Part 7
Vivian held the map down with one gloved hand beneath the command vehicle’s hatch. Snow collected along its hinges. Lydia stood beside her with a radio, while Nolan and two other volunteers checked winter packs nearby.
Cole brought Rook to the edge of the group.
“Last contact was about two hours ago,” Vivian said. “The message broke up. We got that the machine was down and they were moving to shelter.”
“Any tracks?”
“Not enough left to follow.”
A road crew had reached the snowmobile after a location signal led them to it. The engine was dead, the machine tilted beside the trail. New snow was already burying one side.
Cole examined the map. The logging road ran through dense pine and curved near a creek gorge. Old spurs branched toward long-unused maintenance sites.
Vivian assigned a ground team to the eastern side. Cole and Rook would work the western lane with Lydia shadowing them.
“Stay inside the sector unless we clear a change,” she said.
Cole nodded.
She held his gaze a moment longer. “I want the information before the movement.”
“You’ll have it.”
At the snowmobile, Lydia checked the immediate area while Cole prepared Rook. A knit glove recovered from a storage compartment provided scent.
Cole offered it without pressing it against the dog’s nose. Rook sampled it, paused, and took another breath.
“Search.”
They moved north along the road. Rook worked low, then high, pausing where side trails met the main route. Cole kept enough line available for him to investigate without allowing it to drag into brush.
Lydia followed several yards behind.
For fifteen minutes, the dog’s movements remained tentative. He checked the trees once and returned to the road. Cole watched for the stillness that hadn’t come yet.
The road rose and began to curve away from the gorge.
Rook stopped so abruptly that Cole checked his own stride.
The dog lifted his muzzle. Snow lay across his nose. He turned left toward the falling ground and held there.
Cole could barely feel the air moving beneath the larger wind.
“Rook.”
Two steps back. Then the muzzle rose again.
“Here.”
Another step, followed by complete concentration on the slope. The dog’s tail settled lower. His body leaned toward a direction Cole couldn’t see through the snowfall.
Cole kept the line secure and keyed his radio.
“Lydia, come look at this.”
She joined him without approaching the dog head-on.
“Talk me through it.”
“Repeated air checks. Same direction. He came partway back and picked it up again. Now he’s committed.”
Lydia watched Rook turn his head through a small arc, searching for the current.
“Tracks?”
“None visible.”
She waited through another gust.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s something.”
Cole unfolded his map against his thigh. The light was failing, and he used a small lamp to find the contour lines. A drainage fed into the gorge. Across it, an old spur curved toward a faded building symbol.
“Possible structure,” he said. “If it’s still standing.”
Vivian requested their status.
Cole reported the behavior, direction, map feature, and uncertain terrain. He did not move while he spoke.
Her answer came through with a burst of static.
“Hold there. No direct descent. I’m opening a secondary corridor. Nolan and Dennis are coming with probes and safety line.”
Rook pressed forward once.
Cole held him. “Wait.”
The dog looked back, muscles tight.
“Not yet.”
Rook remained facing the gorge, but his feet stayed where they were. Cole rested a hand briefly against his shoulder.
Lydia checked the map again while they waited.
Dennis Locke arrived behind Nolan, carrying a compact rope bag. He had spent enough winters in the woods to distrust a smooth, white slope.
“There’s an old spur east of here,” he said. “If we can get onto it, it should take us around the head of the gorge.”
Cole traced the route.
“It takes us away from what he’s got.”
“For a while,” Lydia said. “Then we may be in a better position.”
Vivian approved the approach.
Rook resisted the direction for the first hundred yards. Cole could feel the dog asking for the slope through every tightening of the line. Twice, Rook looked down toward it. Twice, Cole kept him on the safer ground.
When they reached the spur, it was scarcely more than two shallow channels beneath saplings. Dennis probed ahead where the surface was uncertain.
Cole gave Rook more line.
“Search.”
The dog moved at once. Every short distance, he stopped to test the air and adjust. They curved around the gorge rather than descending into it. The creek stayed below and to their right.
Snow thickened between the trees. Cole could no longer see far enough to identify a building even if one stood ahead.
Nolan spoke close behind him. “Can you make anything out?”
“Watch your footing. I’m watching him.”
Rook slowed.
A gust came through the pines. The dog turned sharply and pulled toward a tangle of fallen limbs.
Cole followed the line with his eyes. At first, there was only broken timber and snow. Then he saw an angle too straight to be a branch.
A roof corner.
“Structure ahead,” he reported.
Rook reached the obstruction and indicated. Cole moved carefully past the limbs with Lydia. A heavy pine branch rested across part of the roof, but the small cabin appeared upright. Its walls were almost invisible beneath the accumulation around them.
Cole struck the door with his gloved hand.
“County rescue team. Can anybody hear me?”
For a moment, he heard only the wind in the branches.
Then a voice answered from inside.
“We’re here. Both of us…”
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