The Rescue

Chapter 7

Judy wet a washcloth and brought it to the bedside and gently wiped Denise’s face. Denise hadn’t spoken much, and Judy didn’t press her to do so. Denise looked shell-shocked: pale and exhausted, her eyes red and glassy. Judy had called again at the top of the hour and had been told that there still wasn’t any news. This time Denise had seemed to expect it and had barely reacted.

“Can I get you a cup of water?” Judy asked.

When Denise didn’t answer, Judy rose from the bed again and got a cup anyway. When she returned, Denise tried to sit up in the bed to take a sip, but the accident had begun to take its toll on the rest of her body. A shooting pain coursed from her wrist through her shoulder, like a surge of electricity. Her stomach and chest ached as if something heavy had been placed on top of her for a long time and now that it had finally been removed, her body was slowly coming back to shape, like a balloon being painfully reinflated. Her neck was stiffening, and it seemed as if a steel rod had been placed in her upper spine that kept her head from moving back and forth.

“Here, let me help,” Judy offered.

Judy set the cup on the table and helped Denise sit up. Denise winced and held her breath, pursing her lips tightly as the pain came in waves, then relaxed as they finally began to subside. Judy handed her the water.

As Denise took a sip, she shot a glance at the clock again. As before, it moved forward relentlessly.

When would they find him?

Studying Denise’s expression, Judy asked: “Would you like me to get a nurse?”

Denise didn’t answer.

Judy covered Denise’s hand with her own. “Would you like me to leave so that you can rest?”

Denise turned from the clock to Judy again and still saw a stranger . . . but a nice stranger, someone who cared. Someone with kind eyes, reminding her of her elderly neighbor in Atlanta.

I just want Kyle. . . .

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” she said finally.

Denise finished her cup and Judy took it from her. “What was your name again?” Denise asked. The slurring had lessened a little, but exhaustion made the words come out weakly. “I heard it when you made the calls, but I can’t remember.”

Judy set the cup on the table, then helped Denise get comfortable again. “I’m Judy McAden. I guess I forgot to mention that when I first came in.”

“And you work in the library?”

She nodded. “I’ve seen you and your son there on more than a few occasions.”

“Is that why . . . ?” Denise asked, trailing off.

“No, actually, I came because I knew your mother when she was young. She and I were friends a long time ago. When I heard you were in trouble . . . well, I didn’t want you to think that you were in this all alone.”

Denise squinted, trying to focus on Judy as if for the first time. “My mother?”

Judy nodded. “She lived down the road from me. We grew up together.”

Denise tried to remember if her mother had mentioned her, but concentrating on the past was like trying to decipher an image on a fuzzy television screen. She couldn’t remember one way or the other, but as she was trying to do so, the telephone rang.

It startled them both, and they turned toward it, the sound shrill and suddenly ominous.

A few minutes earlier Taylor and the others had reached Duck Shot. Here, the marshy water began to deepen, a mile and a half from the spot where the accident had occurred. Kyle could have gone no farther, but still they’d found nothing.

One by one, after reaching Duck Shot, the group began to converge, and when the walkie-talkies clicked to life, there were more than a few disappointed voices.

Taylor, however, didn’t call in. Still searching, he again tried to put himself in Kyle’s shoes by asking the same questions he had before. Had Kyle come this way? Time and time again he came to the same conclusion. The wind alone would have steered him in this general direction. He wouldn’t have wanted to fight the wind, and heading this way would have kept the lightning behind him.

Damn. He had to have moved in this direction. He simply had to.

But where was he?

They couldn’t have missed him, could they? Before they’d started, Taylor had reminded everyone to check every possible hiding place along the way-trees, bushes, stumps, fallen logs-anywhere a child might hide from the storm . . . and he was sure they had. Everyone out here cared as much as he did.

Then where was he?

He suddenly wished for nightvision goggles, something that would have rendered the darkness less crippling, allowing them to pick up the image of the boy from his body heat. Even though such equipment was available commercially, he didn’t know anyone in town who had that type of gear. It went without saying that the fire department didn’t have any-they couldn’t even afford a regular crew, let alone something so high-tech. Limited budgets, after all, were a regular staple of life in a small town.

But the National Guard . . .

Taylor was sure that they would have the necessary equipment, but that wasn’t an option now. It would simply take too long to get a unit out here. And borrowing a set from his counterparts at the National Guard wasn’t realistic-the supply clerk would need authorization from his or her superior, who’d need it from someone else, who’d request that forms were filled out, blah, blah, blah. And even if by some miracle the request were granted, the nearest depot was almost two hours away. Hell, it would almost be daylight by then.

Think.

Lightning flashed again, startling him. The last bout of lightning had occurred a while back, and aside from the rain, he thought the worst was behind him.

But as the night sky was illuminated, he saw it in the distance . . . rectangular and wooden, overgrown with foliage. One of the dozens of duck blinds.

His mind began to click quickly . . . duck blinds . . . they looked almost like a kid’s playhouse, with enough shelter to keep much of the rain away. Had Kyle seen one?

No, too easy . . . it couldn’t be . . . but . . .

Despite himself, Taylor felt the adrenaline begin to race through his system. He did his best to remain calm.

Maybe-that’s all it was. Just a great big “maybe.”

But right now “maybe” was all he had, and he rushed to the first duck blind he’d seen. His boots were sinking in the mud, making a sucking sound as he fought through the ground’s spongy thickness. A few seconds later he reached the blind-it hadn’t been used since last fall and was overgrown with climbing vines and brush. He pushed his way through the vines and poked his head inside. Sweeping his flashlight around the interior of the blind, he almost expected to see a young boy hiding from the storm.

But all he saw was aging plywood.

As he stepped back, another bolt of lightning lit the sky and Taylor caught a glimpse of another duck blind, not fifty yards away. One that wasn’t as shrouded as the one he’d just searched. Taylor took off again, running, believing . . .

If I were a kid and I’d gone this far and saw what looked like a little house . . .

He reached the second blind, searched quickly, and found nothing. He cursed again, filled with an even greater sense of urgency. He took off again, heading for the next blind without knowing exactly where it was. He knew from experience that it wouldn’t be more than a hundred yards away, near the waterline.

And he was right.

Breathing hard, he fought the rain, the wind, and most of all the mud, knowing in his heart of hearts that his hunch about the duck blinds had to be right. If Kyle wasn’t here, he was going to call the others on the walkie-talkie and have them search every duck blind in the area.

This time when he reached the blind, he pressed through the overgrowth. Moving around to the side, he steeled himself to expect nothing. Shining his light inside, he almost stopped breathing.

A little boy, sitting in the corner, muddy and scratched, filthy . . . but otherwise, seemingly okay.

Taylor blinked, thinking it was a mirage, but when he opened his eyes again, the little boy was still there, Mickey Mouse shirt and all.

Taylor was too surprised to speak. Despite the hours out there, the conclusion had seemed to come so quickly.

In the silence-a few seconds at most-Kyle looked up at him, toward the big man in a long yellow coat, with an expression of surprise on his face, as though he’d been caught doing something that would get him in trouble.

“Hewwo,” Kyle said exuberantly, and Taylor laughed aloud. Grins immediately spread across both their faces. Taylor dropped to one knee, and the little boy scrambled to his feet and then into his arms. He was cold and wet, shivering, and when Taylor felt those small arms wrap around his neck, tears welled in his eyes.

“Well, hello, little man. I take it you must be Kyle.”