Uncertain Justice

Instead of a human shape, the helicopter crew would find a nicely defined rectangle on the ground. That was no help at all. If he had a way to get rid of that excess heat though ... some way it to dissipate it....

...Like with running water? The creek? He tried to find fault with the reasoning. It might work ... it could. Hell, he didn't have anything better to try and time was running out. Miles began to stuff things back into the pack as fast as he could. He could hear the chopper coming closer. Cops would be searching on foot beneath it.

He hoisted the pack over his shoulders. Facing into the wind, he held one side of the camouflage blanket in his hands and let the material cascade behind him over the pack. He gathered the corners at his neck and held them there with his left hand.

Jumping into the thigh-deep water, he began to walk downstream. He would be crawling soon enough--the blanket couldn't cover him completely if he stood--but for now, he needed to gain some distance. Under his breath, he berated himself for having wasted so much time sitting on the bank.

Moments later, he tripped over a stone in the creek bed and sprawled in the cold water. At first, it was refreshing and wiped away the fog in his mind. Then it was just cold and miserable.

He wrestled the pack off and eased it into the water beside him. He began to crawl, trying to keep his mouth and nose above the surface. He flinched when the noise from the helicopter suddenly increased.

When the chopper was nearly overhead, he turned to face upstream and let the backpack settle to the bottom. Allowing the current to stream the blanket out behind him, he yanked the top end over his head and pulled the corners under to capture a bubble of air between the fabric and the surface of the water.

With his left knee on streambed and laying on the pack with only his eyes and nose above the water, he tried not to move under the blanket. He hoped the emergency blanket was covering his feet to make them invisible too. If not ... well, maybe they were far enough below the surface for the water to disguise their heat signature.

The helicopter was terrifyingly close. The wind generated by the rotors tossed heavy limbs on the trees lining the stream around as if they were twigs. Flashing navigation lights created weirdly colored patterns and fantastic shadows on the open ground between tree trunks.

The frantic WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP of the rotor blades whipping through the air at a velocity close to the speed of sound was a throbbing physical force that invaded his body. His heart sped up in an attempt to match the frenetic beat of the blades. The pounding became intolerable. He crammed a hand into his mouth to stifle a scream and finally lay in the freezing water, able only to endure.

After an eternity, the noise and smashing pressure eased. Exhausted, he stayed under the blanket until he was sure the chopper wasn't going to come back soon. Wearily, Miles began crawling downstream again with the emergency blanket over his shoulders and dragging the pack behind him. The flow of cold water rinsed the dog's blood off his clothing, dispersing it until it no longer stained the water but he didn't know that. He was too exhausted to have cared had he known.

He couldn't have said afterward how long he traveled that way. Twice more he crouched low, hiding under the blanket while the chopper passed nearby but neither time did it come as close as it had earlier.

The creek emptied into a larger stream and he found himself wading through water that was occasionally chest-deep. He wasn't aware of choosing to go downstream again; it was on an instinctive level that he realized he couldn't walk against the rush of water.

It was all he could do to keep moving. He had no energy left over to wonder where he was going. It didn't even concern him that he might step off into deeper water at any moment. With the return of bone-deep fatigue, there were no resources left over for extraneous thoughts. The only drive he had left was a desire to keep moving ... to put more distance between himself and the hunters. Still dragging his backpack, expecting to hear the helicopter returning at any moment, he staggered along the rocky strewn, uneven riverbed.

A half-mile after leaving the tributary for the larger stream, a dark mass loomed in front of him. Miles stopped lifting his boots clear of the muck and sliding them forward a few inches over the bottom of the river. He stood passively, leaning back into the current with his chin on his chest for long moments.

Finally, perceiving something was moving toward him, he stirred and tried to get his hunting knife out again. His fingers fumbled with the snap on the sheath but it was beyond him. He had no strength left.

He stood quietly and waited for whatever was going to happen. When nothing bit, hit, or pushed him, he listlessly raised his head again. Moonlight showed through the gathering clouds to illuminate a huge tree trunk in the water. He could see a mass of intertwined roots, twigs, and branches that projected from the shore.

