The Killing Hour (20 page)

And simultaneously felt the vines give way. She was falling back, her leg already kicking back, trying to find her rocky perch. The water gallon jug swung wildly, further upsetting her balance. She wasn’t going to make it, she was going to fall into the stinking muck.

Tina pushed desperately with her hands, releasing her panicked grip on the vines. She went careening back onto her rock. Windmilling, twisting, then suddenly, gratefully, collapsing down onto the stable surface. The water, water, water. Her hands frantically found the jug, still magically upright and holding the last of her precious supply.

She was back on her rock, she had some water, she was safe.

The vines collapsed into the muck below. As they did so, she noticed their edges. Cut clean halfway through. And then came the fluttering piece of white paper, as if loosened by the turbulence above.

Tina reached up a tired hand and felt the paper fall into her palm.

She drew it toward her.

It read:
HEAT KILLS
.

“You son of a bitch,” Tina tried to scream, but her throat was too dry, the words coming out as a mere whisper. She licked her lips. It did no good. She hung her head tiredly, and felt the last of her strength leach from her body.

She needed more food. She needed more water. She needed a break from this desperate heat if she was ever going to survive. And now the bugs were back, the mosquitoes, the yellow flies, feasting, feasting, feasting.

“I’m not going to die here,” she muttered resolutely, trying to summon some force of will. “Dammit, I won’t do it.”

But if she couldn’t make it up out of the pit . . .

Very slowly, Tina’s gaze went to the thick, slithering muck.

CHAPTER 25

Shenandoah National Park, Virginia
4:25
P
.
M
.
Temperature: 99 degrees

“
THE SEARCH AREA HAS BEEN DIVIDED
into ten different sections. Each team of two should analyze their section on the map, then work it in the standard grid pattern. In the good news department, since the hiker has been missing for only twenty-four hours, she shouldn’t have wandered beyond a thirty-mile radius, giving us a fairly contained target for search. In the bad news department, this thirty-mile radius contains some of the harshest, steepest terrain in the entire park. Here’s what you need to know:

“One, lost hikers inevitably head
down
. They’re tired, they’re fatigued and once they lose their sense of direction, they’ll head down the mountain even when help lies just twenty feet away over the next hill. Two, hikers will also gravitate toward the sound of running water. Everyone knows how important water is, especially someone who is disoriented. If there is water in your section of the grid, check the areas around the streams carefully and follow them for as long as you can. Three, once off the groomed hiking trails, this is rough country. The underbrush is thick, the footing treacherous. Be on the lookout for upturned rocks, broken branches, and trampled underbrush. If this woman is still on the trails, chances are someone would’ve seen her by now. So most likely she’s in the wild and we’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

Kathy Levine paused for a moment, gazing out somberly over the group of twenty search-and-rescue volunteers now gathered at Big Meadows Lodge. “It’s hot out, people. Yeah, no kidding, you’re thinking. But I mean it. In this kind of heat index, dehydration is a constant threat. The rule of thumb is that two quarts of water a day keeps dehydration away. Unfortunately, in these conditions your body can easily lose a
quart
of water per hour through your lungs and pores, so two quarts isn’t going to cut it. Frankly, each person should carry two gallons of water, but since that weight would be prohibitive, we’re requiring each rescue team to carry either water tablets or a water purification system. Then you can refill your water supply at the various streams you encounter along the way.
Don’t drink untreated stream water
. Sure, the water looks clear and pretty up here, but most of it is contaminated by
Giardia lamblia
—a parasite which is guaranteed to give you a bad case of the seven-day trots. Drink often, but drink smart.

“Now, assuming that you stay properly hydrated, don’t slip down a steep hillside, or stumble upon a sleeping bear, there are a few final things to keep in mind. For example, rattlesnakes. We have plenty. Every now and then, you’ll come to a clear meadow with a pile of rocks from an old landslide. Looks like a terrific place to sit down. Don’t. The snakes think so, too, and most of those rocks are their homes. Let’s not argue with them. Second, we have hornets. They like to build nests in old hollows in the ground or in rotten logs. If you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone. If you step into a nest, however . . . might I recommend
not
running back to your partner. You’ll only drag him into the mess and one of you will need to be able to hike back for help. Finally, we have stinging nettles. If you haven’t ever seen one, they are about thigh-high with broad green leaves. If you boil them, they actually make a pretty good green to go with dinner. Walk into them, however, and welcome to nature’s version of fiberglass. The prickers get immediately under the skin and emit a poison that remains long after the thistles are gone. It takes a good thirty to sixty minutes for the inflammation to subside and by then, you’ll have renounced everything you once held dear.

