Wed, Aug 6, 2008

It was nearing sunrise with no sign of Joe or the police. They should have arrived hours ago. As Mark sat silent in the darkness, worry began to grow. What if something had happened to Joe? They couldn't wait here forever. Time was not on their side.

As if sensing his concern, Maddy stirred and sat upright. She was gazing around at the forest. With eyes adjusted to the darkness, she was surprised at how much detail she could make out under the starlight. Mark reached over and touched her forearm to get her attention.

"They should be here by now," Mark whispered.

She nodded, pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them, drawing herself into a ball.

"We need to come up with a plan B."

Maddy shrugged.

"I'm going to go further out in this direction and see if we come to another road or some kind of trail; something you might be able to make in bare feet."

Her eyes widened and she whispered, "You're leaving me here?"

"It'll just be for a few minutes," he explained. "According to the GPS, there's a marsh back here. If I don't find anything within a quarter mile, I'll hit the marsh and have to come back."

"What happened to your friend?"

He looked at his feet. After a few moments he answered, "I don't know."

"What if something happens to you?"

Mark saw that the knife he had given her earlier was laying on the ground next to her. He picked it up, reached over to grab her by the hand, and pressed the handle of the knife into her palm. She grasped it, looked into his eyes and nodded.

"Nothing will happen."

She nodded again.

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Someone was moving out there. He had waited all night. It was just a question of whose patience ran out first. He had all the patience in the world and it sounded like it was about to pay off. The sound was coming from the area he'd followed them to last night, but it seemed to be moving away. Were they looking for another way out? It didn't matter, because there wasn't any other way.

He began to move toward the sound, trying to avoid making his own noise. Hunting his target out here in the woods and in the dark would add an unusual flavor to the fun. Formulating a quick plan, he decided he would follow them until they hit the marsh and were forced to turn back. Then he would just wait for them to come to him. The anticipation was sweet.

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Maddy sat alone, clutching her knees to her chest and grasping the handle of the knife. She could hear Mark breaking twigs and crushing leaves as he left. The sounds became softer until they disappeared all together, but then the sounds began again from the other direction. Could it be Joe Merchant? Or the police? If it were, wouldn't they be calling out? She slowly and silently stretched out her legs and lay on her belly, snuggling under a nearby bush, facing the direction of the approaching sound. The cracking and crunching continued to move closer but eventually passed her on the right and continued on until it too diminished into silence. She assured herself that it was just an animal as she again sat up, clasping the knife even tighter in her hand. An animal indeed.

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The vehicles were parked along the road at the entrance to the Nassau Wildlife Management area. Over a dozen uniformed men milled about, as well as several dressed in civilian clothes. A glow had begun to form on the eastern horizon as several of the men gathered in a circle and began talking.

Deputy Littlepage watched the group. Detective Byrd was at the center, periodically pointing in the direction of the forest; most of the others just nodded. A uniformed state trooper approached and began to converse with Byrd. One of the other men began to point to several of the vehicles, shaking his head at several of them. Byrd broke away from the group and approached Littlepage. "The Fish and Wildlife guy says the General Lee won't make it into the area we're heading, so we're going to ride with him in a four wheel drive truck," Byrd explained, "The state boys brought a couple of Cherokees."

"We gonna have any helicopters?" Littlepage asked.

"There's one standing by in Hilliard. It can be here within a few minutes if we need it, but we don't want to spook him and send him running. At least not until we get closer."

"Good idea. They say there's no other way out of here, but I'm not so sure."

"Exactly. And then there's the Wade girl."

"If she's still alive."

"If. In any case, we don't want to panic him."

"So what's the plan?" Littlepage asked.

"The first stop on the way in is that cache. It's apparently right off this old rail bed. We'll leave a couple people there to gather evidence and the rest will head to that waypoint. The Fish and Wildlife guy says it's rough going. It's not even in the WMA, but it's only accessible through here. Apparently this place is surrounded by a lot of private hunting land."

"Do we know who owns it?"

"Not yet. Captain Wilde has some people working on that."

One of the men in a Florida Fish and Wildlife Service uniform called to them, "Time to load up."

"Let's roll," Byrd said to Littlepage.

A few minutes later, they were in a line of vehicles making their way down the rocky road. Byrd sat in the front seat with the driver; Littlepage sat in the back seat. Once they were on their way, Byrd motioned to the backseat, "By the way, this is Deputy Littlepage." He then pointed to the driver, turned to Littlepage and said, "This is Officer Harwood of the Florida Fish and Wildlife Service."

"Good to meet you," Littlepage said.

"Same here," said Harwood. "You boys ever been out here?"

"Can't say we have," Byrd answered, "At least I haven't."

"Me neither," added Littlepage.

"Well, it's a big area. The WMA itself is about five miles wide and five miles deep. Then it's surrounded by private land that's pretty much the same. Planted pine, forest and marshland. Most of the time it's pretty difficult to even tell where the boundaries actually are."

"Sounds like a great place to hide," said Byrd.

"You got that right," said Harwood. "Hopefully these waypoints will narrow it down."

"Are you familiar with Geocaching?" Littlepage asked.

