Page 56 of Avenging Angel

“All right, let me work my mojo and see what I can find,” Jerry says.

“We’ll be in a place where we won’t get any cell service,” I tell him.

Owen speaks up. “Since Daisy is technically the lead on this case, if you discover something, anything at all, contact her first. Then Roger.”

Jerry confirms that he’ll do just that and signs off.

Each of us clicks on our earpieces that allow us to communicate hands-free. We run through a series of checks, with every person on the team checking in except for Daisy, who should be boarding her flight to Colorado Springs.

Once comms are established, Roger says, “We have no idea who Kenneth is or what he’s capable of. Because of that, I want everyone to proceed with caution, use simunition rounds as your primary ammunition, and stay vigilant.”

“Copy,” Scott says.

“Good. Faith and Jaxon are nearing the Sphagnum Bog Trail to the northwest in an attempt to cut Kenneth off from the north if he tries to run,” Vinny interjects. “The drone is in the air, and as soon as I have eyes on Kenneth, I’ll give you updated coordinates.”

“We’re in position,” Faith says. “Snow is about three feet deep and we aren’t equipped to traverse the trail. We’ll have to set up here and pray Kenneth falls into our lap.”

Roger clears his throat and says, “Speaking of prayer, we should take a moment and ask for God’s protection.”

Jeremy, Jack, Owen, Scott, and I reach for each other’s hands and bow our heads as Roger’s words fill the silence.

“Heavenly Father, we thank You for bringing us together in a shared purpose to protect the lives of the innocent and those in need of reprieve from dangerous elements. Today, we ask for Your protection over us as we go in search of the truth, which is often obscured or hidden from us. Please open our eyes so that we may see, and guide us in the direction You need us to go. For it is the path You set before us that we are destined to walk. In Your name we pray this. Amen.”

“Amen,” we echo.

“Amen!” the father at the fire pit shouts. “May you have a safe hike!”

The three of us mount the ATVs, waving to the family and giving Jeremy and Jack a quick nod. It takes about ten minutes to get to the trailhead, where we hide our vehicles under some shrubbery. The snow isn’t as deep here as where my sister and Jaxon are, but it’s enough that the hike ahead of us will be slow going. The good news is that tracks should be easy to spot.

“It’s two miles until Dutton and the PCT meet.”

Owen gestures for me to lead the way. “Keep your eyes and ears open. Vinny, do you have the target acquired?”

“Negative,” Vinny says. “Switching to infrared. Standby.”

Scott scans the wooded area. “We’ll be lucky if the drone picks up his heat signature under the dense foliage.”

That’s what I was afraid of. “We’ll keep the ‘eyes in the sky’ but track the old-fashioned way.”

For the next hour, we don’t see any sign of human presence until we come to the spot where the trails converge. I scan the area due east up the mountain toward the rim. There are some animal tracks, but no human boot prints.

Just as I begin to question the intelligence we were given, I remember how Daisy kept to the trees when she was hunting me in the woods. Her prints disappeared the thicker the trees became because the canopy overhead blocked the snowfall.

“Scott and Owen, stay south of Dutton Trail and go 200 yards. Look for any sign that someone trekked through the trees. I’ll take the north side.”

Half an hour later, I find what I’m looking for. There’s a fresh crack in a branch from a young white fir tree, and below it is a slight indentation of dead pine needles. I squat down and scan the area further, noticing another, deeper impression about 20 inches away. Then another.

“I’ve got something,” I say into my comm device.

Scott acknowledges, and a few minutes later, he and Owen are standing behind me. “Those are definitely man-made.”

Relaying the information, I tell Vinny, “We have tracks 150 yards east of the PCT and 100 yards north of Dutton, heading northwest. Based on the firmness of the ground, the depth of the impression, and the distance between them, I’d say he’s carrying a heavy load. It’s a single set of tracks, confirming he’s alone and moving at a rate of one mile per hour.”

“Copy. Deviating from planned route and moving to your location,” Vinny says.

“Negative,” Scott replies. “Standby for further instructions.”

He stoops next to me, studies the trajectory, snaps his fingers, then opens his palm. Without him needing to say a word, I hand him the topographical map.