Hannah Alexander - A Killing Frost

She and Tyrell walked less than a quarter mile before he pointed to a diverging trail that led to Highway 94. They took it. At the road, Tyrell pointed to tire marks on the pavement that led to the other side, where something large had obviously torn through brush and rammed into a sapling before continuing down to the swamp.

Jama’s shoe squished into mud. She peered into the swamp, studying the square shape of a pickup’s cab-the only part of the vehicle above water.

“I wonder when the search-and-rescue dogs will get here,” she said.

“No telling.”

Without another word, Jama and Tyrell skirted the swamp counterclockwise. The powerful beam of Tyrell’s flashlight showed multiple footprints in the mud. Disturbing the evidence as little as possible, they continued slowly along the swamp’s edge.

Jama focused on the ground in front of her, on the swish of the underbrush against the material of her scrubs-the air had more of a bite to it now that the sun was almost gone. She was glad she had worn this coat and her thick wool socks for extra cushioning.

“I see something.” Tyrell aimed his flashlight at a thorn tree and illuminated a small piece of purple cloth caught by a long, wicked-looking barb.

“It looks like cloth from the hooded jacket Doriann got for Christmas.” Jama reached for it, but Tyrell touched her arm.

“Leave that for the FBI,” he said. He aimed his light at the ground, revealing three sets of footsteps, a single set curving one way, two other sets veering in a slightly different direction.

Jama rushed forward, following the single set of prints that came from a smaller shoe. “Tyrell, you know what this means?”

“I’m not ready to jump to conclusions.”

“It looks like Doriann escaped from the truck and the swamp first, and ran away from her captors. They came after her, but must not have seen where she went. They followed a different path.”

“How can you tell she got out first?” he asked. “What if the kidnappers saved their own hides first and ran away, leaving Doriann to drown?”

Jama gave him a long look. “That’s the wrong attitude, you know?”

“They’re killers, Jama. And on drugs.”

“Do you think these people would go to all the trouble to abduct Doriann specifically, because she’s Mark Streeter’s daughter, then just leave her?”

“In a situation like this, they would think of themselves first. Why don’t you follow the one set of tracks, I’ll follow the others. That may help us determine if Doriann got away. Try not to leave your own trail.”

“Of course, I’m watching my steps.” She pulled out her own flashlight and made her way forward. She moved slowly, methodically. Doriann had obviously headed in the direction of the river.

Excitement made Jama clumsy, and she nearly stepped off the side of a steep, washed-out mud bank. A ledge crumbled beneath her feet, and she scrambled backward to more solid ground. As she straightened, she saw evidence that Doriann might have done the same with less fortunate results. Small shoeprints told the tale from the bottom of a collapsed slope of loose mud and earth.

But then, it appeared that the girl had climbed back up the steep slope. Using more caution this time, Jama continued to follow the tracks, and ended up standing beside Tyrell.

“Um, I think we have a problem here,” Jama said.

He studied the tracks, frowning. “I don’t get this. They turned around at this point. Two larger sets of prints, probably a man and a woman. Had to be the kidnappers, right? There are indentations in the mud that might indicate a fall.” He gestured to a place where someone’s hands and knees might have landed in the soft earth.

“Or someone was knocked down,” Jama said.

“So they stopped looking for Doriann at this point?”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they heard someone coming and were afraid they would get caught, so they got out of the area.”

“But, Tyrell,” Jama said, stooping more closely to study the prints, “it appears as if our little spitfire followed them.”

Doriann scrunched onto her side in a ball, wishing she could feel safe in this tiny cave above the creek. Unfortunately, her teeth chattered so hard she could probably be heard all the way to River Dance.

There were lots of dry, crackly leaves on the floor of the cave that rustled when she moved, so she tried to stay still. The leaves had either been washed here with flooding, or had been carried by some animal for a bed. From the smell, Doriann figured it was an animal that had never been potty trained, but she didn’t care much right now. Leaves were warmer and softer than rock.

As the darkness deepened in her hiding space, her fear returned. She couldn’t breathe very deeply, no matter how hard she tried.

Pray, Doriann, pray.

“Oh, God, please send someone besides evil Clancy to find me,” she whispered. “And would You warm up the weather tonight? That way, Grandpa and Grandma’s crops won’t be ruined, and the killers will live to be arrested and justice will be done, and I won’t freeze to death out here. You know how that would break Aunt Renee’s heart…and Mom’s. And Dad’s.”

Doriann realized that she mustn’t fall asleep. She’d read stories about people falling asleep and never waking up, freezing to death. They lost consciousness and just drifted off.

And so she prayed harder, calling to her mind everybody she’d ever known. She prayed for Aunt Renee, who had her hands full with so many things in her life right now, and sometimes threatened that she was “going to lose it!”

She prayed for Mom and Dad to make it through their residency training so they would stop fighting so much, and be home more and get the jobs of their dreams-but only if that meant they could be home more often.

Was that selfish? Yeah, probably.

She prayed for more patience with her cousins, and for Grandma to get flowers for Mother’s Day again this year, because last year she was so happy to get them she cried.

She prayed for God to forgive her for being such an ornery kid.

And as she prayed, she realized that she was thinking of reasons to keep praying, because she discovered that she felt closer to God. Safer. It made the fear go away for a little while.

“And, God, please help me forgive my enemies…You know who they are…because Aunt Renee says I have to before You’ll answer me. I’m sorry I don’t feel very forgiving right now, but I’m willing to try if You’ll help me.”

She was so sorry she’d decided to try to follow Clancy and Deb in the first place. She’d be halfway home by now if she hadn’t. Funny how things looked a lot more possible in the daylight, when at night they seemed so crazy.

As she struggled to stay awake, she thought she heard voices. She held her breath. The rustle of the wind? Birds? Coyotes?

No, not animals. They were human voices, softly whispering. A man and a woman.

Suddenly, Doriann was wide-awake again. Clancy and Deb?

Tyrell signaled for Jama to wait at the last sighting of Doriann’s tracks. He then went ahead to search for the next track. He found two sets of larger prints, but not Doriann’s. His first objective was to find his niece and get her to safety. Her prints were vital. The Feds could deal with the abductors.

“Branch to your left,” Jama said softly, aiming her flashlight at a stand of cedar saplings.

There was a small, broken branch on the nearest sapling, and behind it her flashlight illuminated a muddy patch with the imprint of what looked to be Doriann’s shoes all over it.

“Was it her?” Jama asked.

“I think so.”

“Any other tracks?”