“This park is beautiful. I’ve walked almost every inch of it in the last five years and I can’t think of a more beautiful spot on earth. But nature also commands respect. We need to be focused. We need to move fast. But in these conditions, I also need each and every one of you to always be using your head. Our goal is to find one person, not lose any more. Any questions?” Levine paused. There were none. “Good,” she said crisply. “Let’s move. We have only four and a half hours of daylight left.”

The group broke up, people finding their search partners and heading out of the lodge. Everyone had received their assignment, and most seemed to understand the drill. Mac and Kimberly were probably the biggest rookies of the bunch and Mac had done his fair share of search-and-rescue work by now. Kimberly, he could tell, was more uncomfortable. She had the gear, she had the fitness. But by her own admission, she’d never spent much time in the woods.

If what Kathy Levine had said was correct, this was going to be quite an adventure.

“What do you think she meant by the hornets?” Kimberly said now as they trudged out of the wonderfully air-conditioned lodge into the searing heat. “If the hornets build their nests in the ground and we’re walking on the ground, how are we supposed to avoid them?”

“Look where you step,” Mac said. He stopped, held up the map they’d been given, and worked on orienting it to their surroundings. They were officially Search Team D, assigned to search the three square miles of, logically enough, Search Area D.

“But if I’m looking at the ground, how am I supposed to look for a lost woman or broken branches or whatever?”

“It’s just like driving. You look ahead ten feet to know what’s coming, then gaze around all you want, then scope out the next ten feet. Look, glance, look, glance, look, glance. Okay, according to the map, we enter the trailhead there.”

“I thought we weren’t on a trail. Levine said we were in the ‘rough country’—whatever the hell that means.”

“We are,” Mac said patiently. “But the first quarter of a mile is on a trail. Then we veer off into the wild underbelly of the beast.”

“How will we know which way to go?”

“We chart and map usin’ compass points. It’ll be slow, but thorough.”

Kimberly barely nodded. She was gazing nervously at the dark forest before them, carpeted in nine shades of green. Mac saw beauty. Kimberly, however, obviously saw something worse.

“Tell me again how often you’ve done this,” she whispered.

“I assisted with two of the search operations in Georgia.”

“You said people got hurt.”

“Yep.”

“You said he sets up scenarios like this, just to torture us.”

“Yep.”

“He’s a real son of a bitch, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Kimberly nodded. She squared her shoulders, her chin coming up in that set he already knew so well. “All right,” she said stiffly. “We’re going to find this girl, we’re going to save the day, and then we’re going to walk out of this park so we can nail the bastard. Deal?”

“You are a woman after my own heart,” Mac said soberly.

They pushed ahead into the thick, dark woods.

Footing was easy on the dirt trail. Steep, but manageable, with rocky ledges and worn tree roots forming a natural cascade of stairs. Shady, with the dense canopy of trees blocking out the sun. The heat and humidity, however, were harder to escape. Mac was already short of breath, his lungs laboring as they headed down the path. Within minutes, his face was drenched in sweat, and he could feel moisture beading uncomfortably between his shoulder blades, where his backpack pressed against his shirt. The sun was bad, but the humidity was their true enemy. It turned the high mountain woods from a shady reprieve to a steaming jungle where each footstep required hard physical effort and four hours of intense hiking would be about three hours too much.

Both Mac and Kimberly had changed clothes for the operation. Kimberly now wore khaki shorts and a short-sleeved cotton T-shirt, the casual outfit of an amateur day hiker. More experienced, Mac had donned nylon shorts and a quick-drying nylon top. As he began to sweat, the synthetic material wicked the moisture away from his body, allowing him a small degree of comfort. Kimberly’s cotton T-shirt, on the other hand, was already plastered against her body. Soon, the shirt, as well as her shorts, would start to chafe her skin painfully. He wondered if she would complain, but already figured she wouldn’t.

“Do you think she’s still alive?” Kimberly asked tersely. Her breath also came out in short pants, but she was matching stride with stride. When called upon to perform, the lady didn’t disappoint.

“I read a study once of search-and-rescue operations,” Mac replied. “Of the fatalities, seventy-five percent died in the first forty-eight hours. Assuming this girl was abandoned yesterday, that gives us another twenty-four hours to find her.”

“What,”
pant
,
pant
, “generally kills”
pant
,
pant
, “lost people?”

“Hypothermia. Or on a day like this, heatstroke. Basically, it’s exposure that does a person in. Here’s a fact for you: Did you know that children under the age of six have the highest survival rate when lost in the woods?”

Kimberly shook her head.

