Cold River Resurrection (5 page)

C
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8

Whitewater River

In the morning, Jennifer made her way back to the river and stood on the bank and gazed at the churning water. She carefully placed Nanna on a rock and scooped water up, spilling most of it, and drank that way until she was done. She pulled her doll up and struggled to her feet.
I think I’ll go shopping today. Must be Sunday, I’m not at work. Maybe buy some clothes for Nanna. Give her a bath, she doesn’t smell so good.

SAR Base Camp

Biddle Pass

It had been a hectic night for Smokey and his officers. F.B.I. agents from Bend were investigating the narcotics raid shooting. He had found a couple of hours sleep, and
now he could put this in a proper perspective – the lost Šiyápu woman Jennifer Kruger surely had a worse night.

Day three. She hadn’t been seen for over forty-eight hours. If they didn’t find her today, tonight would be her third night alone in the wilderness. He looked around the base camp. The assembled vehicles looked like a small city. Trailers, tents, helicopter
s, support vehicles.

He had enough searchers. Over a hundred people were involved now, and at this point, more would be hard to manage.

Smokey turned back to the command trailer and went inside for coffee. The helicopter is our best hope now, and if she’s dead, the infrared radar won’t help. At least not for several more days. He didn’t want to think about it. Within two days, the search group would be down to a handful, with most searchers going back to their jobs, the thought being that the lost person didn’t survive. Most search and rescue teams did not do body recovery, unless the victims were found early on in the search.

Smokey sipped his coffee and planned for the next phase. Something needed to happen. They needed to get lucky and spot her today. He watched as a Ford Explorer with the Cold River patrol vehicle markings drove up and parked by the trailer. Sergeant Nathan Green walked over.

“We get any more out of the boyfriend?”

“No, he might still be good for it, but we sweat
ed him pretty good, setting up a polygraph for him today. She’s probably lost, not a homicide.”

“Either way, she’s dead if we don’t find her soon.”

“You got that right,” Nathan said. “You got that right, Boss.”

Whitewater River

Jennifer spent the day sitting, but on occasion she would wander, mostly downhill, but often just take a few steps and then sit down again. She talked, mumbled, talked to Nanna, and wondered why she cried so much.

I need to get Nanna some new clothes, and paint her nails again, the paint is fading. Maybe I will peel the fingernail paint off while we wait
to shop. Give her a bath.

Jennifer wandered down to the river to bathe Nanna. She really didn’t smell so good.

That night, the animals came, following the ancient preferred tracking method, the smell of decay. Jennifer Kruger had a lucid thought, or as close as she got to
clarity.

Please someone, come soon.

You better come soon.

C
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9

Biddle Pass

SAR Base Camp

As Jennifer was praying for help, Smokey leaned against the side of the incident command trailer and watched the Blackhawks land in the meadow, the flashing red and green navigation lights reminding him of similar landings in a land across the world. The first one flared, followed by the second, the crew
s looking like aliens in their green helmets.

This would be their last general briefing. Many of the teams would be going to their respective homes tomorrow. A woman with the Portland Mountain Rescue Team limped up, stepping quickly on her right foot, her face streaked and twisted with pain.

The pilots and crew from the Blackhawks were walking across the road.

We must have over a hundred people here, Smokey thought. Three young members of the Cold River SAR carried a cooler into the lighted area in front of the trailer and were passing out water bottles and soda.

“We will hear from everyone, starting with the report from the officers who walked to the camp with Jennifer Kruger’s boyfriend. Sergeant Nathan Green, you have the floor.”

“We walked from the jumping
-off place, at Hole-in-the-Wall Park, just off the rez, here.” He pointed to the map on the wall of the trailer.

“We walked uphill to the Northwest, t
oward Whitewater Glacier, near Parker Creek. About three miles. Plenty of track on the trail of Mr. Robbins going in and out, track of Jennifer Kruger just going in. We went in about three miles and he showed us their camp.”

