Part 5
Claire kept the television running while she captured the station’s available replay. Martin supplied the caretaker’s report to dispatch and requested units from the west side of the county.
By the time Nolan returned to the truck, Cedar had eaten two measured portions of recovery food, stolen a gauze pad, and fallen asleep with his nose against the lip of his water dish.
Claire dried his muzzle.
“You are exhausting,” she told him, tucking him into the carrier.
Her voice made Nolan look away.
The mine road beyond Dunleith received no ordinary winter maintenance. Snowmobiles used it, as did the occasional utility crew. Tonight, its entrance was little more than a gap between heavily burdened pines.
Martin led with his emergency lights off to spare Nolan the reflected glare. In the pickup, Tessa’s report faded in and out as the terrain rose.
The caller was Walter Voss, a caretaker familiar with the equipment sheds. He placed the red lamp southeast of the old access road.
“Before you ask,” Claire said, “no relation.”
“I was watching the road.”
“Good. Keep doing that. I’ve spent years getting blamed for Walter’s opinions at the hardware store.”
Nolan glanced at her. “Are they bad opinions?”
“He has strong views about everything except staying home.”
Ahead, Martin stopped. His voice came over the radio, telling them to remain in their vehicle while he examined tracks crossing the road.
Nolan rested both hands on the wheel.
Claire didn’t comment, but he could feel her glance.
Five minutes later, Martin returned with snow crusted on his shoulders. Heavy tire marks led toward the sheds. Backup was delayed behind a jackknifed plow, but moving.
“Another half mile,” he said. “We approach quietly. We establish what’s there before anybody improvises.”
Nolan nodded.
Cedar lifted his head at the voices, made a low complaint, and tried to pull the carrier’s zipper tab inside. Claire eased it away.
“You’re among people with very little patience left. Choose wisely.”
The sheds emerged gradually: roof edges, straight walls, a loading door beneath a blinking red lamp. Deep ruts showed where a trailer had backed toward the largest building.
The vehicles were gone.
Martin parked behind a bank of snow. He reported their position and asked for animal transport as well as deputies. Then he checked the entrance.
The latch hung loose. Snow sifted through a gap beneath the door.
He announced himself before entering.
Nolan followed only after Martin signaled. His light passed over overturned bins, bedding, scattered papers, and temporary kennels against the far wall.
Five dogs were inside.
Two Belgian Malinois pressed into the rear corners of their kennels. Two shepherds stood stiffly, trying to assess the strangers. An older dog with cloudy eyes lifted his muzzle and barked once.
Claire entered with her medical bag open.
“Easy now. We can take our time with this part.”
Nolan stayed near the door, keeping his beam low. Martin recorded the collars and conditions before Claire moved each latch. Every dog carried a temporary numbered identifier.
She worked without unnecessary handling, assessing cold, hydration, stress. Each time she moved to another kennel, Nolan watched the one she had left for any sign of worsening distress.
From the truck came Cedar’s bark.
Claire looked up.
“He might just want us back,” Martin said.
Nolan went outside. Through the mesh, Cedar was staring beyond the main shed toward a smaller structure near the back of the property.
A drift covered most of its maintenance door. Along the bottom, a narrow dark seam remained where a little warmth had kept the snow from closing it entirely.
Nolan called Martin.
They cleared the threshold while Claire watched from the main building.
“He stays in the heated truck,” she called.
“He’s staying,” Nolan answered.
Inside the smaller structure, a utility passage led to an office with a steel door standing partly open. There were battery packs, travel crates, file boxes, rolled banners, and a portable presentation screen. Veylan’s cheerful promotional photographs leaned against a wall beside a stack of winter placement folders.
Claire joined them once the five dogs were ready for the arriving transport crew.
She opened the top file with gloved hands.
“Fern.”
Nolan turned toward her.
The photograph showed a sable female shepherd beside a volunteer in winter rescue gear. Snow dusted the dog’s muzzle. Her gaze was clear, attentive, fixed just beyond the photographer.
Claire turned the picture over. Fern’s name was written in blue ink.
The original transfer promised retirement care for the rest of her life. Later pages listed breeding evaluations, litters, and transport arrangements.
Martin stood beside Nolan. “Cedar’s mother?”
“The timing fits. So do the markings,” Claire said. “We’ll need confirmation.”
Nolan looked at the retirement promise again.
“Where is she?”
Claire followed the most recent entry with one finger.
“Tonight’s transport. Three dogs.”
Martin went to the doorway and looked at the trailer ruts.
His radio sounded before he could speak.
Tessa had Walter on the line again. The truck had not reached the main road. He had heard engine trouble near the abandoned rail bed east of the sheds, followed by dogs and what might have been a snowmobile.
“Tell him to stay inside,” Martin said.
A pause.
“He’s in his maintenance truck,” Tessa answered. “He went out before the warning. The signal’s breaking up.”
Claire shut her eyes briefly.
Martin ordered Walter’s lights left on and began arranging the work in front of them. Two rescue vehicles were finally approaching from the west. Their crews would take the five dogs under Claire’s supervision. Additional deputies would secure the buildings and evidence.
He and Nolan would follow the rail bed with a search volunteer, within a safe operating distance.
Cedar would remain with Claire.
The puppy disagreed when Nolan came to check him. He grabbed the edge of the bag holding Fern’s tag and braced his paws against the bedding.
“You’re not coming.”
Cedar held on.
“You’ve got nothing left to spend, buddy.”
Nolan’s voice roughened on the last word. He reached inside and rested a hand along the puppy’s side until the grip loosened.
Claire stood beside him.
Under Martin’s supervision, she had taken a small scent sample from the tag before resealing it. She held the gauze out to Cedar, then touched it to Nolan’s outer glove. It wasn’t a plan to track anything. There would be no puppy following that glove through the snow.
“He can see you taking something with you,” she said.
Cedar pressed his nose against Nolan’s fingers through the open top of the carrier.
Nolan bowed his head. “Lord, help us get her back.”
Then Claire closed the carrier, and he followed Martin.
The search volunteer introduced herself as Denise Alvarez. She checked their equipment, noted their route, and took her place with a thermal scope and reflective markers.
The rail bed crossed open ground where the wind had room to gather force. Nolan matched Martin’s pace, though every interruption made him want to move faster.
After twenty minutes, Denise found a broken transport strap. Farther on came an oil stain and shallow sled tracks leaving the rail bed toward spruce trees.
Martin gave their position. When dispatch failed to answer clearly, Tessa repeated the location through the agreed radio relay.
Nolan could picture her in the broadcast room, bent over a map, finding the next voice that could reach them.
A red light blinked beyond the trees.
Denise raised the scope. Through a gap near a window, she could make out one human heat signature. Smaller shapes were uncertain; the walls blocked too much.
Martin requested medical standby.
Then he moved toward the cabin door…
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