road, taking turns with the stretcher and holding the IV. They met the ambulance an hour later.
C hapter 12
Road 2168
Whitewater River Drainage
0945 hours
Smokey and Nathan arrived to see the rescue team come into sight a hundred yards down the hill from the old logging landing. They waited with the Cold River Fire and Safety ambulance crew at the end of the road. The team carrying Jennifer on a stretcher moved like a twisting, many-legged animal, chugging slowly up the hill. They picked their way around rocks and tree stumps. A man in a flight suit trailed the stretcher, holding an IV bag.
Smokey stood back as the medics transferred Jennifer onto a gurney, keeping the IV in place. Her face was swollen, blackened and streaked with blood, her right eye puffed out over her cheek. S he looks dead. Her left eye blinked and moved from side to side, an unfocused nystagmus. She doesn’t know where she is. The Cold River medics took over and moved the gurney into the ambulance. Smokey stepped back with Nathan and waited to hear something about her condition.
“No!” A croak from inside the ambulance. After a minute, Medic Carole Tewee came to the door.
“Lieutenant, can you come look at this?”
Smokey walked to the door, thinking that the woman may be aware of her surroundings. He looked in around Tewee.
“She’s got a death grip on this bloody rag, and when we try to get it from her, she just grabs it tighter. It sounds like she thinks it’s a doll, or something. I don’t believe she is coherent, but we need to get an idea of what is going on with her.”
“Can you sedate her?”
“Not too much, she’s in bad shape, we’ll be pulling out in a minute.”
“Got it,” a medic from inside said. And then, “Oh shit.” He handed the bloody rag to Tewee. She unwrapped it. “Christ,” she said, and twisted her face away. Smokey leaned forward.
A hand. She’s been holding a human hand. With painted fingernails.
Tewee handed the rag with the hand to Smokey. He cradled it and looked closer, aware of the putrid odor, trying to look at it in a clinical fashion. The skin was starting to slough off, especially around the fingernails and at the fingertips; the hand had been severed at the wrist, not an animal separation, but it looked as if a sharp instrument had been used. Surgical?
What the hell happened to her? What did she find out there? This changes things, won’t be going home tonight.
He found his voice.
“Sergeant Lamebull, take custody of this evidence.” And then he added, “Paper sack, seal it for an autopsy later. In the fridge in the evidence room.”
The people on the landing were quiet, the Portland Mountain Rescue team subdued, not as jubilant as they should have been, finding Jennifer alive. Sergeant Nathan Green directed them to a van.
“Lieutenant.” The man in the flight suit came forward. He introduced himself. “Sergeant Scott Durning, 939 th Air Rescue Group.” He held up a red pack. “You need to see this, Lieutenant.”
“What’s in it, Scott?”
“Bones, Lieutenant. Human bones, I think.”
What the hell happened out there? What did this poor girl get into? And where?
Smokey pulled the flap open and looked inside the pack. Like Sergeant Durning, he knew what the body parts were. Bones. Metacarpal bones, phalanges. They did indeed look human.
“You get GPS coordinates, where you found her?”
“Sure did,” Durning said.
“We’ll backtrack from there,” Smokey said. Smokey looked up beyond the tree line to the snow-covered slopes of Mt. Jefferson, a mountain that had long-held secrets, even from the people who had always lived nearby. He knew he would be going up there within a few hours.
What the hell did she find?
A human hand, a few days removed from its owner, a most certainly dead owner.
Human hand bones, the owner long since dead.
What the hell did she find?
C hapter 13
Mountain View Hospital
Madras, Oregon
“She’s in
C hapter 12
Road 2168
Whitewater River Drainage
0945 hours
Smokey and Nathan arrived to see the rescue team come into sight a hundred yards down the hill from the old logging landing. They waited with the Cold River Fire and Safety ambulance crew at the end of the road. The team carrying Jennifer on a stretcher moved like a twisting, many-legged animal, chugging slowly up the hill. They picked their way around rocks and tree stumps. A man in a flight suit trailed the stretcher, holding an IV bag.
Smokey stood back as the medics transferred Jennifer onto a gurney, keeping the IV in place. Her face was swollen, blackened and streaked with blood, her right eye puffed out over her cheek. S he looks dead. Her left eye blinked and moved from side to side, an unfocused nystagmus. She doesn’t know where she is. The Cold River medics took over and moved the gurney into the ambulance. Smokey stepped back with Nathan and waited to hear something about her condition.
“No!” A croak from inside the ambulance. After a minute, Medic Carole Tewee came to the door.
“Lieutenant, can you come look at this?”
Smokey walked to the door, thinking that the woman may be aware of her surroundings. He looked in around Tewee.
“She’s got a death grip on this bloody rag, and when we try to get it from her, she just grabs it tighter. It sounds like she thinks it’s a doll, or something. I don’t believe she is coherent, but we need to get an idea of what is going on with her.”
“Can you sedate her?”
“Not too much, she’s in bad shape, we’ll be pulling out in a minute.”
“Got it,” a medic from inside said. And then, “Oh shit.” He handed the bloody rag to Tewee. She unwrapped it. “Christ,” she said, and twisted her face away. Smokey leaned forward.
A hand. She’s been holding a human hand. With painted fingernails.
Tewee handed the rag with the hand to Smokey. He cradled it and looked closer, aware of the putrid odor, trying to look at it in a clinical fashion. The skin was starting to slough off, especially around the fingernails and at the fingertips; the hand had been severed at the wrist, not an animal separation, but it looked as if a sharp instrument had been used. Surgical?
What the hell happened to her? What did she find out there? This changes things, won’t be going home tonight.
He found his voice.
“Sergeant Lamebull, take custody of this evidence.” And then he added, “Paper sack, seal it for an autopsy later. In the fridge in the evidence room.”
The people on the landing were quiet, the Portland Mountain Rescue team subdued, not as jubilant as they should have been, finding Jennifer alive. Sergeant Nathan Green directed them to a van.
“Lieutenant.” The man in the flight suit came forward. He introduced himself. “Sergeant Scott Durning, 939 th Air Rescue Group.” He held up a red pack. “You need to see this, Lieutenant.”
“What’s in it, Scott?”
“Bones, Lieutenant. Human bones, I think.”
What the hell happened out there? What did this poor girl get into? And where?
Smokey pulled the flap open and looked inside the pack. Like Sergeant Durning, he knew what the body parts were. Bones. Metacarpal bones, phalanges. They did indeed look human.
“You get GPS coordinates, where you found her?”
“Sure did,” Durning said.
“We’ll backtrack from there,” Smokey said. Smokey looked up beyond the tree line to the snow-covered slopes of Mt. Jefferson, a mountain that had long-held secrets, even from the people who had always lived nearby. He knew he would be going up there within a few hours.
What the hell did she find?
A human hand, a few days removed from its owner, a most certainly dead owner.
Human hand bones, the owner long since dead.
What the hell did she find?
C hapter 13
Mountain View Hospital
Madras, Oregon
“She’s in
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