A Child Is Missing (22 page)

“You game for a snowmobile ride?” Raines said.

“Hell, yes,” Will said. He wondered what had become of the journalists in the pool. He hoped they were far away; he wanted as much of this as possible for himself.

“Graham wanted me to be sure you didn't get hurt,” Raines said. “You in decent shape?”

“Hell, yes.” For an office worker my age, anyhow, Will thought. “Look, I'll try not to slow you down or get in your way. But it's not up to you to worry about me. Okay?”

“Hmph. 'Course, it's my ass that's in a sling if something happens to you.”

Will was worried that Raines was going to be a pain in the ass about having him along, so he decided to push. “What are they going to do to you? They don't play poker with you now, right?”

For an instant, the eyes behind the amber glasses were anything but friendly. Then Raines forced a smile. “Get on,” he said, pointing to a red snowmobile. “And hold on.”

Twenty-two

He saw gray through the tops of the trees: the first light of the day. The heat from the two bodies, Wolf's and the boy's, had kept him almost warm in the cocoon of ponchos and blankets. He guessed that he had slept off and on during the night: Every so often, he had been startled, and in the moments afterward had been unable to remember what he'd been thinking. Sometimes it was hard to tell what was real.

He had thought of going back to the cabin, had decided not to because he thought the hunter might ambush him. So the hermit had chosen a sleeping place on a little slope beneath the shelter of some pines. Now
he
could set an ambush, if he had to.

Wolf had been comfortable enough. God, what a tough dog. Wolf could make it in the woods without him if he had to.

The boy had whimpered now and then. Poor Jason; he'd probably dreamed about being back in the ground. It
was
hard to tell what was real.

Careful not to wake the boy, he took a long time crawling out of the ponchos and blankets. Finally on his feet, he saw that the fresh snowfall was more than ankle-deep. He rearranged the ponchos and blankets to cover the boy entirely, then walked a few yards away to relieve himself.

Lighter now above the trees. Snow still falling, swirling down through the branches. He was glad he had picked a sleeping place hidden from the wind.

He saw the faint yellow glow, and for a second he thought the moonlight was lovely on the treetops and spilling onto the snow below.

Not moonlight. The yellow glow darted and danced, grew more intense. When he first heard the sound, it was like the beating of grouse wings. Second by second, it grew louder, until it was almost overhead, chasing its own beam of light.

The sound of the helicopter roused Wolf and the boy. The hermit went over and knelt next to them. Wolf stretched, yawned loudly, and shook himself. The boy shifted, put his hand into the fold of poncho where the dog had lain.

Jamie knew it had been a dream, all of it, and that when he opened his eyes he would be with his mother and father. Then he remembered that his mother and father lived in different places, and he couldn't remember where he was, until he tried to move his feet. His feet wouldn't move, because he was in a tight place. Then he put his hand where the nice dog had been, but there was nothing there. He tried to call for his father, but he couldn't make the sound he wanted.

“Shh, Jason. It's all right. All right. It's morning in the woods. I bet you never saw—”

He heard another engine sound, from far away. But not from above.

“Daddy?”

“It's all right, Jason. It's all right.” He wanted the boy to be comfortable, so he loosened the straps.

“I want to go home. I want to go home, and I want my daddy.” Then Jamie thought of his mother, too, and felt sorry for her because she wasn't with his father anymore. He started to cry.

The hermit reached into a deep pocket, took out meat and bread. He chewed slowly, trying not to be bothered by the boy's crying. Up to now, he had felt sorry for the boy, had wanted only to comfort him. Now he felt hurt; the boy wasn't grateful to him at all. He just whined and said he wanted his father.

The hermit faced the feeling in himself—jealousy—and felt like a foolish child himself. It was unfair ever to expect much gratitude from a child, let alone one who had suffered like this one. For Christ's sake, the hermit scolded himself, suppose you and Jo had had that baby.…

A memory swelled inside him, weighed him down with sorrow. His head started to ache, and he longed for whiskey.…

He gave some meat to the dog, then knelt next to the weeping boy. “Jason, take this and eat it. You'll need—”

Jamie didn't like Mr. Woody calling him by the wrong name, and he didn't like the smell of the cold meat from his pocket. When the meat was held close to his mouth, Jamie slapped it away. The meat landed in the snow, where Wolf went to claim it.