"Oh yeah. I got involved through the Service. Some Fish and Wildlife land requires permits to place a cache. I'm the lucky guy who gets to go check them out to issue the permits. Of course, I sign the log while I'm there."

"Of course," Littlepage chuckled.

"I haven't logged this one. Am I going to be able to sign it?"

"I'm afraid it's evidence. Maybe even a crime scene," Byrd answered.

"Maybe I'll log it anyway. On line I mean."

Littlepage laughed and said, "We got us a numbers ho here."

Byrd just shook his head and watched the road in front of the vehicle. They would be at "Alien Listening Post" in a matter of minutes.

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Mark's feet were getting wet. The forest had given way to marsh. Aside from some cypress trees at the edge, the terrain was now flat and open. It would be nice traveling, if it weren't muck. He hadn't come across any other road, or even so much as a game trail. It was clear this was not a way out. He extracted his feet from the wet mud and retreated toward where he had left Maddy.

While the sun had not broken the horizon yet, there was already quite a bit of light. It made it a little easier to watch where he stepped so he could move quietly. He made his way though the forest in silence, passing alternating patches of palmettos, thick brush and open rows of planted pine.

"Hello there," came a voice from ahead. Mark jumped at the sound and squinted into the sparse light. He made out a man standing about 25 yards ahead of him. At first he seemed only a shadow against the background of trees, but as Mark's eyes adjusted, he could make out some of his features. He was in a uniform of some kind and he looked familiar.

"You scared the hell out of me," Mark responded.

"Sorry about that," the man offered. "Where's the girl?"

"She's..." Mark caught himself as his brain shifted into the fast lane. He did recognize this man. It was Pete, the Forest Ranger from Jennings Forest. The one he ran into after finding the first body. This wasn't Forestry land; what was he doing here? Pete was walking toward him and Mark could see he was holding a gun. Did Forest Rangers carry pistols? This was bad.

Mark ran to his right and dove into a tall patch of palmettos. His racing heart told him this was the guy. In the course of his dive, the Saw Palmetto, once again, earned its name. He had managed to cut a slice into his right forearm. Blood was gushing from the wound, but it was not spurting. He'd be all right for now. From the palmettos he could see Pete was still approaching. At his feet he saw a small log. While Pete was looking down to watch his step, he heaved the log over his head. It landed with a crash into the palmettos about twenty or thirty feet farther in.

At the sound, Pete looked up. He went for it. Believing that Mark was trying to make it through the palmettos, Pete began circling to meet him on the other side. As soon as Pete had advanced to the point that he did not have a good view of where Mark actually was, Mark emerged from the patch of painful plants and ran. He found a clear row of pines and ran as fast as he possibly could between them, not even hesitating to look over his shoulder. He had no idea if his distraction was continuing to work.

A few minutes later, reaching the limit of his ability to run at that fast pace, Mark had to slow down. He stopped, leaned against a tree, facing the direction from which he'd just run. Listening, he could hear someone approaching, but still could not see him. He had to keep moving, but first he pulled his GPS out of his cache bag. A plan was taking form. He entered a "go to" for the tree he had marked earlier. He was close. Only two tenths of a mile. About 2000 feet, he thought. Sometimes looking at it that way made it seem closer.

Mark began moving again, but at more of a trot than a run this time. He hoped Maddy had the good sense to stay put. The terrain and flora made it slow going, but his pursuer faced the same problem, so he was managing to stay ahead for now. He was getting close to his destination. While continuing to move, he opened his cache bag and fumbled through it for a book of matches. He always kept a book in his bag. They were light, didn't take much space, and one never knew when he would need fire. After all, the ability to make fire was what really separated man from beast. The rest was just incidental.

With one hundred feet to go he had the matches in hand. He wasn't sure how long he had so he would have to be quick. There was the tree in front of him. He stepped up to it, lifted up his foot, and gave it a push with his leg. It creaked and swayed a little, but didn't fall over. He leaned a shoulder into it and pushed. More creaking and swaying. He rocked it back and forth. This brought a crack from the base of the tall stump. One more push and it tumbled to the ground and broke into a number of pieces.

Now Mark could hear his pursuer approaching. There wasn't much time. He lit a match and laid it on the closest piece of the broken log, then lit another and laid it on the next and so on. The pieces were going up according to plan and producing copious amounts of smoke. After he had half a dozen lit, he looked to the horizon. The sun was now up, it's orange disk visible through the thin stand of trees to the east. It was a beautiful sight. Mark hoped this was not his last sunrise.

"Where is she?" Mark heard behind him. He turned to see Pete, gun drawn and pointed at his chest.

"Where is she?" Pete repeated.

"They'll be coming. We sent someone for help. They'll be on their way now," Mark warned.

"You mean with these?" Pete reached into his pocket, pulled out two cell phones and threw them at Mark's feet.

Mark recognized his own phone and had no doubt the other was Joe's. Help was not coming.

"Nice touch with the smoke signal, but it's not exactly a 911 call," Pete chuckled. "You'll both be dead and I'll be long gone before anyone gets out here to check on this smoke." In an instant, his face drew serious again and he repeated, "Where is she?"

