THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART TWENTY-NINE:

After an indeterminate time, Marshall jerked awake. "Who's there?" he called. He'd heard a voice. He knew he had.

"It's me, Marshy."

"Jeff?"

"Who else, you dolt!" the voice came affectionately and very close.

"Oh, God, Jeff! I'm so glad you came!"

"What the heck you doing out here alone, Marsh?"

"Out here?"

"Yeah. You know Mom doesn't like you to go to the park by yourself."

"I'm in the park?"

"What's the matter with you, Marsh? Where do you think you are?"

"I...I'm not...sure, Jeff." Marshall's hands reached out, feeling the ground around him. "I don't think I know."

"You see! That's what worries Mom. She's always concerned that you'll get someplace and not know where it is."

"I think I've done that this time, Jeff. Tell Mom I'm sorry, ok? But I...."

He faded out again.

Eden had slept briefly just before dawn. Wadsworth's whining at the door woke her. Mike was tapping very softly.

"You up, Eden? We can leave as soon as you're ready."

"Just a minute!" she called out, sliding on her slippers and dashing to the bathroom.

"Oh, God!" she moaned, looking at herself in the mirror as she clutched both sides of the sink. "You look like hell." What did that matter, though?

Quickly she ran a brush through her tangles, didn't bother with any make up, and pulled on her clothes and boots.

Wadsworth onleash, she hurried downstairs. Mike was standing by the bay window on the front of the house, looking toward the lake, sipping from a cup of coffee. Turning at the sound of her steps, he said, "Get a bite first."

"But...."

"I insist."

"Damn you, Mike Johnson," she muttered, only half-serious.

He grinned. "It's my job to make sure folks stay healthy. Off to the kitchen with you, woman! I'm sure Martha's got something you can cram in fast."  He knew it was no use to even suggest a sit-down meal. He himself was chomping at the bit to get back to the stream. The day-shift EMTs from his station were already there with their rig and he was eager to join them.

Eden gobbled a blueberry muffin, her eyes misting as she recalled the ones she'd tried to bring Marshall on the dock. Two long sips of hot tea and she was done. "Here!" she announced, striding back to the living room. "Ready to go!"

Mike had tried to feed Wadsworth, but the dog wasn't interested. He lapped up some water,

but that was it. "Won't eat," he said to Eden.

"I know how he feels." The blueberry muffin had stuck in her throat and it was only by great effort she was able to get most of it down. Would he have had anything to eat? She knew the smaller guy had taken food from Martha's kitchen. Would they share with him? Was he even still with them?

The number of cars and rescue vehicles near the bridge was almost twice as large as it had been the night before. Eden, however, had a hard lump of dread lodged somewhere just behind her breastbone. Marshall had spent the entire night outside. Had the convicts built a fire that he could warm himself by?

Her eyes passed over the EMT vehicle. Today there was an ambulance as well. Tomorrow would
the coroner be present?  Pete had said they'd find him before the night was out. Well, it was out and where was Marshall?

A different police van was parked near the bridge and a handler was unloading a bloodhound. Mike smiled eagerly at the sight of it. "That's good, Eden. Very good! They'll find them now

for sure!"

All Eden had to say was, "Why didn't they use it last night, then?"

"We don't have one as part of the department here. This one is probably brought in from the prison system."

Some vague alarm went off in Eden's head. She wasn't able to put a finger on just why. Curiously, she watched the handler take the dog down to the stream's edge then present it with an article of clothing. The dog headed immediately under the bridge, downstream. Her eyes turned to Wadsworth, who was staring intently at the upstream forest.  Silently she walked up

to Pete, touching him on his arm to attract his attention."

"Oh, good morning, Ma'am. We hope to have some good news for you before too long."

"Who is the hound trailing?" she asked.

"Ma'am?"

"Of the 3 men, whose scent is he trailing?"

"Oh, well, that would be Calvin Hobbs, Ma'am. That was one of his prison shirts."

"Not Marshall?"

"Well, Ma'am, it probably doesn't make much difference, now does it? They're all together so

if we find one, we find them all."

"How do you know they're all together?"

"Well, we don't, not for sure, but that's still the most likely way of it. They took your Dr. Sinclair hostage for a reason and it doesn't seem it would make sense for them not to keep him with them."

She walked back up to Mike, who had Wadsworth on leash. "The hound's tracking one of the convicts. But look at Wadsworth, Mike, just look at Wadsworth." 

Wadsworth was practically vibrating as he stared at the forest. "He's up there, Mike. That's where he is. Not downstream toward town. Wadsworth knows."

"Ok," he said, "let me talk to some of the guys. I'll be right back."

"Look, Mike," Pete said after Mike had explained, "as I told the young lady, it wouldn't make any sense for Sinclair to be up that way. The bloodhound knows what he's doing. This is what he's trained for and he's the best. And he says Calvin Hobbs went downstream toward town. I think it's more important to send my men where they're most likely to find them, not off on

some mystical chase in entirely the wrong direction."

"Is it ok by you if I take the guide dog and go upstream myself? That all right?"

"You got your revolver on the off-chance you're right?"

Mike nodded but Pete still hesitated. "Barry!" he called to a young officer. "I want you to go along with Mike here, ok. Just to cover all the bases." He leveled a look at Mike. "Don't think you'll find anything, but I don't feel right sending you off alone. You keep in touch with me, you hear?"