“God damn it, Jason,” the hermit said without thinking. “That's good meat.”

Jamie thought Mr. Woody sounded mean, like the ones who had taken him. Mr. Woody had just sworn at him, too. Now, nothing mattered to Jamie except going home. He began to cry even harder, in loud, choking sobs.

“Jason, it's all right.…”

Jamie cried harder still. He hated Mr. Woody and the way he smelled and the way his face looked.

The hermit walked a few yards away, trying to get himself back together, trying to think straight. Hearing the boy's wailing made him want to slap his face, or hold his face in the snow until he stopped. No, no, God Almighty. It wasn't the boy's fault, wasn't his fault.

“Shut up, Jason! Shut the fuck up, for Christ's sake. I'm doing the best I can. Don't you see?”

Jamie had tired himself out with his weeping. He stood up, then sat down in the snow to catch his second wind. In the lull, the hermit heard something: more engine sounds, at ground level. He strained to hear, but he could not tell whether they were coming closer.

It was lighter now above the trees; very soon, it would be hard to hide. He saw another yellow beam, coming from a different direction. He heard the copter. Then, above the sound of his own heart, he heard another one. The second one was low, almost overhead. Louder, louder, and then it was gone.

Jamie was still crying. Wolf was getting frantic, circling around. The dog was upset from the noise of the engines and the boy's crying and his master's shouting. Wolf barked loudly.

“Wolf, damn it! Shut the fuck up!”

Now all Jamie wanted to do was get away. He took a few steps, then slipped and fell facefirst into the snow.

Wolf put his paws on the boy's back, put his snout in the boy's ribs to turn him over.

The snow came through the mask, into Jamie's eyes. It was cold, cold, and he couldn't see. The dog was heavy on his back.

“Wolf! All right, fella. Let him get up, let Jason get up.…”

It seemed to the hermit that there were noises all around him now. There must be others with the hunter. Men in uniform, setting fires and coming after him.

“Jason, get up and come on.”

The hermit felt danger nearby. He worked the lever of the carbine, putting a cartridge into the chamber. His fingers trembled as he let the hammer down into the safety position. Could the boy keep up with him? No.

“Jason, get on the sled. Get on!”

Jamie stomped his feet and wailed.

“Get on the sled, damn it! If you don't, I'll tie you on.”

Jamie hated Mr. Woody now. He was just like the others. “I want to go
home
.…” He choked on a sob in his throat.

“I know, I know. I'm going to take you home, Jason. I promise I will. I promise.” Oh, God, do I have to lose you again?

Raines parked the snowmobile next to several others in a small clearing. An enormous deputy, frowning behind his sunglasses and holding a rifle, stood in the clearing. Will spotted a movement in the trees about fifty yards away: another lawman with a rifle. Will looked the other way; after a few seconds, he saw still another deputy with a shoulder weapon.

“What's the plan?” Will asked Raines. “To flush him out and have him trapped no matter which way he goes?”

“I don't make plans. I just follow them.”

Why is it that every cop has to be a smart ass at one time or another, Will thought. God, they must hate reporters even more than they let on.

Raines moved close to the big deputy, and the two communicated in whispers and nods. Scanning the open sky over the clearing, Will saw a helicopter in the distance, circling low over the trees. He looked at Raines, saw Raines studying him in a not so friendly way. “Shafer, I'm going up this way,” he said, pointing into the woods. “If you want to come a little ways anyhow, it's all right. That's what your FBI friend said.”

“All right.” Will didn't know exactly what Graham had told Raines, or what Raines thought Graham had told him. In a situation like this, the only thing for a newsman to do was to take whatever he could get. “How many people are out here?”

“No idea,” Raines said.

“Fifty? A hundred?”

“Probably closer to fifty. You can get all that from your FBI friend.”

Prick, Will thought.

