Code 61 - Donald Harstad [45]
I told Sally to turn off her light. There was no reason to deplete both sets of batteries. After a few more yards, I told her that I was going to turn mine off, too, and to stand very still.
“If Toby's near here,” I whispered, “if we're quiet, I'll bet he spooks first.”
“Don't be too sure,” came the whispered reply.
We stood on the path for about a minute, in darkness and dead silence. I was about to turn on my light and start moving again, when we heard a rustling off the path, to our left. I heard Sally's intake of breath, but she didn't make another sound.
We stood stock-still. We waited at least another minute. Damn. It was still way too soon for my eyes to adapt. That would take another twenty minutes. Come on, Toby. Jump.
Suddenly, I heard a twig crack and snap. To my left, but kind of behind me. My first thought was that it was Sally, trying to get past me for some reason.
“Did you hear that?” Her whispered question came from directly behind me, right where she should have been.
When you're in the dark, and your partner asks a question, you really have to give some sign that you've heard, or they just keep asking.
“Yeah,” I whispered back, not turning. I reached down, and unsnapped my service weapon, leaving my right hand on the butt.
“It's just me,” she said, as I felt a hand on my back. There's always a need for reassurance, and to tell the truth, I was glad she'd reached out her hand. Reassurance goes both ways. “A deer?”
Possibly. I said as much. Then I said, “Shhh.”
We waited a few more seconds, and there was another sound, a little farther ahead and still left of the trail.
I decided it was time to turn on the lights.
I snapped my flashlight on, and could see nothing but trees.
“Shit,” said Sally, caught by surprise. Her light came on immediately.
We did both sides of the path. Nothing.
“What the hell is it?”
“Not sure,” I said, pointing the beam of my light down. I couldn't tell which, if any, of the twigs I was looking at had been the one that had cracked. Roots, some limestone showing through the surface of the path, and the twigs pretty much ruled out a footprint.
“Let's go toward it, anyway,” I said, starting forward along the path.
All of a sudden, there was a loud rustling in the dried leaves off to the right, of somebody or something moving fast. Then a yell and a thump.
Silence. Both our flashlights shined toward the sound. “Toby?” I hollered. “That you, Toby?”
“Help! Help! I broke my fuckin' leg!”
Sally and I both went crashing through the small branches and leaves, toward the sound of Toby's voice. We had to glide our feet, making whooshing sounds in the leaves that blocked out everything else. We stopped again, and he was so loud and clear, we had to be within yards. But we couldn't see him.
“Toby, where are you?”
“Down here! My leg's all broken!”
Sure enough, about ten yards out, off a bit to the left, if you looked really close between two trees, you could see sort of a lumpy area when the flashlight beams moved over that way.
We reached him in just a few seconds. He was lying on his side, in a limestone foundation, on a bed of about a half billion leaves and twigs. He was holding his right leg, bent at the knee, with both hands. Both Sally and I clambered in with him.
“Which leg?” asked Sally. It's training: You're taught not to assume anything if possible, but sometimes it just sounds dumb. I'm sure she thought so, too.
“This one. Aw shit!” He indicated his right leg. It looked fine to me.
“Let me see,” said Sally. She had just finished her EMT training, and sounded suspiciously happy. She began to feel his leg.
“Ouch!”
“Hurt?” Sally has a way.
“Oh, shit, yeah, it hurts! Jesus Christ, lady!”
“Toby,” I said, as much to distract him as anything else. “What the hell'd you run for?”
“ 'Cause you're gonna find out, that's why!” He was pretty near tears.
“Find out what?”
“Just find out,” he said. “Ouch!”
“Your leg looks just fine to me,” said Sally. “It's not