The Rescue

Chapter 6

Kyle had been gone for nearly three hours.

Taylor, meanwhile, was nearing the highway and was struck by how bright it seemed compared with the murky recesses he’d just emerged from. He also heard voices for the first time since he’d split up with the others . . . lots of voices, people calling to one another.

Quickening his step, Taylor cleared the last of the trees and saw that more than a dozen extra vehicles had arrived-their headlights blazing with the originals. And there were more people as well. Not only had the other searchers returned, but they were now surrounded by those who’d heard about the search through the town grapevine and had come out to help. Even at a distance Taylor recognized most of them. Craig Sanborn, Rhett Little, Skip Hudson, Mike Cook, Bart Arthur, Mark Shelton . . . six or seven others as well. People who’d defied the storm, people who had to work the following day. People whom Denise had probably never met.

Good people, he couldn’t help but think.

The mood, however, was gloomy. Those who’d been searching were soaking wet, covered with mud and scrapes, exhausted, and dejected. Like Taylor, they’d seen how dark and impenetrable it was out there. As Taylor approached them, they quieted. So did the new arrivals.

Sergeant Huddle turned, his face illuminated by the flashlights. His cheek had a deep, fresh scratch, partially hidden by splattered mud. “So what’s the news? Did you find something?”

Taylor shook his head. “No, but I think I have an idea of which way he headed.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know for sure. It’s just a guess, but I think he was moving to the southeast.”

Like everyone else, Sergeant Huddle knew of Taylor’s reputation for tracking-they’d known each other since they were kids.

“Why?”

“Well, that’s where we found the blanket, for one thing, and if he kept heading that way, the wind would be at his back. I don’t think a little boy would try to fight the wind-I just think he’d go with it. The rain would hurt too much. And I think he’d want to keep the lightning at his back, too. His mother said he was afraid of lightning.”

Sergeant Huddle looked at him skeptically. “That’s not much.”

“No,” Taylor admitted, “it isn’t. But I think it’s our best hope.”

“You don’t think we should continue searching like before? Covering every direction?”

Taylor shook his head. “We’d still be spread too thin-it wouldn’t do any good. You’ve seen what it’s like out there.” He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, collecting his thoughts. He wished Mitch were with him to help make his case-Mitch was good at things like this.

“Look,” he finally went on, “I know it’s just a guess, but I’m willing to bet I’m right. We’ve got, what? More than twenty people now? We could fan out wide and cover everything in that direction.”

Huddle squinted at him doubtfully. “But what if he didn’t go that way? What if you’re wrong? It’s dark out there . . . he could be moving in circles for all we know. He might have holed up somewhere to take shelter. Just because he’s afraid of lightning doesn’t mean he’d know enough to move away from it. He’s only four years old. Besides, we’ve got enough people now to head in different directions.”

Taylor didn’t respond as he considered it. Huddle made sense, perfect sense. But Taylor had learned to trust his instincts. His expression was resolute.

Sergeant Huddle frowned, his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his rain-soaked jacket.

Finally Taylor spoke: “Trust me, Carl.”

“It’s not that easy. A little boy’s life is at stake.”

“I know.”

With that, Sergeant Huddle sighed and turned away. Ultimately it was his call. He was the one officially coordinating the search. It was his report, it was his duty . . . and in the end he would be the one who had to answer for it.

“All right,” he finally said. “We’ll do it your way. I just hope to God you’re right.”

Twelve-thirty now.

Arriving at the hospital, Judy McAden immediately approached the front desk. No stranger to hospital protocol, she asked to see Denise Holton, her niece. The clerk at the front desk didn’t question her-the waiting room was still filled with people-and hurriedly checked the records. Denise Holton, she explained, had been moved to a room upstairs, but visiting hours were over. If she could come back tomorrow morning-

“Can you at least tell me how she’s doing?” Judy interrupted.

The lady shrugged wearily. “It says she was taken in for an X-ray, but that’s all I know. I’m sure more information will be available once things begin to settle down.”

