“I’m sure O’Malley’s fine,” Andrew told her now, watching as she continued wearing a path into the floor outside the dining room.
“This just isn’t like him,” she insisted. “I’ve looked everywhere. I knocked and knocked on the door to his room, but there was no answer. He’s not in the building and I’ve asked around. No one has seen him since yesterday.”
“Didn’t someone mention last night that Major Prendick had been looking for him?”
Dani nodded. “Yeah. But Prendick hasn’t seen him, either. I asked. Thomas was treated for post-traumatic stress disorder after he came back from Iraq. He told me he’d just gotten out of some kind of hospitalization program with the VA. I’m actually surprised they deployed him here.” Her brows lifted, her eyes round and worried. “What if he’s had a blackout or flashback? What if he wandered off into the forest, thinking he’s back in Fallujah or something? He could hurt himself or someone else or… or…”
“You want me to go?” Andrew cut in gently and she stopped stalking long enough to blink at him in surprise. “I’m a pretty good hiker. If you’ve got some maps of the area, I can probably scavenge some gear from my Jeep.”
“That would be great,” she said. “You sure you wouldn’t mind?”
He laughed. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do this afternoon.”
The rear compartment of the Liberty had a distinctive odor, Andrew discovered as he popped the back hatch.
“Eww.” Dani wrinkled her nose, fanning her hand in front of her face.
He recoiled momentarily, wincing as the pervasive stink of mildew silt struck him. Though most of the interior had dried, a thick dribble of sludge plopped down from the edges of the hatch door to the garage’s concrete floor.
“You’re not going to find anything worth salvaging in there,” Dani said, keeping a modest distance, out of smelling range.
“My bag should be okay,” Andrew said, making her laugh.
“What is it, a submarine?”
“No.” He found the pack now, wedged in the aft compartment against the rear seatbacks. Grasping it by a shoulder strap, he pulled it loose, grimacing as more sludge splattered. “It’s a class five bag, fully submersible. It should be fine.”
After checking the contents and finding everything dry, he drew the padded straps of the backpack over his shoulders. Cinching the waist strap into place around his midriff, he shrugged a couple of times to get everything situated comfortably. Meanwhile, Dani stripped and scrubbed down the .22 rifle he’d kept stowed in the Jeep, cleaning the bolt and chamber, bore-brushing out the barrel.
“Think it will be okay?” he asked as he slung the .22 over his shoulder. “It was pretty jammed up with mud.”
“Hopefully you won’t have to shoot it and find out,” she replied, not instilling him with confidence.
She followed him to the garage bay door and watched as he started off for the adjacent woods. “Andrew,” she called out, and he paused, glancing back at her. “Be careful, okay?”
He smiled. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Pine needles whispered as low-lying limbs swung and swished back into place behind him. It was cool outside, but not unseasonably so. Rain clouds, heavy and grey, draped down toward the tree crowns, and the air felt humid with a lingering haze of moisture. It had rained overnight and the ground beneath his boot soles was soggy, his feet sinking deeply into the mud and fallen leaves.
“Any ideas where to start?” he’d asked Dani as they’d looked over the maps together.
“Try here.” Sweeping her fingertip on the page, she’d indicated a broad circumference of space. “That’s where we’ve been having some tactical maneuvers these past weeks, so it’s someplace he’s familiar with.”
The area looked to be about an hour’s hike from the compound, by Andrew’s estimation. Dani had given him a general idea of where the soldiers had blazed a trail to these training grounds, and presently, Andrew came upon a crude but clearly delineated footpath winding into the woods. As he followed its steep, crooked trail deeper into the forests, he breathed in the moist fragrance of the forest air—pine sap and dried leaves—and listened to the familiar sounds of pine needles and tree branches snapping and crackling underfoot.
At which point, he drew to a curious halt, his head cocked, his brow arched.
There are no other sounds, he realized.
On the day he’d wrecked his Jeep, he’d been trekking through basically these same woodlands, and the air had been thick with the sounds of wildlife—the last waning cricket songs as summer shifted into fall, the fluttering coos of mourning doves, the resonant tap-tap-tap of downy woodpeckers, the distant, overlapping cries of ravens and blue jays, chattering from chickadees and sparrows, sweet refrains from warblers and mocking birds.
Where are all the birds? Frowning, Andrew looked up, panning his gaze through the trees. Other than the sounds of his own footsteps, which were now silent, the woods lay shadow-filled, mist-draped and quiet.
Something’s out there.
“O’Malley?” Slowly, cautiously, he pivoted in a circle, studying the terrain surrounding him. “Corporal O’Malley, is that you?”
Because he received no reply, his next thought was unequivocally predator. As he stepped, he gave his shoulder a subtle little shrug, letting the strap of his rifle droop, the gun lowering so he could take it in hand. All at once, he had a nagging hunch this was no bear. They were opportunistic feeders, not stealthy hunters, so he doubted one could lay low and quiet in the underbrush for long if it was near.
But with cougars on the other hand, stalk-and-ambush was pretty much their forte. The cats preyed on a variety of species, including mule- and white-tail deer and would thus not have been particularly intimidated or dissuaded by Andrew’s size. Not the sort for a trial by combat, they preferred to overpower their prey using the element of surprise, attacking from behind and delivering a suffocating and potentially crushing bite to the neck.
Moving slowly, Andrew spared a downward glance, making sure he had a round chambered in the rifle. He gripped the weapon deliberately, carefully, his index finger slipping against the trigger. He turned in another circle, then drew still and held his breath, listening.
Snap!
A twig breaking beneath the weight of some unseen passage to his right immediately drew his gaze. When this was followed by a soft, but distinctive, rapid-fire rustle-rustle-snap-SNAP from this same direction, Andrew brought the rifle up, trailing the sound with the barrel sight.
However, he didn’t fire. The sound disappeared and when it didn’t immediately recur, he relaxed, releasing his breath in a long, slow huff. Lowering the gun again, he studied the shadows and trees, frowning thoughtfully.
Had it realized his awareness and run away, whatever it was? He waited, counting in his mind.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi
He counted to sixty then started off again, but that heavy, peculiar silence lingered. Even as he ventured more deeply into the forests, it was like the birds and other woodland animals knew something he didn’t—or at least, of which he was only dimly aware.
Twenty minutes later, and a good half mile further along the trail, he heard another distinctive series of rustles. These were quiet enough that he might have ordinarily otherwise missed them had it not been for that oppressive lack of any other sounds. He’d opted to keep his rifle in hand and was glad for it as he turned in a startled semi-circle, eyes flown wide.