests an undiagnosed autism spectrum presentation.”
Rhys paused, eyes narrowing as he mulled it over. After a moment, he spoke thoughtfully, “Kind of like a feedback loop in a circuit—when the system detects too much noise, it uses a steady signal to stabilize itself. So the humming helps calm sensory overload?”
Bear nodded. “Exactly. When you’ve been in the field, you learn silence can mean survival—not avoidance. It’s a signal, not a shutdown.”
Link tapped his tablet. “Jim mentioned dementia, but symptoms like memory loss or confusion don’t fit here. This behavior points elsewhere.”
Rhys considered that. “So the humming and silence weren’t just caused by injury but a way of coping?”
“Right,” Bear confirmed. “We’re dealing with someone whose wiring works differently. Our job? Keep the environment stable, predictable. No unexpected shocks.”
Sammy’s eyes flicked toward the window. “Hospitals are full of lights and noise.”
Link nodded. “Protocols exist for managing sensory sensitivities. Flora’s experience will guide how they handle the stressors.”
Rhys’s voice softened. “Do you think she knows we’re helping her? Even if she can’t say it?”
Bear glanced in the mirror. “Actions speak loudest. She knows.”