One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(45)

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Lunch break. Martin doesn’t want to; Nemeth doesn’t give him a choice. Clearly, we have our work cut out for us. Now is the time to drink, eat, prepare for the coming battle. While we get situated, Luciana and Daisy take off for a quick recon. The dog picks her way easily among the sea of smaller stones and larger boulders. It looks to me like year after year, pieces of the reddish brown cliff have broken off and rained down below, until we’re surrounded by hot, dusty rocks, some the size of footballs, others Volvos, with lots of grit and sandy particles in between.

The sun that felt so lovely just an hour ago now feels like a broiler, radiating off the stones around us. I wish I had a brimmed cap to shield my face. I notice Bob dampening the bandana around his neck, then tying it around the lower half of his face. I follow his example, giving him a thumbs-up when he nods in my direction.

Everyone is dousing themselves in more bug spray, adding a chemical tang to our exciting lunch of nuts, granola, and dried fruit. I make a new deal with myself. Survive this mission, never eat granola again. At least the limited food choices keep us from lingering.

Luciana and Daisy return with an update. “I lost count at eighteen openings, and that’s just what I can see from standing in one place. Some are probably too small, some may be quite deep. Impossible to tell without checking each one. Daisy is a skilled rock climber from working rubble piles, but the sheer size of this wall . . . We could use a team of search dogs, not just a lone canine.”

Martin nods, takes out his map, and snaps it open on the rock before him. “Our original plan broke this area into four quadrants. Now that we’re here looking at it . . . I say we ditch that and go with a standard hasty search strategy—two of us will start at either end of the cliff face and work from the outside in, while the remaining members of our party start at the midpoint and work from the inside out. We’ll do a quick study of all the possible cave openings, mark ones that have signs of habitation as worthy of further exploration by Daisy.”

He pauses, we nod.

“Now, according to the map, midpoint looks about a hundred yards that away.” He points to my right. “We’ll set up there. Two of us will hoof it in opposite directions to the far ends. Two more can head out for halfway down. Leaving the final two hikers to start at the middle, working toward the ends. Make sense?”

I get what he’s doing, trying to cover as much of the massive protrusion as quickly as possible. We arrived later than planned, given our impromptu search of the lean-to area. All of us, including Daisy, will tire soon enough. Not to mention in these hot, dry conditions, water will be an issue. No pretty lakes and meandering streams for refills in the immediate vicinity. I’ve already chugged my first bottle, while Daisy looks like she could go for another bowl or two.

Martin looks at Nemeth. “You and I will take the endpoints.” They’re the fastest hikers, so that makes sense. He glances at Bob next. “You get one of the halfway downs, head northwest or southeast, I don’t care.”

Bob nods. Martin’s gaze goes to Luciana and Daisy, the next most qualified hikers.

Luciana’s already shaking her head. “No. Daisy needs to rest so she can be ready for the main event. We’ll hold down the fort. That’s it.”

Martin doesn’t love the news but surrenders to the realities of the cadaver dog’s limitations. That leaves him with myself and the three bachelor buddies. If we didn’t realize we were the B team before, we certainly know it now. If Nemeth and Martin were picking hiking teams on a mountain playground, we’d definitely be the last kids they tapped.

“Someone needs to hike to the opposite halfway-down point from Bob.”

Scott raises his hand. “I’ll do it.”

“No. You’re injured. Someone else.”

Neil speaks up. “I got it.”

Miggy grumbles briefly, but not too seriously. He and I suffered the most on yesterday’s hike in. We’re the logical fits to start searching from the middle. Which leaves Scott as the odd man out once again.

Marty doesn’t pretend to care. He waves a hand in Scott’s direction. “You can either assist one of them”—a vague gesture at Miguel and myself—“or remain with Luciana.”

“I can help search,” Scott states stubbornly. He eyes me, then moves closer to Miguel. I nod in understanding. At this stage, I might be the more comfortable pairing option, but best friends are best friends, and Scott is trying hard to rebuild a relationship with his.

We all rise to standing. My sore muscles, having stiffened up, scream in protest. Miggy, Neil, and Scott don’t look like they’re doing much better. But no one protests, even as Martin greets our muffled moans with a look of contempt.

“We only have a matter of days. You can do this.”

It’s delivered less as a reassurance, more as a command. It might just be me, but Martin seems to be turning into a bigger asshole by the minute. I can’t decide whether it’s the anxiety of being this close to discovering his only child’s remains, or if he just hates his son’s former groomsmen that much.

“If anyone spots anything of note, or gets into trouble, use your whistles,” Nemeth instructs. “Stay close to the cliff face and you can’t get lost. Also, pay attention to your footing. Easy enough to twist an ankle on these rocks. Oh, and don’t step on any snakes.”