The giant tree had been toppled a decade ago during spring floods that undermined the riverbank and loosened the grip of the roots. Temporarily deep enough to float the big tree, the river had carried it downstream ... rolling and tumbling until it smashed sideways against an unmovable boulder the size of an eighteen-wheeler.

The trunk snapped and continued down the river in two parts, the root section leading the branches through whitewater rapids and over precipitous falls. As the flood abated, the roots caught in the river bottom. The other end of the root section slewed around until it jammed solid against the bank.

Propelled by the current, the top of the tree with most of its limbs and branches still attached washed partially over the tree's roots and lodged only a few yards downstream. With one end penned firmly against the bank, both logs were frozen in a wide 'V' shape with the point over the water.

There they stayed, permanently wedged in place by their own weight. As the water level dropped, their position solidified.

For years, loose branches, saplings, and grasses floated down from sources high in the mountains to lodge against the partial dam made by the two giant logs. Twigs and leaves that slipped between the upstream roots were slowed enough by the contact to catch among the dead limbs on the downstream side. In time, the original broken tree trunks were completely hidden by later arriving material.

Branches, twigs, roots, and lighter logs gradually weaved themselves into a loose canopy over the water between the tree trunks to form a tight roof over an open space between the logs. Walls of grass, weeds, tree trunks, and branches built up and extended themselves well below the water's surface.

The walls thickened with each new spring's flood. The thicker walls made the open space between the two logs contract a little through the years but the opening never disappeared.

Miles knew none of this. All he knew was that something blocked his path.

Miles looked at the barrier for a minute, trying to find a way around without venturing too far into midstream, but there was no alternative. Slogging into the deeper water, he still passed too close and a corner of the camouflaged emergency blanket he still wore over his shoulders was caught. He pulled listlessly but the branch refused to release its captive.

Stepping closer to where the blanket was held, his right foot dropped into a hole in the riverbed. He stumbled forward, trying to keep his balance but lost the battle almost immediately and plunged head first beneath the obstacle. Choking as the water closed over his head, he struggled desperately to find a foothold. Behind him, the survival blanket floated off the limb that had speared it and the swift water sent it flying downstream.

Panicked, Miles fought to get to the surface while the current tried to pull the backpack away from him. He held on, his fingers wrapped tightly around the straps. If he lost the pack's contents he would die shortly no matter what the river did to him. After a few seconds that terror made endless, his left foot found a purchase on the slick rocks and he pushed upward with all his strength.

He came up thrashing wildly with his free hand, coughing and spitting, in complete darkness. He could do nothing but gasp for air for several minutes. He coughed cold river water from his lungs and fought to stay above the surface.

Gradually, he recovered and found a place between the rocks in the riverbed for his right foot. With both feet firmly planted, he leaned against the current and tried to figure out what had happened to him.

The water was deeper. It had been at his waist and lower ribs; suddenly it was just under his ears. Worst of all, he couldn't see anything. Fear surged. He fought to smother it and push it away. He couldn't afford to be incapacitated by panic but he was slowly loosing the ability to resist. His core temperature--the deep internal temperature his body had to maintain to stay alive--was falling to a critical point. His brain was failing as cold and exhaustion overwhelmed the higher processes.

A strong light splashed on the water's surface, so bright it was reflected under the tangled mass of branches to Miles. Numbed by frigid water and weariness, he placidly watched the light strengthen ... and then it began to fade. It got dark again.

The searchers had passed on without seeing anything out of the ordinary.

A primitive human dread of unnamed horrors that hid in darkness got Miles stirring again. Dreamily, he braced his backpack against his leg and unzipped the top section of the pack. It was a self-contained fanny pack that could be detached if the wearer wanted to use it separately, but Miles used it as a storage place for items that didn't fit elsewhere.

Feeling around, he pulled out the small flashlight he kept there and pressed the switch. It had been advertised as waterproof--he could only hope it actually was. The beam flashed into life, half blinding him in the total darkness. He covered most of the lens with his fingers.

