Bladed Cross

MARTIN

Martin Abernathy drove through the backcountry on the old jeep trail leading from the pavement about eight miles.

He had been here on a few occasions before, and he knew some of the country. Behind him, the other twelve officers followed in separate vehicles. The woods grew thicker the further they drove, the dirt road getting rougher. They would stop soon, and start walking afoot.  Having brought dogs with them fort racking, they had been here the previous day, but much further back. So far, they found no sign of Owen.

Martin had been searching all over the lake, all night, determined to find him. Not only because it was his job, but also, he cared about Owen. He was determined, but nervous and exhausted. The search all around the lake, hour after dark hour. Jesus, it was mind numbing, and he had nothing to eat. And why shouldn't he be exhausted? He'd been up all fucking night. Martin had a strong desire to just pull off to the side and go to sleep.

But he kept driving for another half a mile, then they slowed to a stop when the dogs started barking. Martin got out, as the did the others and they started turning the dogs loose. Rick Peterson came up to him, his scoped, bolt action 30,06 slung over his shoulder.

"What makes you think he's way out here?" Rick asked in his usual testing tone. "How do you know?"

Martin said, "you know the idea is to look in as many places and cover as much ground as we can."

"It makes sense," an officer named Joe said, coming up to them. "If he was at the lake, we would have found him a long time ago."

"No we wouldn't have," Rick said." Don't be stupid Joe. No matter where we are or where we go, it's always possible he's right under are noses."

"Well excuse me, Mr. tracker," Joe turned and walked off.

Rick said, "Are you sure this is where she said she saw them go?"

"Oh yeah, and people hardly use this road," Martin said. "I'm pretty sure."

"Because we've been searching out here for just about thirty seven hours, and we haven't found any sign of him."

"Rick, there's almost always a witness. You know that as much as I do. Trust me, I'm sure."

"Have it your way then," Rick turned and joined the others. Three minutes later, Martin did the same. Where they stopped, there weren't any tire tracks going further, just grass growing in the two track where the freshest tire tracks ended. As soon as the dogs were out, they immediately picked up a sent and started barking and pulling on their leashes. It was almost too easy. They followed an old foot trail with boot prints in it, which led through the pine trees for about thirty minutes. The six bloodhounds were growing more excited by the minute and pulled harder on the leashes.

"Well," Martin said, keeping up." It looks like we're going to get lucky today."

The dogs already knew where they were going, dead set on following the sent.

They had gone for about ten more minutes when suddenly, they came into a large grassy clearing. It was beautiful, green, with a couple boulders. They were just stepping further into the clearing when the dogs stopped following the sent. The bloodhounds stopped, and froze in their tracks, a few growled. All the officers stopped and listened, to nothing. There was nothing, not a breeze as there had been, not the chirping of birds as there had been. Instead, a stillness that was too quiet.

Martin was discomforted by it. They tried to keep going, but the dogs started to growl again, pulling back on the leashes and fighting to get free from their handlers, who tried to keep them under control. The dogs looked terrified, a few broke free and ran back toward the vehicles. Some even snarled and snapped at the men holding their leashes. Finally the rest of the hounds got lose and ran back where they came.