The Rescue

What neither of them mentioned to Denise was the danger of the swamp itself. It wasn't a place for anyone in a storm like this, let alone a child. A person could literally vanish forever.

Sergeant Huddle closed his flip pad with a snap. Every minute now was precious.

"We're going to continue this later, if that's okay, Miss Holton. We'll need more for the report, but getting started with the search is the most important thing right now."

Denise nodded.

"Anything else we should know? A nickname, maybe? Something he'll answer to?"

"No, just Kyle. But . . ."

It was then that it hit her--the obvious. The worst possible type of news, something the trooper had never thought to ask.

Oh God . . .

Her throat constricted without warning.

Oh, no . . . oh, no . . .

Why hadn't she mentioned it earlier? Why hadn't she told him right away, when she first got out of the car? When Kyle might have been close . . . when they maybe could have found him before he got too far away? He might have been right there--

"Miss Holton?"

Everything seemed to wash over her at once: shock, fright, anger, denial . . .

He can't answer them!

She lowered her face into her hands.

He can't answer!

"Miss Holton?" she heard again.

Oh God, why?

After what seemed like an impossibly long time, she wiped her tears away, unable to meet their eyes. I should have told them earlier.

"Kyle won't answer if you simply call his name. You'll have to find him, you'll have to actually see him."

They stared at her quizzically, not understanding.

"But if we tell him that we've been looking for him, that his mom is worried?"

She shook her head, a wave of nausea sweeping through her. "He won't answer."

How many times had she said these words before? How many times had it simply been an explanation? How many times had it really meant nothing when compared with something like this?

Neither man said anything. Drawing a ragged breath, Denise went on. "Kyle doesn't talk very well, just a few words here and there. He . . . he can't understand language for some reason . . . that's why we were at Duke today."

She turned from one man to the other, making sure they understood. "You'll have to find him. Simply shouting for him won't do any good. He won't understand what you're saying. He won't answer . . . he can't. You'll have to find him. . . ."

Why him? Of all the children, why did this have to happen to Kyle?

Unable to say anything else, Denise started to sob.

With that, Taylor put his hand on her shoulder as he'd done earlier.

"We'll find him, Miss Holton," he said with quiet forcefulness. "We'll find him."

Five minutes later, as Taylor and the others were mapping out the search pattern, four more men arrived to help. It was all that Edenton could spare. Lightning had sparked three major fires, there had been four auto accidents in the last twenty minutes--two with serious injuries--and downed power lines were still a hazard. Calls were flooding in to police and fire departments at a furious pace--every one was logged by priority, and unless a life was in immediate jeopardy, they were informed that nothing could be done right away.

A lost child took priority over nearly everything.

The first step was to park the cars and trucks as close to the edge of the swamp as possible. They were left idling, headlights set on high beams, about fifteen yards apart. Not only would they provide extra light necessary for the immediate search, but they would also serve as a beacon in case one of the searchers got disoriented.

Flashlights and walkie-talkies were handed out along with extra batteries. Eleven men (including the trucker, who wanted to help) would be involved, and the search would start from where Taylor found the blanket. From there they would fan out in three directions--south, east, and west. East and west paralleled the highway; south was the last direction Kyle had appeared to be headed. It was decided that one man would stay behind, near the highway and the trucks, on the off chance that Kyle would see the headlights and return on his own. He would send a flare up every hour on the hour, so that the men would know exactly where they were.

After Sergeant Huddle had given them a brief description of Kyle and what he was wearing, Taylor spoke. He, along with a couple of the other men, had hunted in the swamp before and laid out what they were up against.

Here, on the outer fringes of the swamp near the highway, the searchers were told that the ground was always damp but not usually underwater. It wasn't until half a mile farther into the swamp that water formed shallow lakes above the ground. Mud was a real danger, though; it closed in around the foot and leg, sometimes holding it like a vise, making it difficult for an adult to escape, let alone a child. Tonight the water was already half an inch deep near the highway and would only get worse as the storm wore on. Mud pockets combined with rising water would make for a deadly combination. The men grimly agreed. They would proceed with caution.

On the plus side, if there was one, none of them imagined that Kyle could have gotten far. Trees and vines made the going rough, hopefully limiting the distance he might have traveled. A mile, maybe, definitely less than two miles. He was still close, and the sooner they got started, the better chance they would have.

"But," Taylor went on, "according to the mother, it turns out that the boy probably won't answer if we call him. Look for any physical sign of him--you don't want to walk right by him. She made it very clear that we shouldn't depend on him answering us."

"He won't respond?" asked one of the men, clearly baffled.

"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."