The Spirit Survives (12 page)

 
So the sweet angels continued to help my crippled spirit search the clouds for her. I don’t know if she was hiding or lost in the confusion of life. The angels told me in silent reassurances that their father did not create loneliness. He created love and allowed its fragile purity to enter the paradox of life. The variable of his most treasured creation is intensity, allowing mutual intensity of love to overcome all paradoxes.

As I searched and searched the night away, I saw occasional glimpses of her beauty in the sunset and sunrise. My intensity was shattering and sometimes I enjoyed the temporary healing of my wounds within dreams of her.

The thoughts of Leah kept me from dying.

I was in a daze as these thoughts rambled through my mind. It became extremely difficult to think straight. Half asleep and half awake, I slapped my face hard. My Navy Seal training had taught me that you can hallucinate from sleep deprivation,
starvation
, or dehydration. I was suffering from all three. I must get something to eat, or I would slip into a coma. I looked down and my eyes settled on Cherokee’s pack of cigarettes. I grabbed the smokes and stuffed four of them in my mouth and chewed. The taste was rancid but the nicotine should give me a boost, so I could complete my plan. I swallowed the tobacco, paper and all.

After a few moments, the dizziness subsided. I looked in the direction of the wolf and noticed that the rat was gone. I picked up a couple of rocks and hurled them at the wolf. Both rocks hit him, but he didn’t move. I got the rope from my backpack, cut off two pieces, and crawled to the wolf. I almost gagged while passing Cherokee’s stinking body.

The wolf didn’t move as I tied his feet together. After completing the task, I crawled back to my home base. I no longer had to worry about the wolf attacking me in my sleep.

Now if I can only find that damn snake!

Chapter 28

The Tomahawk police department was a model of efficiency and service in the small Wisconsin town it served. It was always spotless and well managed. One of the primary reasons for its excellent reputation was the lady stationed at the front desk, who greeted citizens when they entered the facility. She took all the incoming calls from residents and routed any visitors to the station to the proper area, or personally handled their problems. Her name was Tammy Terrell.

Officer Tammy Terrell was a ten-year veteran of the department. She was pleased that her town was considered a “sleepy town” with little crime. There had been one robbery in 1999 and one assault in 2003, nothing but shop-lifting and traffic violations since then.
 

On the day that the record string of tornados struck Lookout Mountain, a man named Ben Harris was reported missing and a girl had been found, raped and murdered. Tammy was trying to figure out if there was any connection between Harris and the dead girl when the phone rang,

“This is Officer Terrell, how can I help you?” she said.

“Tammy this is Chief Henry. We’ve got another development on Lookout Mountain. An abandoned car belonging to a woman named Leah Hamilton was located. She’s nowhere to be found.”

“Chief, that lady called me twice inquiring about Mr. Harris. She was very upset about his disappearance. I think they were to be married soon.”

“That’s too much of a coincidence to be overlooked,” the Chief replied.” “We had better reconsider our options in this case.”

 
Tammy’s
intuition warned her that her sleepy little town was about to lose its nickname.
 

With the additional problem of the missing Leah Hamilton, Tammy immediately began working with the Chief of Police, Joe Henry, to organize a search party to inspect Lookout Mountain again. The first search party charged with looking for Ben Harris and to gather evidence about the murdered girl, had produced no clues. The Chief had agreed to allow her to accompany the group on this second search, even thought she normally just manned the phones and the reception desk. Her apprehension about the entire situation heightened when the Chief informed her that a detective from the Chicago police department was on his way to Tomahawk to assist in the case. She was told that the missing Ben Harris was a former Assistant Chief of the Houston police department, who had also been on special assignment in Chicago, before he abruptly resigned from his position. No further explanation was offered. Neither the Chief nor Tammy wanted outside interference in their territory, but it couldn’t be helped.
 

Rex Herns arrived in Tomahawk at about 2:00 p.m. He met Officer Terrell as he entered the station.

“My name is Assistant Chief Herns from Chicago,” he said. “Please ask Chief Henry if I can meet with him immediately.”

“I’m Officer Tyrell,” she replied. “Just a moment I’ll check with the Chief.”

Tammy walked to the Chief’s office and accompanied him back to the reception area.

“I’m Joe Henry,” the Chief said extended his hand to Herns.

“Nice to meet you, Chief. I need to talk to you in private concerning the Harris disappearance.”

“Certainly,” the Chief replied. “If you don’t mind I want Officer Tyrell to sit in on the meeting. She’s been assigned to this case.”

The three of them went to the Chief’s office.

Herns started the conversation, “One of my responsibilities is investigating Mexican drug cartels. Ben Harris and I were working together in an ongoing investigation of the connection between two cartels located in Houston and Chicago. Harris unexpectedly resigned for “personal reasons” and moved to Green Bay with his fiancée Leah Hamilton. To be honest we’re suspicious of this sudden departure. It may be connected to the investigations. We don’t know. I’m personally involved in this because he’s is an ex-cop and because of the drug connection. I would appreciate it if I would work with you on this.”

The Chief looked at Tammy and then back to Herns. “I think we can handle this on our own,” he replied, “but I’ll extend you the professional courtesy to work with us.”

“I sincerely appreciate that Chief,” Rex said. “I also want to tell you that the murdered girl was the daughter of a suspected Russian Mafia leader. We have no
concrete proof of the father’s mafia connection. The man is powerful in Chicago politics. The murder also may have a connection to Harris, we just don’t know.”

“Thanks for the information,” the Chief replied. “We’ve got a search party planned for tomorrow to go over every inch of the mountain to again look for traces of Mr. Harris or Ms. Hamilton. You’re certainly welcome to join us.”
 