“What time do visiting hours start?”

“Eight o’clock.” The lady was already reaching for another file.

“I see,” Judy said, sounding defeated. Over the clerk’s shoulder, Judy noticed that things seemed even more chaotic than they were in the waiting room. Nurses were moving from room to room, looking harried and overwhelmed.

“Do I have to stop here before I go up to see her? Tomorrow, I mean?”

“No. You can go in the main entrance, around the corner. Just head up to room 217 tomorrow morning and inform the nurses at the station when you get there. They’ll direct you to her room.”

“Thank you.”

Judy stepped away from the desk, and the next person in line moved forward. He was a middle-aged man who smelled strongly of alcohol. His arm was in a makeshift sling.

“What’s taking so long? My arm is killing me.”

The clerk sighed impatiently. “I’m sorry, but as you can see, we’re really busy tonight. The doctor will see you as soon . . .”

Judy made sure that the lady’s attention was still focused on the man at the desk. Then she exited the waiting area through a set of double swinging doors that led directly to the main area of the hospital. From previous visits to the hospital she knew that the elevators were at the end of the corridor.

In a matter of minutes she was sailing past a vacated nurses’ station, heading for room 217.

At the same time Judy was making her way to Denise’s room, the men resumed their search. Twenty-four men in total, with only enough distance between them to allow them to see the neighboring flashlights, they stretched nearly a quarter of a mile wide. Slowly they began moving to the southeast, shining lights everywhere, oblivious of the storm. Within a few minutes the lights from the cars on the highway were swallowed up once more. For the people who’d just arrived, the sudden darkness was a shock, and they wondered how long a young boy could survive out here.

Some of the others, however, were beginning to wonder if they’d even be able to find the body.

Denise was still awake because sleep was simply an impossibility. There was a clock on the wall alongside her bed, and she was staring at it, watching the minutes pass with frightening regularity.

Kyle had been missing for nearly four hours now.

Four hours!

She wanted to do something-anything but lie there so helplessly, useless to Kyle and the searchers. She wanted to be out looking for him, and the fact that she wasn’t was more painful than her injuries. She had to know what was going on. She wanted to take charge. But here, she couldn’t do anything.

Her body had betrayed her. In the past hour the dizziness had abated only slightly. She still couldn’t keep her balance long enough to walk down the hall, let alone participate in the search. Bright lights hurt her eyes, and when the doctor had asked her a few simple questions, she’d seen three images of his face. Now, alone in the room, she hated herself for her weakness. What kind of mother was she?

She couldn’t even look for her own child!

She’d broken down completely at midnight-Kyle had been gone for three hours-when she realized she wouldn’t be able to leave the hospital. She’d begun to scream Kyle’s name over and over, as soon as the X-ray had been completed. It was a strange relief to just let go, to scream his name at the top of her lungs. In her mind, Kyle could hear her, and she was willing him to listen to her voice. Come back, Kyle. Come back to where Mommy was. You can hear me, can’t you? It didn’t matter that two nurses were telling her to be quiet, to calm down, while she struggled violently against their grip. Just relax, they said, everything’s going to be okay.

But she couldn’t stop. She just kept screaming his name and fighting them until they’d finally brought her here. By then she’d screamed herself out and the screaming had turned into sobs. A nurse had stayed with her for a few minutes to make sure she’d be okay, then had to respond to an emergency call in another room. Since then Denise had been alone.

She stared at the second hand of the bedside clock.

Tick.

No one knew what was going on. Before she’d been called away, Denise had asked the nurse to call the police to find out what was happening. She’d begged her, but the nurse had gently refused. Instead she’d said that as soon as they heard anything, they would let her know. Until then the best thing she could do was to calm down, to relax.

Relax.

Were they crazy?

He was still out there, and Denise knew he was still alive. He had to be. If Kyle was dead, she would know it. She would feel it deep down, and the feeling would be tangible, like getting hit in the stomach. Maybe they had a special connection, maybe all mothers shared it with their children. Maybe it was because Kyle couldn’t talk and she had to rely on instinct when dealing with him. She wasn’t exactly sure. But in her heart she believed she would know, and so far her heart had been silent.

