A Bloodhound to Die for (15 page)

I came up coughing and sputtering into inky blackness. There wasn’t any light, not even a faint glow of sky or a shadow of creek bank. I had dropped my flashlight, and either my headlamp had shorted out or one of the delicate wires had been stripped from the battery terminals in my pocket.

I brought both hands up to claw at my eyes, knowing I was covered in mud and green algae slime and other unpleasant things that thrived in the water. In the same breath, I realized that I still had Gulliver’s lead wrapped around my right wrist and the absence of any light meant that Jasmine had suffered the same fate and was in the water.

“Jasmine!” I yelled. “Jasmine, can you hear me?”

Yelling made my ears pop and I heard heavy thrashing sounds near me in the water. At the same time I yelled for her, I began to haul in Gulliver’s lead. My heart started pounding from anxiety.

“Jasmine!”

“I’m here,” she answered calmly. She sounded
quite near. “I have Ramona’s leash. Do you have Gulliver’s?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to keep my voice low. “Watch out for the dogs. They just might decide to hitchhike a ride on your head.”

Each dog weighed more than 120 pounds. Of course, they both could easily dog-paddle until we hauled them out, but if the darkness or suddenness of the situation made them panic, they could be potentially dangerous adversaries.

Before I could locate Gulliver’s head in the water I felt a nudge on my right shoulder. I shot up a foot out of the water before Jasmine spoke.

“It’s me. The bank is on your left. We’ve drifted a short way with the current. We should swim back about ten feet. Do you need any help?”

“Of course not,” I said quickly, trying to sound calm and collected. How was she able to see so well in this pitch-black darkness? My eyes weren’t giving me a clue and I barely knew which end was up. I ran my soggy gloves down Gulliver’s lead until I felt his wet fur and collar. I was already churning the water in the direction she’d given me but it was strictly on faith. I couldn’t see shit. My ears gave another pop and I heard Gulliver’s energetic grunts before I felt his hot breath near my right cheek.

“As soon as your feet touch bottom or you get a grip on the bank, we have to get rid of these packs. We have two to three minutes of buoyancy before the water
seeps in. After that they’ll pull us down like thirty-pound stones.”

“We’re almost there,” Jasmine replied. I didn’t hear any tension in her voice or any heavy breathing. Course she was six years younger than me and hadn’t smoked like a chimney for twelve years like I had, but it still got to me. I tried taking slower breaths and decided to cut my pizza intake to only twice a week.

My feet settled in the blessed soft mud. I unhooked my backpack and wiggled free. I almost lost my footing as I tried to sling it upward at the moment Gulliver’s paws connected with the barely discernable creek bank. I teetered awkwardly and felt Jasmine steady me from behind. I placed both of my hands under Gulliver’s rump and shoved him up the canted slope. We were both slipping and sliding but finally made it to the top. I rolled over on my back gasping like a gaffed fish while trying to rake from my face the thick mud that Gulliver had dislodged in his energetic scrabble to freedom. He stood straddling my body and shook water from his fur, then began to whine and try to lick my face. I gave him a feeble push to get him off me.

“We both are out of shape,” Jasmine said mildly from my right.

“Perish the thought,” I uttered dryly. “I’m suffering and now is not the time to lecture. I’ve already promised myself to halve my pizza consumption and I don’t feel like giving up anything else.”

I sensed and heard movement beside me as I turned my head and stared in her direction, seeing faint shadows in motion and two dogs wriggling in unison.

“Do you think our spare flashlights will work? They are supposed to be waterproof.” She must be digging into her backpack. I couldn’t continue to lie here like a beached whale. I wearily pushed myself upright and began to grope around for mine. I had no idea where it was.

“Aha!” she called as a narrow beam of light stabbed into the ground from a height of six inches. She had pointed it at the ground so she wouldn’t rob us of our night vision.

“Well, it’s better than a candle or a flickering match, that is, if we have any dry.”

She shined the light on my backpack as I dug around and searched through wet lumps and packages for mine. I palmed it and aimed it at the muddy bank, clicking the switch several times with no success.

“Christ!” I yelled with frustration as I hit it sharply with my fist and then shook it.

Jasmine raised her light high enough that she could take in my sodden hair still dripping water onto the shoulders of my waterproof Kevlar rescue suit. That is, I would have remained dry inside if I hadn’t gone into the water ass over teakettle, on my face, and become totally submerged. From the clammy and squishy feeling of my clothing, I knew I was soaked to the skin from the water that had leaked in around my neckline.

“I know this is a bad time to impart some news, but I think I know why my light works and yours doesn’t.”

“Yes?” I suddenly had a premonition that I knew what she was going to say before she could tell me.

“I slid in feet first and was able to keep myself upright when I entered the water.”

“Yeah?”

She took the flashlight and moved it slowly up her body until the beam highlighted her face and hair. Both were clean and dry. “Ta da!” she said with a flourish.

“That is sooo … like you!” I was giggling and had to push each syllable out independently.

Jasmine grimaced and moved the light from her face. “We haven’t mentioned the dogs baying and sliding in the water. She’s in the creek, isn’t she?”

“Looks that way,” I said sadly. “We’ll have to come back at daylight with the cadaver dogs.” I sighed. “Let’s get these dogs unwound from their leashes and call Hank.”

I stood up and mentally groaned. My socks and shoes were sopping. I’d have blisters the size of quarters before we got back. I had extra socks but no extra shoes. My only comfort was in thinking that Jasmine would suffer right along with me. After all, she went in
feet
first.

The dogs were excited that we were moving. Jasmine held the light as I untangled the leads.