"Who?" Mark returned.

Pete pulled the hammer back on the pistol for effect.

"I told her to hide," Mark offered.

Pete lowered the pistol a little and said, "You're about to loose a knee cap."

The wind shifted a little and smoke began to encircle the men. It was becoming thicker by the moment. Out of the smoke, in a blur, came Maddy. She was flying toward Pete, holding the knife over her head. When she reached Pete, she brought the knife down into the arm that was holding the gun. He didn't even see her until her hands crossed in front of his eyes and the knife was only inches from his arm.

He screamed in pain as the gun flew from his hand. The knife had found good purchase. Unlike Mark's palmetto cut, this wound wasn't just gushing blood, it was spurting. It would need to be tended immediately or Pete would bleed to death. Pete had fallen to his knees and was holding the wound with his other hand, trying to stop the spurting blood. He looked up at Maddy with searing hatred. Maddy stood over him still holding the knife, streaks of blood spatter on her shirt.

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Byrd and Littlepage, along with their driver and the rest of the group, had arrived at the cache. After an inspection of the cache and the surrounding area, they were ready to move on. The sun was now above the horizon and it was time for the search to begin. As the men were preparing to get back into the vehicles, someone shouted, "Smoke!"

In the distance, there was smoke floating above the trees. Byrd turned to Harwood and asked, "Any reason there should be smoke there?"

"None I can think of," Harwood answered, "and that's right about the area we're heading."

"Let's call that chopper in," Byrd said.

One of the Troopers said, "I'm on it. Should I tell him to head for that smoke?"

"Exactly," said Byrd, "and we need to get there ourselves. Right now."

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All three of them cocked their heads as they heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter approaching. Pete turned his head back and forth to assess his situation. He decided that discretion is the better part of valor and ran into the smoke. It was so thick by now that he disappeared.

Maddy looked at Mark and saw his bloodied arm. "Are you okay?", she asked.

"Just a scratch," Mark said, "Well, really more of a gash, but it'll be okay. I've had worse caching injuries."

"You think he's gone? You think that's the cops?"

"I'm hoping."

"This smoke is getting thick. We should get out of here," Maddy urged.

Mark bent and picked up the cell phones and said, "Did you see where the gun went?"

"It flew but I didn't see where it came down." Maddy looked at the cell phones and asked, puzzled, "Are those yours and Joe's Cell Phones?"

"Yes, they are."

"What happened to him?"

"I have no idea," Mark said, shaking his head, "but I hope he's okay."

The two walked back to the compound, taking care to look over their shoulders. As they emerged from the smoky woods, they saw the law enforcement and Fish and Wildlife vehicles pulling up. They ran toward them, waving. Several of the men drew their weapons. One man stepped to the front and said, "Miss, please step away. Sir, place your hands on your head."

Maddy pleaded, "Wait; wait; it's not him."

"Let us sort that out. I'm Detective Byrd; what is your name, miss?"

Maddy watched as they placed Mark in handcuffs and led him away. She answered, "Maddy. Maddy Wade."

"We've been looking for you, Miss Wade, and we are so glad to find you in one piece. Is this your blood or his? Are you okay?"

"It's the killer's blood. You've got the wrong guy. He saved me. Him and another guy name Joe Merchant. Where is Joe Merchant?"

"If there's anyone else out here, we'll find him."

Another man approached. Byrd introduced him; "This is Deputy Littlepage, Miss Wade."

The two nodded at each other and Littlepage reported, "The chopper found a vehicle about a quarter mile away. We sent a car over and they found someone inside. He appears to be drugged or something."

"That's gotta be Joe," Maddy said.

"We better get an EMS unit out here," Byrd said.

"On their way. I don't know if they'll be able to make it in though, so we're sending a Cherokee to meet them."

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Mark and Maddy sat in the chairs next to Joe Merchant’s hospital bed. Mark said, "This guy is turning out to be one of the most prolific serial killers in history. Every one of those waypoints had at least one body at it. Many of them had several. That one in the WMA apparently had a bunch. That was where he actually killed them."

"And they haven't found him?" Joe asked.

"Not yet, but they've got everyone looking. They found a kayak in the marsh a few miles away. They think he might have had it stashed out there just for an escape."

"Who is he?

"Turns out his ID was faked. They think he did the same thing somewhere else and came here because he was about to get caught. Now they're afraid he'll set up shop somewhere else if they don't track him down."

"I can't believe I've been out a week," Joe said, laying his head back on his pillow.

"I guess they're not sure if he meant to kill you with that shot of drugs and just came up short, or if he just OD'd you by accident," Mark said.

Maddy added, "From what he did to me, they think he drugs people to torture and kill them later. He used that shed for that."

"But they know we didn't have anything to do with it?" Joe asked. "They're still coming here and asking me weird questions."

"I don't think they've made up their minds for sure yet. But I think it's over for us."

"After all this, you must be about ready to give up Geocaching and move on to something else," Joe said.

Mark thought for a moment, shook his head and said, "No way man. It's ALL part of the adventure."