After his eyes adjusted, Miles saw he was in a triangular cave of sorts. The ceiling and the two sides in the river were a rotting, malodorous mixture of tangled tree branches, grass, and roots. The remaining side, the riverbank, was a wall of dirt and rocks.

For a second, the twisted limbs seemed to move in the dim light and Miles jerked to attention. At the edge of his vision, they seemed to be waving in his direction but his eyes also reported nothing got closer. He let the gap between two fingers grow wider so he could see better. With the improved illumination, he saw it was only the shaking of his hand that made the shadows move.

He saw a sofa-sized boulder with its upper surface above the water near the riverbank. Miles stood blinking while his fatigued brain processed the information. A swirl of faster moving water rippled branches and the fabric of his pants. Shadows swayed. He forced himself into motion.

He waded to the boulder, the water getting a little shallower as he went. The top surface of the rock was reasonably level and it was only a foot, perhaps less, above the water. Summoning the last of his strength, he awkwardly wrestled the backpack over the edge and crawled up beside it.

He had been clinching his jaw for a long time but tired muscles gave in now. His teeth began to chatter in the frigid night. Hypothermia-induced trembling in his legs and arms began to interfere with his ability to do the things vital to his survival.

Groaning, ready to cry with weariness, Miles pulled open the backpack and fumbled for the remaining survival blanket. He tucked it around his legs with unfeeling fingers and laid down with his head pillowed on the backpack. He switched off the flashlight that he didn't have the strength to hold any longer and tucked it into a pocket in his parka.

He was shivering badly and thought of pulling out his sleeping bag, but discarded the idea immediately. The bag was extremely warm when the goose down filling was dry, but the feathers were useless as insulation when wet.

His parka was made of a synthetic material that would hold in body heat even when soaked so he left it zipped up to his chin. After a time, Miles roused enough to search the fanny pack and pull out the three chemical hand-warmer packets he'd brought with him.

He kneaded the plastic containers with frozen fingers until the substances inside began to release their chemical warmth. He tucked the first inside his parka close to his chest and placed a second one inside the blanket covering his legs ... he pushed it down to his ankles. The third went between his thighs.

Calmly, he settled on his side on the hard rock, curling his body and hunching his knees close to his chest to conserve what little heat his body retained. Still shaking with the cold, he watched the glow of more lights reflecting through the water and into the enclosed space. After a while, his thoughts slowed and he knew no more.

Whether he slept or lost consciousness wasn't important.

§

Because his footprints on the bank showed Miles had been facing vaguely upstream when he jumped into the creek and because Curt misinterpreted a couple of leaves floating down the creek as proof Miles had gone upstream, the search party initially went in that direction.

When they got to the stream's source without finding a place where the fugitive might have exited the water, the helicopter was sent to fly the length of the stream in the other direction to see if he was going that way.

After a number of false alarms--for several minutes the chopper followed a mountain lion in a stop and start chase before the crew identified what they were seeing--the FLIR was used to scan both sides of the bigger river, up and downstream without success.

Search parties on foot passed by several times but never found Miles under the mass of entangled roots, branches, and tree trunks that extended well below the surface of the water. When they came close, their flashlights showed a solid barrier they had no reason to investigate. Even the super-sensitive noses of the surviving dogs were confounded by the lack of any exposed surface Miles had touched on the outside of the mound of debris.

The hounds did get excited when they found his survival blanket caught between two rocks near the bank a few miles downstream and the search concentrated in that area for the rest of the night. The exhausted men and dogs were lifted out by helicopter shortly after the sun rose without finding another trace of the fugitive.

Using the rocks where the dogs alerted so strenuously as a starting point, teams spread out over the next few days trying to locate Underwood. They found nothing though they chased hundreds of leads and rousted dozens of surprised male hikers over a two hundred square mile search zone.

Frustrated deputies just south of Monarch Pass roughed up two men and their families on a picnic when they couldn't produce identification quickly enough. The lawsuits were settled out of court two years later.