Kyle was still alive.

He had to be. . . .

Oh please, God, let him be.

Tick.

Judy McAden didn’t knock. Instead she opened the door slightly, noticing the overhead light was off. A small lamp glowed dimly in the corner of the room as Judy quietly made her way inside. She couldn’t tell whether Denise was asleep or not but didn’t want to wake her if she was. As Judy was closing the door, Denise turned her head groggily and peered at her.

Even in the semidarkness, when Judy turned and saw Denise lying in the bed, she froze. It was one of the few times in her life that she didn’t know what to say.

She knew Denise Holton.

Immediately-despite the bandage around her head, despite the bruises on her cheek, despite everything-Judy recognized Denise as the young woman who used the computers at the library. The one with the cute little boy who liked the books about airplanes. . . .

Oh, no . . . the cute little boy . . .

Denise, however, didn’t make the connection as she squinted at the lady standing before her. Her thoughts were still hazy. Nurse? No-not dressed right. The police? No, too old. But her face seemed familiar somehow. . . .

“Do I know you?” she finally croaked out.

Judy, finally gathering her senses, started toward the bed. She spoke softly.

“Sort of. I’ve seen you in the library before. I work there.”

Denise’s eyes were half-open. The library? The room began to spin again.

“What are you doing here?” Her words came out slurred, the sounds running together.

What, indeed? Judy couldn’t help but think.

She adjusted her purse strap nervously. “I heard about your son getting lost. My son is one of the ones out there looking for him right now.”

As she answered, Denise’s eyes flickered with a mixture of hope and fear, and her expression seemed to clear. She broke in with a question, but this time the words came out more lucidly than before.

“Have you heard anything?”

The question was sudden, but Judy realized that she should have expected it. Why else would she have come to see her?

Judy shook her head. “No, nothing. I’m sorry.”

Denise pressed her lips together, staying silent. She seemed to be evaluating the answer before finally turning away.

“I’d like to be alone,” Denise said.

Still uncertain of what to do-Why on earth did I come? She doesn’t even know me-Judy said the only thing she herself would have wanted to hear, the only thing she could think to say.

“They’ll find him, Denise.”

At first Judy didn’t think that Denise had heard her, but then she saw Denise’s jaw quiver, followed by a welling of tears in her eyes. Denise made no sound at all. She seemed to be holding back her emotions as if she didn’t want anyone to see her this way, and that somehow made it worse. Though she didn’t know what Denise would do, Judy acted on motherly impulse and moved closer, pausing briefly beside the bed before finally sitting. Denise didn’t seem to notice. Judy watched her in silence.

What was I thinking? That I could help? What on earth can I do? Maybe I shouldn’t have come. . . . She doesn’t need me here. If she asks me to go again, I’ll go. . . .

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice so low that Judy could barely hear it.

“But what if they don’t?”

Judy reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “They will.”

Denise drew a long, uneven breath, as if trying to draw strength from some hidden reserve. She slowly turned her head and faced Judy with red, swollen eyes. “I don’t even know if they’re still looking for him. . . .”

Up close, Judy flashed upon the resemblance between Denise and her mother-or rather, how her mother used to look. They could have been sisters, and she wondered why she hadn’t made the connection at the library. But that thought was quickly replaced as Denise’s words sank in. Unsure if she had heard correctly, Judy furrowed her brow.

“What do you mean? Do you mean to say that no one’s kept you informed of what’s happening out there?”

Even though Denise was looking at her, she seemed very far away, lost in a kind of listless daze.

“I haven’t heard a thing since I was put in the ambulance.”

“Nothing?” she finally cried, shocked that they had neglected to keep her informed.

Denise shook her head.

At once Judy glanced around for the phone and stood up, her confidence rising with the knowledge that there was something she could do. This must have been the reason she’d felt the urge to come. Not telling the mother? Completely unacceptable. Not only that, but . . . cruel. Inadvertent, to be sure, but cruel nonetheless.

