Chapter 31
Officer Warren Donahue turned the Laurel Police Department's Ford Explorer onto Hill Road and cruised at a comfortable speed down the dusty service road. Thick foliage from the trees crowded the dirt lane, creating a shaded tunnel around his vehicle. Newly grown weeds lapped at the sides of the SUV. In a few more weeks, some of the sturdier species of brush would scrape the paint if they didn't get a crew out here to cut everything back. He checked his watch and thought about the end of his shift. Two hours and counting.
Today's shift had started normally enough, despite the increased manning requirements dictated by the most recent Homeland Security threat assessment. Two hours into his eight-hour shift, Donahue had been recalled to base to pick up a passenger. Sergeant Bryan Osborne had decided that today would be the perfect day to get out on patrol with one of the rookies. Donahue really couldn't complain, Sergeant Osborne had even paid for lunch at Pi's deli.
He spotted the turn for Combat Road and debated whether to take his sergeant further into the vast tract of forest or turn west toward downtown Laurel. He drove this stretch at least once during every shift, mostly checking for abandoned cars. His route varied, sometimes taking him to the western edge along the Wildlife Loop. He thought it was a waste of time, but the entire loop only took one of their patrol cars out of town for thirty minutes, so his patrol sergeant insisted that at least one of the officers make the trip. As the shift's rookie, the errand typically fell in his lap.
He decided to head back to Laurel and started to guide the SUV left at the worn patch of grass and dirt serving as the intersection.
"Hold on, Warren. Back up and take a right. I thought I saw something down Combat Road," the sergeant said.
"Roger that, sir."
A few moments later, the SUV headed east toward the outer loop road.
"Right there. Looks like a pickup truck nestled in the woods," Sergeant Osborne said as they approached a small turnoff to their left.
Donahue stopped the SUV and stared down the tight path, which was overgrown with thicket and looked barely navigable by vehicle. From this spot on Combat Road, he could see the back of a red pickup truck, which had been fitted with a commercial cap and roof rack. He wasn't sure how the sergeant had managed to spot the vehicle from the intersection. He probably had caught a glimpse of the red paint through the forest, which was another argument for assigning two officers to each patrol vehicle. He wondered how many details like this he missed on a daily basis, being more focused on safely navigating his vehicle. Then again, Sergeant Osborne had been doing this for nearly fifteen years and had developed instincts and skills that Donahue could only dream of at this point.
"Nice catch, Sergeant. Do you want me to squeeze her down the road to take a closer look?" Donahue asked.
"No. Why don't you park, and we'll take a look on foot."
With the SUV parked several yards back from the path, the two officers walked down the rough vehicle path until they approached the back of the pickup. A cursory examination revealed that the vehicle was a late model F-150, kept in excellent condition.
"Kind of seems out of place here, doesn't it?" Osborne said.
"I was thinking the same thing, sir. The exterior is pristine, aside from the mud kicked up from this little spot," Donahue replied.
The pickup had been forced to traverse thick mud to arrive in a dry patch on the edge of the small clearing. Donahue measured the area and determined that the pickup would barely have enough room to turn around.
"I don't know how they plan to get out of here," he said.
The sergeant just shook his head and stepped around to the driver's door to take a look.
"Door's locked. Hood's cool. Just rained this morning, so they couldn't have arrived last night," Osborne said, pointing at the tracks in the mud.
"Should we call this in and have another unit join us for a look?" Donahue asked.
"Nah. We'll head out a hundred yards or so and see if we can pick up a trail. If not, we'll make sure the next shift swings by to check it out before dusk. Probably some yahoo out hunting."
"I don't know, Sergeant. Check out those patterns in the mud over there," Donahue said, pointing toward the far end of the small clearing. "Looks like they carried something here and put it down. Wheel tracks lead off onto some kind of path."
Osborne joined him at the edge of the clearing and looked back and forth between the pickup truck and the new set of tracks. "Looks like something heavy. See how it sank into the mud?"
"Maybe we should call this in?" Donahue asked again.
"All right. Call it in to dispatch, and have them send a unit to assist. Tell them to wait at the Explorer until we get back. We'll poke around the woods for a few minutes and head back to meet them."
While Donahue called it in using his shoulder-mounted microphone, Osborne followed the wheel tracks deeper into the forest. Initially, they had to push through light bushes, which showed damage from whatever had preceded them, but within twenty feet, they broke out onto a worn path. The tracks became less apparent on the dry, packed ground, but freshly broken branches on both sides of the trail assured them that the wheeled contraption had been moved forward.
"What do you think we're dealing with here? Meth lab?" Donahue asked.
"Fuck if I know. Whatever it is, I guarantee they're up to no good."
With Sergeant Osborne in the lead, they casually walked about one hundred feet until the sound of machinery caused them both to freeze in their tracks. Osborne cocked his head as if trying to determine the direction of the noise. At the same time, he released the strap on his holster and drew his semiautomatic service pistol. Donahue did the same, pointing the Glock 22 downward at a forty-five degree angle.
"What do you hear?" he asked, moving closer to the sergeant.
"I don't know, but I don't like it. Sounds like some kind of serious work going on out there. Turn your radio down. We're going to split up and figure this out. Let's stay within sight of each other. Are you familiar with basic hand signals? Eyes on, stop, move out, down, retreat?" he said, mimicking each signal to emphasize his point.
"Yeah, I got those, Sarge. We use the same signals hunting," Donahue said.
"Good. Move slowly and quietly. If you step on a branch, get down. We'll see how they react. If we're quiet, I think we'll be able to walk right up on them."
"Maybe we should wait for backup," Donahue suggested.
"Let's see what we're dealing with first. You head out maybe 50 feet on the left side of the path, I'll take the right side, and we'll move forward until we make visual contact. Keep your finger off the trigger. You don't want to trip and fire off a round."
"Yes, sir," Donahue said, taking his finger out of the trigger well.
The two officers split up, fighting through the brush before stopping to establish visual contact with each other. Donahue saw his sergeant wave his free hand forward and start walking north along the direction of the trail. He stepped through the brush, trying not to break any branches or step on anything that looked like it would snap. It turned out to be a nearly impossible task.
Fortunately, the machine working in the distance would likely drown out any noise created as they pushed through the forest. He felt certain of this, since he couldn't hear the sergeant's equally noisy efforts across the one-hundred-foot divide.
He alternated between watching his footfalls, scanning ahead for the trespassers, and keeping an eye out for the sergeant. As they drew closer to the noise, Donahue recognized the sound of a small generator between the more pronounced mechanical bursts of sound that had originally attracted their attention. Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed that Osborne had stopped moving forward. He turned his head toward the sergeant and saw him lower to one knee. Donahue immediately mimicked the sergeant's action. The sergeant turned and signaled him by pointing two fingers at his eyes, followed by a single finger pointed north. He had spotted someone ahead of them. Three fingers held upward indicated three people. Shit. Three was enough to wait for backup. He anticipated the next signal to be a wave in the opposite direction, but Sergeant Osborne had other ideas.