They agreed
to meet with the search party at Lookout Mountain the next morning at 9:00 a.m. Chief Henry told Herns that the participants would be Officer Terrell, himself, two deputies from his department, Officers Johnson and Billings. Chief Henry also had arranged for a helicopter to fly over the area and inform the search party of any unusual activity or anything else that looked suspicious that the pilot observed. One day was planned for the operation and more if the crew turned up anything.

Herns agreed and left the office.
 

Tammy’s head was spinning with the gravity of the situation and the new information that Herns had given them. She immediately called her husband, John Terrell, who was the Justice of the Peace in Tomahawk.

“The situation at Lookout Mountain has turned into a big deal. I’m joining a search party tomorrow to investigate the scene again. I’ll be late for dinner tonight since I need to prepare for tomorrow. Can you make dinner for Nancy and Billy?”
 

Nancy was seven and Billy was eleven and both of them were the pride of Tammy’s and John’s life.

“No problem honey,” John replied. “Just you be careful now and don’t stay too late. I love you. Bye the way my secretary told me to tell you that you look just like Jennifer Aniston”
 

Tammy smiled because she had heard that many times before, but it still pleased her every time. “I love you, too. If I’m not home by bedtime kiss the kids for me.”

They hung up and Tammy began her research.
 

Chapter 29

I was alone as I walked on the beach on that cool fall morning. The sound of the waves softly rolling to shore and the pleasant ocean breeze gave me a feeling of calm and comfort. I spotted him, in the distance, silhouetted against the off-white sand, his black feathers glistening. As I approached the crow, it stood motionless, which was unnatural for his species. They usually squawked in an undistinguished manner, warning other crows that a human was near, and flew away. This one just stood there, not moving. I kept walking until I was five feet away from him. He was blocking my path. I am a human and I am superior to fowl. I will not alter my path for a bird. He must know his place in the scheme of life and move out of my way.

I called for him to move, but he stood firm, slowly turning his head to me. His black eyes stared into my soul. The stare was merciless and without recognition of my superiority. The cold chill of fear pierced my consciousness, but I refused to divert from my path. I stared back, determined to break his spirit. For an agonizing time, which seemed like an hour, we were locked in mental combat. His blank, piercing stare pitted
against my unrelenting determination.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he squawked in a piercing manner and flew away. I walked to the place where he had been standing and defiantly kicked the sand where death had left its prints. I refuse to let death beat me. I refuse to let my spirit and my soul die.

Dehydration and starvation put me in a world with which I was not familiar. On occasion, I forgot my name and where I was. I kept thinking,
everyone dies, everyone dies.
Maybe my turn had come. A black haze hung in front of my eyes and threatened to overcome me. I slapped my face hard, trying to awaken my sleeping spirit.
 

I attempted to focus on the one thing that could awaken the essence of my spirit. I concentrated on Leah and that brought me back to reality. The black haze lifted, but I knew it was temporary. Next time the haze would absorb me. The hallucinations were beginning to dominate my world. I must fight harder to maintain my sense of reality. Sustenance and water could be my only salvation
. I must eat
. I had faced death in that last hallucination and had conquered it. Next time I might not be able to withstand its persistent desire to eat my soul.
 

Another day had passed and the sunlight was streaming through the hole above me. I glanced in the direction of the wolf and could clearly see that he was lying still, but his wild eyes were open. I rose to my feet and stood a moment to steady myself. I held my knife in one hand and a fist-sized rock in the other.
 

Time to go snake hunting.
 

Rattlesnakes are equipped with both day and night vision, so I had no advantage at either time. I decided that daylight would give me a better chance to kill him. From my navy seal training, I knew that before striking, rattlesnakes are typically coiled except for the forward part of the body, which is raised when the rattle is buzzing. The sound of the rattler is caused by the clicking together of the rattle segments when the tail is vibrated. This sound is similar to the crackling sound of frying fat. When a rattlesnake is wet there is no sound. I was depending on the sound to guide me to his location. My only real hope was that he had consumed the cocaine-laced rat and that the substantial amount of cocaine in the rat had killed or sedated him.
 

I crept to the dry watering spot and looked toward the rocks where I had seen him slither. I decided to throw rocks in that direction to excite him to use his rattle. I laid down my knife and fist-sized rock and picked up some pebbles. I threw handfuls of them using a fanning pattern. I waited and listened between each handful thrown for a sound; there was nothing but silence. I picked up my killing rock and my knife and slowly inched forward. As I walked closer to the small boulder, I saw the black tail of the timber rattler sticking out about an inch. I moved very deliberately forward and to the left. As I came to the side of the boulder, about four feet away, I saw the rust-orange color with the black bands on the snake’s still body. I kept walking forward and surmised that he was, in fact, about eight or nine feet long. I laid down my killing rock again and threw some smaller rocks toward him. He didn’t move. I saw no signs of the cocaine-laced rat and sneaked closer until I saw the snake clearly and observed a lump in his throat about six inches from his head. I assumed it was the remains of the undigested rat.

A hard blow to the head with my killing rock should do it. In order to accomplish that, I had to get within inches of him to crush his head. I moved slowly, still concerned about whether or not he was totally sedated. I went to the front of his body with his head directly at my feet. I crouched and raised my killing rock. As I prepared to crash the rock down on his head, he moved.

I leapt back as he ascended to a striking position. The rattle broke the silence and emitted the sickening sound of fat frying. I hurled the killing rock as hard as I could. Either I am the luckiest son-of-a-bitch alive or God guided the rock, because it hit him squarely on the head. He crumpled to the ground, and I pounced on him swinging my knife wildly. I sliced a deep cut on his head, grabbed another rock and began pounding his eyes. His body was writhing and I continued to strike him with the rock and stab him with the knife. It was only then that I heard myself screaming. My shrieks and ragged breath bounced off the walls of the cave and terrified me.