Judy sat in the chair beside the small table in the corner of the room and picked up the handset. After dialing quickly, she reached the police department in Edenton. Denise’s eyes widened when she realized what Judy was doing.

“This is Judy McAden, and I’m with Denise Holton at the hospital. I was calling to find out what’s going on out there. . . . No . . . no . . . I’m sure it’s very busy, but I need to talk to Mike Harris. . . . Well, tell him to pick up. Tell him Judy’s on the line. It’s important.”

She put her hand over the receiver and spoke to Denise.

“I’ve known Mike for years-he’s the captain. Maybe he’ll know something.”

There was a click, and she heard the other end pick up again.

“Hey, Mike. . . . No, I’m fine, but that’s not why I called. I’m here with Denise Holton, the one whose boy’s in the swamp. I’m at the hospital, and it seems that no one’s told her what’s happening out there. . . . I know it’s a zoo, but she needs to know what’s going on. . . . I see . . . uh-huh . . . oh, okay, thanks.”

After hanging up, she shook her head and spoke to Denise while dialing a new number. “He hasn’t heard anything, but then his men aren’t conducting the search because it’s outside the county lines. Let me try the fire station.”

Again she went through the preliminaries before reaching someone in charge. Then, after a minute or so, her tone becoming that of a lecturing mother: “I see . . . well, can you radio someone at the scene? I’ve got a mother here who has a right to know what’s happening, and I can’t believe you haven’t kept her informed. How would you like it if it was Linda here and Tommy was the one who was lost? . . . I don’t care how busy it is. There’s no excuse for it. I simply can’t believe you overlooked something like that. . . . No, I’d rather not call back. Why don’t I hold while you radio in. . . . Joe, she needs to know now. She hasn’t heard a thing for hours now. . . . All right, then. . . .”

Looking at Denise: “I’m holding now. He’s calling over there with the radio. We’ll know in just a couple of minutes. How’re you holding up?”

Denise smiled for the first time in hours. “Thank you,” she said weakly.

A minute passed, then another, before Judy spoke again. “Yes, I’m still here. . . .” Judy was silent as she listened to the report, and despite everything, Denise found herself growing hopeful. Maybe . . . please . . . She watched Judy for any outward signs of emotion. As the silence continued, Judy’s mouth formed a straight line. She finally spoke into the handset. “Oh, I see. . . . Thanks, Joe. Call here if you find out anything, anything at all. . . . Yes, the hospital in Elizabeth City. And we’ll check back in a little while.”

As she watched, Denise felt a lump rise in her throat as her nausea returned.

Kyle was still out there.

Judy hung up the phone and went to the bed again. “They haven’t found him yet, but they’re still out there. A bunch of people from the town showed up, so there are more people than there were before. The weather’s cleared up some, and they think Kyle was moving to the southeast. They went that way about an hour ago.”

Denise barely heard her.

It was coming up on 1:30 A.M.

The temperature-originally in the sixties-was nearing forty degrees now, and they’d been moving as a group for over an hour. A cold northern wind was pushing the temperature down quickly, and the searchers began to realize that if they hoped to find the little boy alive, they needed to find him in the next couple of hours.

They’d now reached an area of the swamp that was a little less dense, where the trees grew farther apart and the vines and bushes didn’t scrape against them continually. Here they were able to search more quickly, and Taylor could see three men-or rather their flashlights-in each direction. Nothing was being overlooked.

Taylor had hunted in this part of the swamp before. Because the ground was elevated slightly, it was usually dry, and deer flocked to the area. A half mile or so ahead, the elevation dropped again to below the water tables, and they would come to an area of the swamp known to hunters as Duck Shot. During the season men could be found in the dozens of duck blinds that lined the area. The water there was a few feet deep year-round, and the hunting was always good.

It was also the farthest point that Kyle could have traveled.

If, of course, they were going in the right direction.