“Do you think he killed her?” a
member of the Blackhawk crew asked.

“I could be wrong,” Green said, “but we spent a long day with Robbins, he didn’t appear to be trying to hide anything, he talked about her in real time, not in past tense, showed us the camp.”

Smokey knew what Green was talking about. Sergeant Green continued.

“Often when a suspect kills someone, they refer to them in past tense, because they know that they are already dead, they killed the victim. A slip that people often make. He didn’t at any time today. Showed us the camp, said that he thought she was kidding, she had been saying for a day that she was tired of looking for Bigfoot, was leaving. Thought she would be back within a few minutes. When she didn’t show up within two hours, he went looking for her on the back trail.”

“You track her from the camp?”

“Back about a quarter mile, then she left the trail and crossed a large slide area.
It will take some time to do some perimeter cutting around that large slide area. If she went across it.”

“What do you think?” Smokey asked as he stepped forward. The searchers were quiet.

“I think, and I may be wrong, that she is lost, that the boyfriend didn’t hurt her. Two reasons.” Sergeant Green held up his hand.

“One, we tracked her out of the camp for a ways, and he didn’t follow her. Secondly, he passed a polygraph this afternoon. He doesn’t know where she is.” He looked around.

“She’s still out here, going into her third night.”

Smokey caught Sergeant Green’s eye as he left the front of the group and Green joined him. They walked around the end of the trailer. It was full dark now.

“Nathan,” Smokey said softly.

“Kid,” Sergeant Green said and smiled. He put his arm around Smokey. “How’s my little brother I never had, my recruit from years ago, and now my boss?”

“What do you think?” Smokey asked.

“I think that she has had three days to walk on us, that even if she were dehydrated and delirious, she could get a hell of a long way,
further than our current search parameters. That’s what I think.”

“Think she’s alive?”

Green shook his head. “No way of knowing. People are pretty resilient. They also have a way of dying out here. And, I didn’t say anything to the group, forgot about it actually. Saw a lot of animal sign out there, mostly bear, but a couple of cougar tracks. Mr. Bear not long out of hibernation, what with all the snow we have had. Who knows, maybe she can live another night with Mr. Hungry Bear. I know one other thing.” Smokey looked at Green.

“We better find her tomorrow, or we ain’t gonna.”

They rejoined the group. Smokey listened as they heard from the other team leaders. Parker Creek drainage had been searched. Some of Whitewater River, but what a huge area. And she could be further along than that. Searches always started so hopeful. By this time, Smokey knew, people were starting to talk about ‘body recovery,’ and not ‘rescue.’

Smokey listened to assignments. By tomorrow, they would lose most of their searchers. By the day after, they would be down to their own ten people. Then it would get hard.

Where are you, Jennifer? Are you alive? Do something, let’s find you tomorrow. Do something tonight.

Let’s find you alive.

C
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10

Whitewater River

I  wonder where Carl went, he seems to be gone for a long time. Hey, Baby Girl, are you cold? My daddy used to call me ‘Baby Girl,’ so I call my doll Nanna ‘Baby Girl’ sometimes. Only sometimes. I need to wrap Nanna up.

Jennifer looked around carefully as the sun went down. She sat, her feet splayed out in front of her, her breath coming shallow and fast. She had several moments of clarity today, unconnected moments, brief and fleeting, just moments when she knew where she was and at some point how grave her situation.

Grave. What a word. Grave. Well that’s what all this beauty was. Nothing but a grave.

I’m gonna die here. If not tonight, then tomorrow, can’t go any further, just no more.

I seem to have lost my pack and sleeping bag somewhere. Did I have it last night? She couldn’t remember when she had last seen her pack and sleeping bag, or where. I must have had it last night. Must have, but I can’t remember. Maybe Nanna knows, and she felt herself slipping into that comfortable mode, that place where Nanna wasn’t something she found in the woods, a place where Nanna was a loving doll, a trusted life-long friend.

