Forty-Four Box Set, Books 1-10 (44) (162 page)

“Well, tell him I’d love to see him.”

I paused for a moment and watched the rain.

 “Do you talk to him a lot?” I said.

“I wouldn’t say a lot. But more than I have in a while. Anyway, I want to get this party rolling. Give me a list of who you and Ty want to invite, and maybe we can figure out the date that works for you both. And of course David. It’s going to be great.”

We stood there quietly for a few moments sipping from the mugs and watching the rain as it turned into hail, bouncing hard on the rooftop above us like marbles thrown from the sky.

CHAPTER 17

I walked through the front door and dropped my bag. It was hot and stuffy inside the house so I knew Kate wasn’t home, even though her laptop was open on the dining room table and a half-filled cup of coffee was sitting next to it. I found a note on the fridge, under the magnet that David had bought me, the one of a smiling chef with the words “Eat My Meat” written on his apron.

“Having dinner and drinks with a friend. Might be late. K.”

I cranked the air on. I had some time before my shift at Back Street, time enough to wash the grease off.

The water was soothing and I stood under the showerhead a long time, letting the stream pound away on my back, neck, and shoulders.  It was a decent day, but even the decent ones at Meg’s Diner sometimes kicked my ass. I was exhausted and spent. My muscles were sore, my feet were throbbing, and the side of my hand still hurt from where I had lost my concentration for half a second and placed it too close to the grill. As I lathered up, I thought about Back Street and wished I didn’t have to go in. It was only for a few hours, but right now even that felt like too many.

The engagement ring was still hanging off my neck, the small diamond catching the light and spreading out over the walls and ceiling. I smiled.

I went out to the living room and checked the internet for any new stories. Maybe there had been a missing person report filed during the day while I was at work or something else that could help. But I came up empty. There was nothing new, nothing about any stranded or lost hikers out on the trails.

The fire was still raging, a thousand more acres destroyed, as it swept closer to town. Firefighters on the front line were putting in sixteen-hour days fighting the blaze, but at this point it was a losing battle. There seemed to be no containment in site. If anything, with warmer temperatures and strong winds forecast for the next few days, things would just get worse.

I typed in “Pacific Crest Trail” and did some reading. Considered to be the Holy Grail of long-distance trails, the 2,663-mile long path went through California, Oregon, and Washington, starting at the Mexican border and ending at the Canadian one. It crossed twenty-six national forests, seven national parks, and three national monuments. Every year, roughly eight hundred people attempted to hike the entire trail at once, but fewer than half of them made it the entire way. It normally took more than five months to backpack it all. As the ranger had said, people who attempted to do the trail end to end were called “thru hikers.”

However, most people did the trail in sections, whether for a month, a few weeks, or even using the trail as a day hike.

I clicked through some of the photos hikers had posted on various sites about the Central Oregon section of the trail. The pine trees, the mountains, the lakes. Smiling people holding hiking poles and shouldering huge backpacks.

I yawned and closed the laptop and flipped on the TV, settling on a new cooking show with Bobby Flay. It was now nice and cool in the house, and I stretched out on the sofa, closing my eyes just for a moment, listening to the soft purr of the air conditioning in the background, voices from the television fading away.

CHAPTER 18

The snow parted like a curtain and I was back above the meadow, Broken Top looming across the way.

The injured man was still there. He wasn’t moving and for a moment I thought he had died, then I noticed his energy, faint, barely there. He was still alive.

I suddenly smelled something. The smell of burning wood shooting up my nostrils.

And then the snow returned, more fierce than ever. I reached out and let the small flakes fall into my cupped hands.

And that’s when I realized that it wasn’t snow.

It had never been snow at all.

It was ash.

CHAPTER 19

I stood up too quickly from the leather sofa and nearly ripped off my cheek.

I was drenched in sweat, hot and thirsty, my face stinging as I stumbled out to the kitchen. I splashed cold water on my head and neck, and took in deep breathes to slow down the pounding in my chest.

I stepped outside into the backyard and inhaled the hot, smoky air. The fire was still consuming everything in its path. But there was a clue buried in the embers it left behind.

Unlike the conversations in the visions, which all took place either in the past or the future, I now knew that this was happening in the present. It was happening right now.

Someone was out there, hurt and dying. And I needed to do something and I needed to do something fast. I knew time was an enemy and a mixture of hope and fear rose inside me. Hope that it might not be too late. Fear that it was.

I went back inside and got online, urgency now surging through me.

I needed to pinpoint as closely as possible where the dying man was. I quickly scanned through the photos of the Pacific Crest Trail looking for more clues. After going through hundreds and hundreds of images, I finally found one. It was a selfie taken as the sun was rising behind a woman who looked cold and tired but happy. Broken Top was in the background, almost in the same position it had been in my vision. There also appeared to be a drop-off behind where the woman was standing.

This was the place, or very close to it. I could feel my heart kicking into another gear.

The caption noted that the photo was taken on August 8, 2011 on the PCT somewhere between Wickiup Plain and Obsidian Falls. I pulled up a topographic map of this section of the trail and began studying it, looking for the spot, glad I had taken that map reading course a few years back as part of my river guide training. I was looking for a place where the PCT passed by a steep drop-off with a large clearing down below.

After a few minutes I found a spot that met all the requirements. The contour lines butted up against each other dramatically, showing a difference of several hundred feet with virtually no separation. I traced my finger in an easterly direction over toward Broken Top.

This had to be it. It even had a name.

Separation Meadow.

I quickly printed the photo and the section of the map.

Adrenaline flowing through me, I began to pace around the room trying to figure out what to do next.

I needed help.

