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Each passing hour we don’t find him takes us a step closer to the mission becoming a recovery instead of a rescue.
“You’re a Marine,” Sheldon says a few feet from me, his eyelids closed. “Would’ve thought you can sniff him out.”
“You must be confusing me with a bloodhound.”
The other five guys on the crew bark a laugh, the sound weary at best.
“Heard you got yourself married a few months ago.” Ben, a hulky man in his late forties, scratches his jaw and the lumberjack beard growing from it.
“That’s right.”
“How’s it going?”
“How do you think it’s going?” Sheldon asks. “The man is in his early thirties and he has a beautiful wife. I’m sure things are going great.” He pries his eyes open and gives me a lecherous smile.
The other men chuckle.
“Didn’t realize you were seeing anyone, let alone engaged,” Ben says.
“Long story.”
They all peer at me like little boys waiting for the teacher to read them a book.
Sheldon unscrews the lid of his travel mug and swallows down some of the contents. A frown etches onto his brow. “My wife saw Simone in the grocery store the other day. Sue said your wife looked distracted. Sad, even.”
“It’s almost the anniversary of her brother’s death,” I explain. “They were close.”
Ben stands and stretches his arms above his head. “How did he die?”
“Suicide. He was struggling with PTSD and it got to be too much. His body was found at the bottom of a cliff near his cabin in the mountains.” I pick up a rock next to my knee and hurl it to the side. It hits a bush, rustling the leaves.
“Shit,” Ben mutters. “Has she ever talked to anyone about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“She should talk to someone. It couldn’t hurt.”
Ben’s right. If she’s struggling now, how bad will things be on the anniversary of Aiden’s death in a few weeks?
Sheldon looks at his phone and groans. “All right, men. Break time’s over.”
We get to our feet. A crackly voice on his walkie-talkie alerts us that Command is on the line. Sheldon tells them our location. The person on the other end responds. Sheldon’s face pales, defeat and disappointment slumping his shoulders. And we all know. We all know we won’t like his next words.
Fuuuuuck.
I double-check that my climbing harness and locking carabiner are secure, then Sheldon and I rappel down the side of the cliff to the ledge about twenty feet below us.
I’m the first to place my feet on the ground, and I race to the crumbled body of the missing boy. His eyes are closed, his clothing dirty and torn. “Dustin?”
He doesn’t respond. I feel for his carotid pulse but find nothing. His skin is cold to the touch. Even though I know better, I start to administer CPR. “C’mon.” My whispered words are yanked away in the wind.
Sheldon stands at the side of the ledge and waits for the team to lower the stretcher. I continue performing CPR. C’mon, dammit. Breathe—fucking breathe.
Sheldon strides the short distance and lowers the stretcher alongside the boy. He checks for a pulse. “Fuck. He’s dead, Lucas. You can do all the CPR you want, it’s not gonna bring him back.”
I don’t listen to Sheldon. The boy on the ledge is no longer the missing kid we’ve been searching for. He’s the boy from Afghanistan.
The boy Aiden and I tried to save.