Mike nodded again and ran back up to Eden. "I'm going upstream myself. Pete's sending one man with me. You got your cell on? I'll let you know if we find anything." He took a long look

at her face, then amended that to, "When we find something."

"No, you won't."

"What?"

"You won't have to let me know. I'm coming with you."

"Eden, this is pretty rough country. You shouldn't...."

"Marshall's there. He's blind. Do you think it's rougher for me than for him?"

"I'd rather you...."

"Do you think at this point I give a damn what anybody had rather!" she snapped. "If you won't let me come with you, I'll just go by myself. I mean that. You know I do."


Marshall had awakened again and briefly lucid, remembered where he was. He pulled himself

to his feet feeling like 20 pound sandbags were draped over him in abundance. He couldn't straighten his shoulders. It hurt his chest too much when he tried, so he moved in a rather hunched-forward position. "Got to find the stream," he said. "Got to find the stream."  What

he didn't realize, even though he was going down hill, was that he was headed diagonally away from the stream Bart and Calvin had brought him up. He managed to locate another fallen branch and used it as a cane to feel ahead of himself. It took so much effort, though, just to hold the blasted thing that he had to stop and rest every few minutes. Every breath came now as a wheeze and his headache was growing worse. When his branch encountered a large log, he sat down, wondering how he would ever manage to stand up again.

A spell of shaking chills took him then and sitting there became too much. He slid off, finding a long snowless patch along the side of the big log. Lying down, he pressed his back to the log and scooped some handfuls of needles and forest debris somewhat over himself before even that became too much effort.  Time passed, the chills came and went and came again, then he just drifted away for a while.

"Marsh!"

"Wha...what?"  He lifted his head.

"What are you doing, Marsh?"

"Try...trying to stop sh...shaking, Jeff. That's what I'm tr...trying to do."

"Well, why are you shaking like that? You fall in the pond? Mom'll skin you good!"

"Did I f...fall in the pond?"

"Yeah, Marsh, did you?"

"I don't kn...know, Jeff. I don't know wh...why I'm shaking."

"You know you scare her silly when you do things like fall in the pond."

"I...I know, Jeff. I just don't remember if I fell in the p...pond or n...not."

"Don't you think it's time you got up and came home, Marsh? You'll be late for dinner."

"Y...yeah. I sh...should get up," he agreed.

He struggled up beside the log. "J...Jeff?"

"What, Marshy?"

"Wh...which way is h...home?"

"Down hill, Marsh. Home is down hill."

"Oh...right," he said vaguely. "H...home. Down h...hill."

He forgot his branch and started walking the length of the long log, trailing his left hand along

it as he went. Arriving at the end of the log he found a huge tangle of roots in a massive dirt ball that had been pulled up when the tree fell.  "Dirt ball," he said aloud, then finding the concept
somehow very funny, chuckled and said, "Dirt ball," again.  Then he stepped forward and toppled down the side of the crater left where the roots and dirt ball had once been. The sides were smooth after several years of weathering and covered with mosses and small bits of now
bare vegetation. He didn't really hurt himself but just tumbled like a rag doll to the bottom, about five feet down.

Lying there on his back, he wheezed for breath then managed to call weakly, "J...Jeff?"

But Jeff did not reply.

Marshall floated in and out for a minute then finally decided Jeff must have gone home for dinner. That also meant he had to get out of whatever it was he'd fallen into by himself. Vaguely he remembered falling into something else some other time, but it was too long ago to be clear

in his mind. He pushed himself to a sitting position, his gloves squishing down into soggy moss.  Rolling over onto all fours, he crawled to the wall of the hole, reaching his hand up to look for something to hold onto. It came away with a big clump of moss and a bit of soil. No good. He managed to get to his feet and found his head was just above the top edge of this whateveritwas. So he dug his toes into the moss, jamming them hard until they held, and basically clawed his way up and over the lip, sprawling exhaustedly on the ground. He would be late for dinner. He knew he would.

"I'm sorry, M...Mom," he said. "I tried." 

Mike and Wadsworth led the way, followed by Eden, with Barry bringing up the rear. They were picking their way upstream along the bank of the creek. The water level was higher today because of added snowmelt trickling steadily into it. The banks had no clear place for walking but were more a jumble of roots and rocks with now and then sheer dropoffs of several feet that entailed small detours. Wadsworth, though, seemed intent on forging ahead and Eden was gratified to be doing something herself at last.

The going was very slow and Wadsworth seemed impatient at being held back. Mike knew, though, that if he let the dog go, that's what he would do...go. He wouldn't wait for them but would disappear from sight in his single-minded desire to get wherever Marshall was.

Part of Eden wanted that, wanted to let him go so he'd find Marshall. She wanted Marshall to
have him with him. But, then, the rest of them wouldn't be able to follow, so what good would that do?

Downstream, the bloodhound had trailed Calvin to the point where he'd waded out into the deepest part of the stream in Harold's nearly knee-high rubber boots. The dog stopped, then went out into the cold water himself. One of the officers following behind the team called back

to tell Pete what was up. "They probably walked in the stream, trying to throw us off. Give the dog a chance to find where they came out."

Everyone there expected the dog to continue downstream and several eyebrows went up when

it turned and headed back for the bridge.

"He doesn't want to keep on toward town,"  the officer said, calling again. "Looks like we're headed your way."

Pete rubbed a hand across his chin and turned, looking upstream where Mike and the others had long since disappeared from view.

"Damn!"

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