I don’t want to look at what Nanna has become. I covered her with part of my shirt. What a nice moon, at least I can see. She looked out and down the canyon, where shadows moved in the light of the moon.

That shadow down there, coming up from the creek, that shadow is moving, moving toward me and Nanna. I think there’s another shadow behind it, moving. It’s bright here with the moonlight, almost as bright as day, except for the darkness in the shadows. The shadows were not staying where they should.

Jennifer heard a crash, somewhere downhill from her, not too far off.

What was that?
And then she heard other sounds, grunting, snorting sounds. Coming closer. A shadow detached from the others, coming out of the trees down the hill from where she was, coming across a wide bare area, coming toward her.
Sasquatch!

Don’t be silly. There is no such thing. Doesn’t exist. That’s not Sasquatch. That’s a bear. A large, dark bear. And he’s coming for my Nanna.

Jennifer struggled to her feet, swaying, leaning against the trunk of the Ponderosa Pine she had been resting under, her heart pounding, and the shadow stopped.

“Go ‘way.” She yelled, then she yelled again, louder, and then she whispered, “Go ‘way.”

“Go away bear!”

The black bear stood up, sniffed, and looked up toward the tree where Jennifer was standing.

He’s looking at me!  

And she turned to run, her feet not working, pushing herself around the tree, as the bear dropped down on all fours and ran for the tree, a shuffling, quick run. Jennifer looked around the tree and screamed, ran a staggered imitation of a run, clutching Nanna, and she dropped just in time to avoid hitting a log, dove under the log, tight, pulling herself through a small opening, pushing herself backward with her feet, under a tight thatch of branches.

She screamed again as the bear hit the tree. In the dark Jennifer grabbed what she could, pushing rocks and dirt with her feet into the opening under the log.

The bear crawled over the log and pushed through the branches over Jennifer’s head and she screamed, the horrible snout in the moonlight inches from her face, the warm breath making her gag with nothing in her stomach to come up.

“Noooooo.”

The bear dropped back behind the log and pushed his snout into the opening where she had crawled, pushing his head under the log, and Jennifer pulled her feet back away from the small opening, the bear thrusting, pushing forward, touching her feet, and she screamed.

She pulled her feet back as far as she could, her back wedged tight against a rock, no place to go. The bear pulled his head out and snorted.

He can’t get me!

He can’t have Nanna.

Jennifer lay there, wedged under a log and broken branches, curled up tight against a rock at her back. The bear snorted, and she thought she could hear him move away.

So tired. Go away bear.

She dozed.

Once, during the night, she heard a crash, some snuffling, and she drifted off again, back at her apartment, the sun warm on her deck.

The bear shuffled off. He came back two more times during the night to check on his meal. On her last night, Jennifer dozed, mumbling, clutching her Nanna. She kicked her feet and dozed.

Her last night.

C
hapter
11

Aboard Blackhawk

Below Whitewater Glacier

0800 hours

The search resumed on the morning of Jennifer Kruger’s fourth day alone. “We’ve got an hour of fuel left,” Captain Roberts said. In the back, crew chief Scott Durning scanned the wooded canyon, looking for movement, for color. He hated to give up, knowing that once they left, the chances for finding her alive diminished.

He swept the terrain with his binoculars, following the river, the late runoff from the glacier making the river a white jumble of foaming water. He pulled the binoculars down and wiped his eyes, and as he did a flash of red caught the edge of the lens. There. He threw the binoculars back up. Where was it? He thumbed his microphone.

“Captain, hold.”

The Blackhawk slowed, and then hovered.

“What you got, Scott?”

“Something, a few seconds ago. Thought I saw some color. Should be back behind us now, seven or eight o’clock.”

“Want me to turn?”

Scott panned the area with the binoculars, back to the area he caught the flash. Couldn’t be sure. The angle was wrong.

“Captain, one eighty, slowly, then back.”

“Roger.”

It took him ten minutes to find it. There. Almost directly below them, a hundred yards up from the water, in the trees.