But how could I convince the authorities? What would I tell them when they asked how I knew about missing hikers nobody else seemed to know about? No one was going to send out a search and rescue team based on a dream.

It would sound ridiculous. I needed something else to get them to listen.

I stood there staring out the window at the light haze over the pond, trying to think of anybody and everybody who might be able to help.

One name, and one name only, came to mind.

CHAPTER 20

“Frazier here,” he answered sharply.

Ellis Frazier sounded like he was still on the job, even though I knew he was retired and living in Montana. But it was good to hear his voice again, even if it was all business.

“Ellis, hi. It’s Abby Craig.”

He paused.

“Abby,” he said, his voice softer. “I can’t ever see the damn screen on my phone when I’m in the sun. I was expecting a call from someone else. Anyway, what a pleasant surprise. How’ve you been?”

“I’m good. How ’bout you? Have the fish been biting?”

We had exchanged a few emails and he had sent some photos of his lake cabin, but I hadn’t talked to Frazier since he stopped by for dinner on his way out of town a year earlier. He sounded happier and healthier. The quiet life he had dreamed of during those hard years working as a homicide detective must have paid off. So the next thing he said surprised me.

“The fish have been biting just fine,” he said. “But I’ve had my fill. Actually, I’m sitting here now waiting for the movers. They’re late and when I heard the phone, I was sure it was them calling to say they got a flat on the dirt road out here.”

“Are you coming back to Oregon?”

“Baltimore. An old friend from my time there has a detective agency and he’s got more cases than he can handle. I figure I’ll pick up a little PI work here and there, enough to keep me out of trouble. To tell you the truth, Abby, I was getting a little bored here.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I said. “Oh, did you hear about Emily going back to school?”

Emily Ross was the missing college student that Frazier and I had found chained in a basement and left for dead. Working together, we had been able to save her life. I heard from her occasionally. Her letters always reminded me that seeing ghosts and having visions really were gifts.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “She’ll make a real fine veterinarian someday.”

I tried to think of a way to bring up the real reason I had called, but Frazier must have read my thoughts.

“I appreciate you calling and shooting the breeze like this, but I suspect there’s something else on your mind.”

I told him about the visions and the two men and how I was sure that there was still a chance to save the one. My hope was that Frazier might know somebody on the police department in Bend that he could talk to. Although I had had dealings with the police here over the years, they had never exactly warmed up to me. In fact, Frazier was the only cop I’d known who was willing to believe in the paranormal. Having him back me up could cut through closed minds and get the ball rolling.

“Have you talked with the forest rangers yet?” he said.

“Yeah, I talked to them on the phone to see if anyone was reported overdue or missing. They say all the people up on those trails near the fire have been accounted for.”

“And you’re sure you’ve got the right place? I mean, you’re thinking it’s that particular fire? We’ve got some fires here in Montana, and there’s a big one burning in Wyoming near Yellowstone.”

“No, I’m sure. Well, I’m as sure as I ever am,” I said. “But I think I’m right. I saw one of the mountains. It’s got a unique look to it. The top blew off a hundred thousand years ago or something.”

Frazier was quiet for a moment.

“Unfortunately I don’t really know anyone out your way, Abby,” he said. “I mean, I met a few of those cops when I stopped in at the department that time I was in town, but I doubt they’d remember me.”

“Well, okay. I thought I’d just check,” I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “I don’t know what to do then. He’s dying out there, Ellis, and I’ve already wasted too much time. But no way is anybody around here going to believe me.”

He paused for a moment.

“What?” I finally said.

“This man in your vision. It sounds like he’s reaching out for help, Abby. And you’re the only one who hears him. Seems to me that you’ve got a job to do here, and how others view that job, well, that’s really not your business.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Thanks.”

“I would suggest starting at the ranger station. Be honest about the dreams. If you can’t get anyone to listen to you there, move on to the Sheriff’s. In the meantime, I’ll make a few calls and tell them about your contribution to Emily’s case.”

“All right, I’ll start there. But I better get going. They close at five.”

CHAPTER 21

I called Mo to let her know that I wouldn’t be able to make it for my shift at Back Street.

“Sure thing, Craig,” she said. “I’ll see if one of these other losers wants to pick up some extra hours.”

Armed with the photo and the map I had printed, I pushed open the glass door and stepped inside the U.S. Forest Service building. A ranger was behind a desk answering some old man’s questions.

The seconds turned to minutes. The old man, attired in full tourist garb complete with plaid shorts, always had one more question. The ranger could see me waiting, but he played along, giving long-winded answers and explanations.

I closed my eyes for a long moment.

“May I help you?”

I opened my eyes and saw that the old man had finally left.

The ranger was smiling. His name tag read Edward. The man I had talked to on the phone.

“Um, I think someone might be hurt up in the Three Sisters Wilderness.”

The smile faded. Another ranger, a woman in her late forties with long gray hair, came in from a back room and stood nearby.

“You
think
they might be hurt?” Edward said.

I thought of what Frazier had said and pressed on.

“That’s right,” I said. “I’m pretty sure they were on the PCT and something went wrong. They’re hurt. They need help.”

“And why exactly do you think they’re hurt?”

I noticed that a few other people had come in and were waiting behind me.

I leaned in and lowered my voice.

“I saw it in a dream.”

“I’m sorry, can you speak up.”

“I saw it in a dream,” I repeated, a little louder.

The other ranger stepped up to the counter and stared down at me. She towered over me by at least six inches.

“Let me take care of this, Ed,” she said. “You help the next person in line. Miss, why don’t we talk about this in the back? Right this way.”

I followed her to an office at the end of a short hallway. She closed the door, motioned me to sit down, and pulled out some paper from a drawer.

“I’m worried about a couple of hikers who I think are injured up there near the fire,” I said.