There were so many dead, so many failures, that dogs accustomed to the excitement of finding the lost still alive became depressed. Clint’s sense of defeat showed in his tucked tail, the hangdog expression when he stood back from the latest remains he’d found.
Finally Joe had come up with the idea of letting a few of the handlers hide and then sending the search dogs out so they could rescue someone alive. Canine morale improved so dogs and handlers could keep pushing forward, working against time and brutal conditions.
Joe had been getting ready to take Clint out for some rest when the big German shepherd gave the alert signal indicating he’d caught a scent.
“Good boy. Search.” Joe patted his head and watched him trot once more into the rubble. That was the last time he ever saw his dog.
Just as Clint disappeared into the building there was an ominous rumble, the dreadful warning of collapse. Clint, along with dozens of other SAR dogs, died at the World Trade Towers, canine heroes as surely as all the first responders who gave up their lives for others.
The spirit went out of Joe. Guilt seared his soul. Clint didn’t get to choose whether he wanted to be a search dog. Joe had chosen for him. He’d made the decision to send his dog into the horror of two collapsing skyscrapers in the aftermath of the unthinkable, a terrorist attack on American soil.
He couldn’t bear the thought of sending another dog into harm’s way, the agony of finding so many victims after a disaster of that scope. Joe always entered a search filled with empathy for the lost and the loved ones they’d left behind. Every tragedy punched a hole in his heart. He knew if he kept going with his heart wide open, he was heading for a breakdown.
And so he’d closed himself off from his feelings, built walls to keep the tattered pieces of his heart intact, remained silent hoping the nightmares would eventually subside.
Against Maggie’s advice, he gave up SAR and built Carter’s Trading Post, boat rentals and wilderness outfitters. If hikers also wanted a guided tour of the Superior Trail, Joe Carter was the man. He could control the hikes, set the rules, keep everybody safe.
What a joke. He’d managed to keep everybody safe except the ones who mattered most--his family.
Any fool could see how he and Maggie had drifted apart. They went their separate ways so often they hardly saw each other. Even when they were both home, it seemed they’d become polite strangers.
And then in September, after his heart-wrenching trip to Ground Zero for a ceremony honoring the dog heroes of 9-11, the gap between them had turned into a chasm. He’d lost his dog, his wife, his hope of a large family and the profession he’d once loved. Soon he’d lose his only child, who had entered her freshman year in college and in the blink of an eye would be packing to strike out on her own.
Life seemed pointless.
And now this. His daughter, gone. Maybe forever.
They were heading straight to the area where Maggie had found those dead girls. Both posed in the snow. Joe couldn’t bear to think about what might have happened to Kate.
He glanced across the cab at his wife. She was sleeping, finally. A small blessing. His wife couldn’t see how the wind was picking up speed, how the previous night’s snowfall was being lifted into the air, making visibility harder.
How long before there would be a complete whiteout? They hadn’t even begun the search and time was already running out for them.
His stomach heaving, Joe eased onto the shoulder and lost what little food he’d had since he realized his daughter wasn’t coming home.
Chapter Three
5:00 a.m.
Run! Run! Run!
Fear and adrenaline pumped through Kate. She wanted to race across the long stretch of yard toward the trail, a mere gap in the trees barely visible in the woods up ahead. But she was watching, standing under a dim light in the doorway of the farmhouse, training her flashlight beam on Kate and smiling as if she were a favorite aunt sending her off for cookies and milk next door instead of toward a rough trail in snowy woods into the wild unknown.
Clutching the borrowed coat that was too big and far too lightweight to offer any protection from the looming blizzard, Kate made herself wave at Betty. She even made herself mouth thank you, though whether the woman would see through the snow swirling in the wind, she didn’t know. Then she forced herself to walk away from the house of horrors as if she didn’t have a single suspicion.
Keep up the charade. Act dumb. Play the helpless, scared female.
Kate was the exact opposite of the role she played. She had her mother’s fierce spirit plus a shelf full of trophies from her days as the star of her high school cross-country track team as well as her cross-country ski team. She also had knowledge of the wilderness accumulated through years of tagging along behind her daddy on the hiking trails. She knew the location of every treacherous ravine and frozen lake on the trails she’d run, skied and hiked. Though a fat lot of good any of that would do in millions of acres of wilderness without skis, winter gear, or even the bare minimum supplies to keep her alive.
She had one granola bar Betty had tucked into her coat pocket.
“In case you get hungry before you get to the trading post,” she’d said, then winked, as if the two of them had become best friends overnight and now shared some delicious secret.
The only thing Kate had in common with Betty was being trapped overnight in the same house with a raving madman. Still, Betty had been kind to her, and was the only reason Kate was now free. She vowed that if she ever got out of this alive, she’d make sure the unfortunate woman was rescued.
Kate kept a steady pace until she reached the protection of the trees and was out of the path of Betty’s flashlight. Then she turned for one last look. Thank goodness Betty was no longer watching from the doorway. The entire house was dark. She hoped the poor woman had gone back to bed and, come morning, she’d find a way to keep Jonathan from following. Betty had promised to try.
“And that’s all a mother can do,” she’d said. “Put her whole heart into her child and then try to keep him on the straight and narrow. Jonathan is a bit irrepressible, but deep down he’s a good boy.”
Irrepressible didn’t begin to describe that maniac.
Fear and the urge to run still clawed at Kate. If she took off running now, she could be at the store in fifteen minutes, even in the snow. Betty had given her explicit instructions. Follow the trail...one mile to Wayne’s Trading Post…right on the trail…telephone service...food…safe shelter from the approaching snowstorm.
But what if Betty had given her the wrong directions or Kate had misunderstood? In the excitement of being tugged awake in the dark and hearing Betty’s whisper, “Shh. I’m going to help you,” Kate could easily have gotten confused. She wasn’t a morning person. And if she got lost she certainly was not equipped to survive a long journey home through a monster snow storm.
Her belongings were in her car, but she had only a vague idea of the location in relation to Betty’s house and no idea how far it was. Besides, her vehicle was the first place Jonathan would look--the same place where he’d found her.
Was it only yesterday?
It seemed forever since she’d headed home for the holidays. It seemed to Kate another girl had seen the detour sign, that someone not as savvy as she had turned her car onto the ill-kept road without a second thought then called home to announce her delay--right before the blowout catapulted her car over the edge of a small ravine.