“There're more coming,” the big deputy said. “Some with tracking dogs.”

“You ready, Shafer?” Raines said.

“Lead on.”

“Stay close to me and try not to fall.”

Raines picked his way through gently rolling woodland. The thick evergreens and the snow lent a hush to everything, despite the distant sounds of snowmobiles and helicopters. Will looked all around, soaking up impressions to weave into his story. The setting was as beautiful as an Ansel Adams photograph.

Will kept up easily enough and wondered with pride whether Raines was surprised at his stamina. Best thing I ever did was take up jogging, he thought. Have to get back into it when I get home.…

After a while, they started on a long downhill slope. There was a stream at the bottom, and Will saw a dozen or so people standing in a small clearing along the bank. He recognized the reporters and camera people he'd seen at the briefings. Several deputies stood like herding dogs around the perimeter of the gathering.

“Right there're the pool folks, Shafer, if you want to hook up with them.”

Raines was trying to get rid of him, all right, but Will didn't feel like being part of a pack, waiting in the woods and stomping his feet to keep warm. “I'd rather go with you,” Will said.

“I don't know about that.”

“Jerry Graham wanted me to stay out of sight of the pool reporters.”

Raines seemed to think that over for a few seconds. “I don't really give a shit about that. To be blunt, I don't want to be responsible if this nut shoots you. And I don't want you to get in my way.”

“I understand.”

“Why don't you just hang around here?”

“Do you guys think he's probably cornered somewhere up ahead? Is that it?”

“Like I said, Shafer, I think it's a good idea if you wait back here with them other folks. Your FBI friend isn't here right now, so I'll use my own judgment.”

Raines nodded toward the clearing where the other reporters were cooling their heels (literally), gave Will a final hard glance, and walked ahead alone.

Will stood in place for a minute or more, until Raines was out of view. He was annoyed by how Raines had dumped him, annoyed because he didn't know where Jerry Graham was, annoyed because he was getting hungry.

It had been a long, long time since Will had covered a big story. It made him sad to think about it, but the plain truth was that he had never done some of the things he had once dreamed about. He had never covered a presidential campaign or a revolution or a war. And he never would.

He was getting chilly standing in the woods. Had he come all this way just to stand here and let his toes get cold? He looked toward the clearing. Will was partly hidden by underbrush, and he could tell that none of his fellow journalists had spotted him. More important, none of the deputies shepherding the press had seen him. Will recognized his temporarily undefined situation for what it was: an opportunity.

Stepping as softly as he could, Will set off in the direction Raines had gone.

At last, the boy had cried himself into silent exhaustion. Rather than let himself be tied to the sled, the boy had sat down, let Mr. Woody wrap blankets around him, allowed the dog to rub against him.

“Good, Wolf. Good boy. Good. Let Jason sleep.” I might have been a good father, he thought.

He took off his mask. The cold on his face made him feel more alert. He touched his forehead, felt the burn scars from long ago, remembered the fire as though it had just happened.

Was there anyone he could trust? Any place he could hide? Not for long, he thought sadly. And the boy didn't like him as much as before.

Quickly, he finished loading the sled. The boy was sleeping. You cried yourself back to sleep, Jason.

It was snowing gently now, and the wind had let up. He could better judge the engine sounds. The copters were circling closer, but the snowmobiles were still well behind him. He knew the terrain enough to be sure they'd have to come for him on foot.

Just then, he heard a new sound. Wolf heard it, too, and growled.

Dogs.

The hermit gripped the sled rope and started walking.

Will had lost sight of Raines, which was probably just as well, because if Raines saw him he'd be furious. And Raines could find a way to make Will's life tougher.

Besides, Will thought, I might need a cop I can talk to about what happened to Fran. That thought almost surprised him: For a little while, at least, he had all but forgotten about Fran Spicer's death.

He was getting tired, and he was really hungry. The terrain was more rugged, and the snow in some spots was halfway to his knees. The boots and thick socks kept his feet warm enough, but his face was getting cold. He stopped, took off his gloves, pressed his palms to his cheeks. Better.