“Jo Beth!” Jasmine called plaintively as both Gulliver and Ramona took off, choosing the most direct
passage, which was right between her legs. She fell to the right with the only light and I tightened my grip in time to keep from losing my hold on both of them.

“Are you all right?” The light was on the ground, pointing away from her. It was all I could do to hold on to the impatient dogs.

“I’m fine. The only thing wounded is my dignity.”

At that moment both of them began baying. She retrieved the light and yelled in my ear.

“What’s going on?”

“They want to go parallel on the creek bank! Looks like we may be wrong about Miz Beulah being in the water!”

Even though she couldn’t see me, I was grinning from ear to ear.

  
17
“Cheating the Grim Reaper”

J
asmine ran to take Ramona’s lead, as I had my hands full with both of the dogs straining and struggling to move forward. Our only light was a focused narrow beam that was far from adequate for one, much less two handlers. On a search, bloodhounds run mute. They only start baying when they are sure their target is near. Sliding into the creek had dampened their enthusiastic bays and temporarily confused them, but now they were back on track and wanted their reward.

We got them under control and Jasmine took the lead because she had the flashlight. I couldn’t see a way to ask for it without looking like I didn’t think she could handle the duty, so I swallowed my misgivings and kept quiet. She swung the light backward at our
feet every thirty seconds or so to light our way, and I was trying to adjust to partial darkness and a brief glimpse of the trail.

My problem was that Gulliver kept right behind Jasmine’s heels since he didn’t particularly need to see to strain forward. All bloodhounds follow a scent with their head lowered to the ground and their eyes half hidden in the soft folds of loose skin that fall over their eyes. They concentrate so deeply on following the scent smell that an uncontrolled bloodhound would step in front of a roaring semi on a busy highway if the scent led him across the road.

I had tightened up the length of Gulliver’s lead and had him so close that we were almost side by side. I bumped into him frequently and he nudged my legs just as often. I was concentrating on not losing my balance and sprawling into the brush, and on trying to ignore my wet socks rubbing blisters on the soles of my feet with each step.

Every time Jasmine and Donnie Ray and I tried to have an intelligent discussion about what we carried in our packs on searches, it was two against one. They tried to eliminate items and I tried to add. The average weight of a full backpack was thirty-two pounds. I knew that they were right, that we couldn’t take everything we
might possibly
need, but I also knew that one rule I’d just made up would be gospel for me in the future. I would never leave on another search without an extra pair of shoes and two pairs of socks packed in a
sealed baggie, even if I had to jettison survival food. A rumbling gut was better than inflamed feet.

A bloodhound’s glorious baying has an eerie sound that startles most people when they hear it. The sound can also cause goose bumps in me even though I have heard it often, for several years. A person man trailing is thrilled to hear the good news for five minutes or so, but after that, two of them sounding off can give a seasoned handler a splitting headache. With the added stress of a night search, too little light, and burning feet, a headache can develop into a migraine. The top of my head felt like it was going to explode. I began to pray for deliverance.

Jasmine stopped her forward movement so suddenly that Gulliver and I tried to crawl up her backside. She must have braced for our assault, since we didn’t succeed in toppling her.

“What?” I muttered in angst.

“She’s down on the trail ahead!” Jasmine’s excited response was terse because we both had our hands full trying to hold back the two celebrants from running forward to pounce on their target and nuzzle, lick, and expect their earned praise.

Unless they have been abused, bloodhounds love everyone with equal vigor—cops, robbers, visitors, and burglars—up to and including ax murderers. They don’t care if they are good guys or bad guys if they can receive some love pats and caresses for their efforts.

Jasmine and I manhandled them over to nearby
saplings, tied them, and hastily congratulated them on their find.

With Jasmine holding the light on Miz Beulah, we examined the scene.

“It doesn’t look good.” Jasmine spoke too loudly for the sudden silence. The normal night sounds of crickets, cicadas, croaking frogs, and the warning caws of crows hadn’t yet returned to the stillness. The echoes of the raucous baying seemed to linger in the air.

Miz Beulah was lying with her body in a scrunched half circle, her thin arms, above her head, spanning a narrow washed-out furrow that fed run-off rainwater into the creek. It was an awkward position and looked uncomfortable.

We knelt on either side of her, and since her head was turned to my side, I held out my hand for the light. Her eyes were closed. I leaned over and placed my ear to her chest and could hear a thready heartbeat.

“She’s alive!” I proclaimed as my own heart increased its pace. I put the light back on her face. Her eyes were exaggerated ovals of horror and a scream rushed from her throat with such force and depth I almost dropped the light. The piercing scream caromed and bounced in my already throbbing skull.

I quickly passed the light to Jasmine while I removed my wet gloves with my teeth. I gathered her arms from above her head and rubbed her hands between my own to warm them. All the while I was trying to reassure her with soothing explanations.

“Miz Beulah, you’re safe. You’re gonna be fine. Please rest. We’ll have you back in your bed in no time. Listen to me, please. You’ll make yourself ill if you stay excited like this. You’re safe, you’re safe.”

My continued litany didn’t ease the volume or the timing of her screams, which were as regular as a metronome.

“Any suggestions?” I said wearily to Jasmine as I kept trying to ease Miz Beulah’s fears. I noticed that she had pulled off her own gloves and was tenderly rubbing Miz Beulah’s brow and gently patting her shoulders.

“You’re doing all I can think of,” she said, trying to time her voice so I could hear her between the small silences as Miz Beulah breathed in for another Olympic emanation. “Couldn’t you sedate her?”

My wry reply was heartfelt. “Don’t I wish! I’m scared now to give her any narcotic. I’m afraid she might go into shock from this hysteria. I’m afraid to move her because she could have a broken back, broken pelvis, internal injuries, or whatever. She might even have a weak heart.”