The Rescue - Nicholas Sparks [15]
“That’s what his mother said.”
“Why can’t he talk?”
“She didn’t really explain it.”
“Is he retarded?” another asked.
Taylor felt his back stiffen at the question.
“What the hell does that matter? He’s a little boy lost in the swamp who can’t talk. That’s all we know right now.”
Taylor stared at the man until he finally turned away. There was only the sound of the rain coming down around them before Sergeant Huddle finally let out a deep sigh.
“Then we ought to get going.”
Taylor turned on his flashlight. “Let’s do it.”
Chapter 5
Denise could see herself in the swamp with the others, pushing branches away from her face, her feet sinking into the spongy earth as she searched frantically for Kyle. In actuality, however, she was lying on a gurney in the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital in Elizabeth City—a town thirty miles to the northeast—that had the nearest emergency room.
Denise stared at the ceiling of the ambulance, still shivering and dazed. She’d wanted to stay, she’d begged to stay, but was told that it was better for Kyle if she went with the ambulance. She would only hinder things here, they said. She’d said she didn’t care and had stubbornly stepped out of the ambulance, back into the storm, knowing that Kyle needed her. As if in complete control, she’d asked for a raincoat and flashlight. After a couple of steps, the world had begun to spin. She’d pitched forward, her legs uncontrollable, and fallen to the ground. Two minutes later the ambulance siren had roared to life and she was on her way.
Aside from shivering, she hadn’t moved since she’d been on the gurney. Her hands and arms were completely, eerily still. Her breathing was rapid but shallow, like that of a small animal. Her skin was pale, sickly, and her latest fall had opened her head wound again.
“Have faith, Miss Holton,” the attendant soothed. He’d just taken her blood pressure and believed she was suffering from shock. “I mean, I know these guys. Kids have been lost around here before, and they always find ’em.”
Denise didn’t respond.
“And you’ll be okay, too,” the attendant went on. “In a couple of days, you’ll be on your feet again.”
It was quiet for a minute. Denise continued to stare upward. The attendant began to take her pulse.
“Is there anyone you want me to call when you get to the hospital?”
“No,” she whispered. “There’s no one.”
Taylor and the others reached the spot where the blanket was found and began to fan out. Taylor, along with two other men, headed south, deeper into the swamp, while the rest of the search team headed east and west. The storm hadn’t let up at all, and visibility in the swamp—even with the flashlight—was only a few yards at most. Within minutes Taylor couldn’t see or hear anyone, and he felt a sinking sensation in his gut. Somehow lost in the adrenaline surge prior to the search—where anything seemed possible—was the reality of the situation.
Taylor had searched for lost people before, and he suddenly knew there weren’t enough men out here. The swamp at night, the storm, a child who wouldn’t answer when called . . . fifty people wouldn’t be enough. Maybe even a hundred. The most effective way to search for someone lost in the woods was to stay within sight of the person to the right and left, everyone moving in unison, almost like a marching band. By staying close, searchers could canvas an area thoroughly and quickly like a grid, without wondering whether something had been missed. With ten men that was simply impossible. Minutes after they’d split up, everyone involved with the search was on his own, completely separated from the others. They were reduced to simply wandering in the direction of their choosing, pointing the flashlights here and there—anywhere—the proverbial search for a needle in a haystack. Finding Kyle had suddenly become a matter of luck, not skill.
Reminding himself not to lose faith, Taylor pressed forward, around trees, over the ever softening earth. Though he didn’t have any children himself,