Terms of the settlement were not revealed.

CHAPTER SIX

"In regional news tonight, Colorado State Highway Patrol authorities in Pueblo are scaling back an intensive manhunt that has been underway in South Central Colorado for the past two weeks. A spokesperson for the State Police say Miles Underwood, the Texas native wanted on a number of Federal and state warrants, has apparently eluded a search party of over a hundred law enforcement officers who participated in the weeklong hunt.

"Reliable sources tell us the fugitive was sighted on the first day of the manhunt, but Underwood was able to kill a dog being used to track him and then slip away under the cover of darkness. He hasn't been seen since.

"State troopers, reinforced by local law enforcement and Forestry Service rangers, have reportedly followed up on every reported sighting, but none of the leads has resulted in an arrest. Colorado Attorney General Robert Mendoza promised in an interview with KTPB producer Raphael Amherst that his office would continue to search aggressively for the suspected rapist and kidnapper."

"In Fort Collins this afternoon, students at...."

KTPB Channel Five

Pueblo, CO

"Early Mountain News"

March 25

§

He woke, but at first, reality was so much an extension of the dream there was no distinction between them for a time. Then he knew he was warm; he remembered bitter cold. He was lying comfortably but recalled running desperately. There was calm where there had been panic and fear.

Spurred by the disagreeable memories, he opened his eyes to a vague semi-darkness filled with the gagging odor of rotting vegetation. The air was stale and it was hard to breathe. He coughed.

The sudden paroxysm brought him fully awake. Another cough made sore muscles in his chest and back complain stridently. In spite of an aching stiffness throughout his body, he wrestled himself up on one elbow to look around. Bright rays of sunshine were reflected through the water to where he lay, but it was still dim in the hiding place. He could see fish in the water moving from light into the darkness below him and then swimming back out to the sunshine. He had to lie down again.

When he tried to move, he found his legs wrapped in a survival blanket and his upper body confined inside a parka. He was lying on his self-inflating sleeping pad that had been spread over a large boulder but he had no idea when he had even untied it from his backpack. His fingers trailed in the water and were stirred by a fast moving current. Groggy and disoriented, his mind fastened on the need to get away from wherever here was ... to fresh air and sunlight. He struggled to move.

His fingers unwound the survival blanket from around his legs. Two used chemical pocket hand warmers fell to the rock as he lifted the blanket clear and another appeared when he unzipped the uncomfortably warm parka. There wasn't a spark of heat left in them but he couldn't recall using them.

When he tried to sit up, his body rebelled. It took long minutes for him to stretch stiff muscles in his back and legs before he could try again.

When Miles slid off the flat boulder where he'd slept so soundly, the cold water created instant cramps in his calves and hamstrings. He had to crawl back up on the rock to massage them into submission. His lower back hurt so badly he couldn't sit erect.

A second attempt in the water produced more knotted muscles but he refused to climb out again. Moaning in spite of a resolve not to, Miles clung to the side of the rock and worked his leg muscles until they loosened. Hunched over, unable to straighten his back, he was forced to turn his head sideways and strain upward to keep his mouth out of the water. Had the river been running as high as it had when he entered the ersatz cave, his fatigue would have drowned him.

It took several attempts to find an underwater opening in the wall of roots and branches. In the end, he ducked under the water where the sunlight came through the strongest and crawled several paces into the middle of the river until Miles could see he was clear of the barrier above him.

Surfacing, blowing hard, he dragged himself downstream until he was clear of the logjam before he struggled to the riverbank. With his body lying just out of the stream, he rested and let the sun warm his chilled body. Water drained from the backpack for a long while. Sitting up, he filled his canteens from the stream without bothering to process it through the filtration system he had in the pack.

Without the buoyancy of the water supporting his body, it was almost impossible to stand--even in the hunched-over posture he'd managed under the mound of debris. He moved slowly uphill, away from the water and toward a thick grove of trees on a low bluff overlooking the stream.