“Stop. Below us and at nine o’clock, red patch, looks like a backpack.”

“Got it.”

“I got a sleeping bag, maybe a hundred feet away. Can you put us down?”

“Negative.”

“Let me get my bag, drop me down.”

The captain was on the radio as Scott gathered his pack that contained a complete medical kit and survival gear.

“Nearest ground unit’s less than a mile away. They’re humping it,” Captain Roberts said. “They should be here before long. I can drop you to the east of the pack, that part with the trees down.” Sgt. Coleman, the loader, helped Scott hook up, and then they dropped him into the wilderness.

On the ground, Scott waved them off, and the Blackhawk moved slowly away.  He knew they would continue to search until low fuel forced them to return to base. He shouldered his pack and moved carefully over a large log. He yelled the lost girl’s name, again and again as he walked. He reached the red backpack and picked it up. Lucky I saw it at all, he thought. This pack is worse for the wear, filthy, one strap ripped off, chewed. It’s Jennifer’s pack, same color, same brand.

Chewed?

He looked around and saw the bear sign, the tracks, the scat. He picked up the pack and called her name again, this time more aware of his surroundings. Although he was not generally worried about bear, it was a late spring, the snows just melting up this high, and they hadn’t been long out of hibernation.

They’re still the biggest thing in the woods.

The pack was light, can’t be too much inside, Scott thought. He set it on the ground and opened the flap.
What the hell?

Scott reached inside and pulled the contents out on the flap.

Bones?

Looks like animal bones in here. But they’re not animal bones. He knew with a sudden, chilling certainty. These aren’t animal bones. They’re m
etacarpal bones. Human fingers, a wrist bone. A . . . dear God, part of a human jaw bone. What the hell’s going on here?

Scott looked up and around, a complete circle from where he was kneeling. His body hair tightened up under his survival suit. He reached down and touched his Beretta 9mm in a shoulder holster under his arm.

“Blackhawk, this is Sgt. Durning.”

“Go ahead Scott.”

“Uh, I’ve got some weird shit going on down here.”

“Say again, what?”

“Some weird shit, a pack with human bones in it.”

“Human bones.”

“Affirmative, human bones. It’s her pack. Looks like her bag over there. And -.”

“And,” Scott continued, “a lot of bear sign here. Let me know if you see anything moving.”

“Roger.”

“Want us to let you know if we see Bigfoot?” Sergeant Coleman
asked.

“Belay that,” Captain Roberts said.

“Anything moving, you yell at me,” Scott said.

Scott walked slowly as the helicopter moved away. He looked for sign, a footprint, anything that was made by Jennifer Kruger. He was joined by the Portland Mountain Rescue team twenty minutes later. They had a search dog with them. The Blackhawk left, Captain Roberts promising to return.

The dog found Jennifer ten minutes later.

When they carefully pulled her out from under the log, Scott thought she was dead. She looked horrible, cuts on her face, caked dirt, her hair twisted and matted, and the terrible smell of decay. She opened her eyes and mumbled. She clutched a bloody rag, holding it with both hands. She was alive.

Scott assisted with putting together a portable stretcher, and they worked quickly to start an IV. When they got the IV going, they carefully moved her out of her log fortress to a more level area. With the sun shining down on his back, not far from the bank of the Whitewater River, Scott Durning tried to remove the bloody rag (and whatever was in it) from Jennifer Kruger’s hand. He hadn’t told the rescue group about the contents of the pack. He had a bad feeling about this. He gently pulled on the rag. Jennifer clutched it tighter, her eyes wild, and he let go of it.

“You see the bear sign, the scratches on the log?” Harriet Jones, the team leader asked.

“Yeah,” Scott said. “There was a lot of it around the pack.”

“I can’t imagine what she went through,” Harriet said.

“Neither can I,” Scott said, thinking of the contents of the pack.
Neither can I.

In the end, they carefully moved her to the nearest logging road, taking turns with the stretcher and holding the IV. They met the ambulance an hour later.