“Kids are better at listening to their instincts,” Mac explained. “When they’re tired, they sleep. When they’re frightened, they seek shelter. Adults, on the other hand, are always convinced they can regain control. So rather than get out of the rain or the cold or the sun, they keep walking, determined that safety is just around the corner. It’s exactly the wrong thing to do. Your odds are much better if you remain calm and stay in one place. After all, the average person can last up to five days with no water and up to a month without food. Wear yourself out walking, however, and you’ll succumb to exposure, fall off a cliff, stumble into a bear’s den, etc., etc. Next thing you know, the lost hiker’s dead in forty-eight hours, when any old schmuck should be able to last a week.”

Mac stopped abruptly. He looked at the map again, then his compass. “Hang on. Yep. We head off here.”

Kimberly came to a halt beside him and he could feel her uneasiness immediately increase tenfold. There was no clearly marked trail in front of them. Instead, the earth opened up, then plummeted down, a tumbling mass of boulders, bushes, and grass. Fallen trees lay directly in their way, overgrown with shaggy moss and brilliant ferns. Jagged branches stuck out dangerously low, while some kind of thick green vine covered half the trees in sight.

The woods were dense, dark. Kathy Levine was right: they held secrets that were both beautiful and deadly.

“If we get separated,” Mac said quietly, “just stay in one place and blow your whistle. I’ll find you.”

All the search-and-rescue operatives had been given shrill plastic whistles. One blow was to communicate between partners. Two blows meant a team had found the girl. Three shrills was the international call for distress.

Kimberly’s gaze had gone to the ground. Mac could practically see her eyes scouring each rock and thicket for signs of rattlesnakes or hornets. Her hand now rested on the top of her left thigh. Where she had the knife strapped, he guessed, and immediately felt his gut tighten with a shot of good, old-fashioned male lust. He did not know why an armed woman should be so arousing, but man oh man, this one was.

“We’re going to be fine,” he said.

Kimberly finally looked at him. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she said. Then she stepped off the path into the wild underbrush.

Footing quickly grew rough. Twice Kimberly slipped and tumbled halfway down a steep slope. Long, thick grass offered little traction, even for her hiking boots, and rocks and tree roots stuck up in the damnedest places. If she looked down for obstacles, then a stray tree limb would catch her up high. If she looked up high, she risked taking a fallen log in the shin. If she tried looking everywhere at once, she fell, a lot, regularly, and with generally painful, bloody results.

Within two hours, her legs wore a crisscross of scratches to match the ones still healing on her face. She avoided hornets, but blundered into a patch of poison ivy. She stopped running into dead logs, but twice twisted her ankles on slippery rocks.

All in all, she wasn’t enjoying the woods much. She supposed it should be beautiful, but to her it wasn’t. She felt the loneliness of this place, where the sound of your companion’s footsteps was swallowed up by moss-covered rocks, and even knowing there was another search party within three miles, she didn’t hear a peep. She felt the disorientation of the towering trees that blocked out the sun and made it difficult to get a sense of direction. The rough, undulating landscape meant they were often walking down to go up, or walking up to go down. Which way was north, south, east, west? Kimberly didn’t know anymore, and that left her feeling anxious in a way she couldn’t fully explain.

The immense size of the woods swallowed her up as effectively as any ocean. Now she was drowning in greenness, not sure how to get her head up, or which way to head for shore. She was a city girl who was way out of her league. And in a place like this, so much could go wrong without anyone ever finding your body.

She tried to focus on the missing woman to distract herself. If the girl had started the night at a bar, then she was probably wearing sandals. Had she gotten smart and ditched them right away? Kimberly had already slipped several times in hiking boots. Sandals would be impossible. Bare feet not great, but at least more manageable.

Where would she strike out for first? Head down is what Kathy Levine had said; lost hikers seek the easier path. In Kimberly’s mind, this path wasn’t that easy. Having to pick and choose for footing required slow, laborious work. Maybe it wasn’t as aerobic as hiking up, but the muscles in her legs and butt were already screaming while her heart beat furiously.

Would the girl try to seek shelter? Someplace she could stay cool and not wear herself out? Mac had implied that staying put was the key. Be calm, in control, don’t just wander around in a daze.

Kimberly looked around her, at the arching trees, the looming shadows, and the deep crevices with all their unknown inhabitants.

She bet the girl had started out at a dead run. She bet she’d torn through these bushes and trees, desperately seeking some sign of civilization. She’d probably screamed for hours, wearing herself hoarse with the need for human contact. And when night had fallen, when the woods had filled with the louder sounds of bigger beasts and buzzing insects . . .