Fire on the Island (12 page)

"That's
another thing she said. Apparently the
Vigilati
have spirit guides or
protectors that are supposed to help guide them in their...quest—for lack of a
less clichéd phrase. We just have to find this person."

"That
shouldn't be too hard, it's a small island. I know just about everyone
here." Jeremiah cleared his throat and looked away. "What?"

"Well, the
spirit guide will be in the form of an animal. She called it a
feradux
."

"Oh,
for—"

"I think
it's the wolf," he interrupted. "She said it would be something that
seemed out of place. Not like your cats or something."

Pinching the
bridge of her nose, Isla took a deep, calming breath. "So I'm supposed to
approach this wolf, and what? Talk to it? Damn it, Jeremiah!"

"I don't
have all the answers, yet. She wants to see you. I'm hoping she can tell you
what to do." He held up a hand to stop her when she opened to her mouth to
protest. He reached out to take the coin out of her hand that she always
flipped between her fingers when she was troubled.

"There's
something else." He flipped it over and slid it back to her, facedown. He
pointed to the name inscription on the worn silver. "That's her
name."

Isla stared
down at the coin, unsure of what to say or think. Her grandmother, alive? Was
it possible? She hadn't seen Mhairi since she was six years old. She only had
Eileen's word to go on that the woman had passed away. That, in itself, was her
answer.

Jeremiah
covered her hand with his and squeezed. "I didn't tell her. She
wasn't...lucid...toward the end of our conversation. But she asked if I would
bring you to her as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if you can."

Shaking her
head to clear it, Isla pulled herself back down into reality. "I can't
tomorrow. I'm the best tracker on the island. I'm assisting with the search for
the missing hikers."

Jeremiah's
brows drew together, and he frowned. "Missing hikers?"

"The
honeymooners that were on the hike with us. They went for a hike a couple of
days ago and no one's heard from them since."

"Stay with
me tonight. I'll go with you. We can stop by your place at first light to get
your gear."

"You don't
have to—"

"I want
to. I'm sure the search party could always use another pair of eyes. And
besides," he said, brushing a stray curl away from her face, "I'm not
ready to let you out of my sight yet."

Standing up, he
held out a hand for her. "Stay," he repeated. She nodded, taking his
hand, and allowed him to lead her into the bedroom.

Chapter
Twelve

They woke before
dawn and dressed silently in the dark. Jeremiah had followed Isla down the
coastal road, up the winding gravel street that led to her cabin. There they
collected Isla's search and survival gear—first-aid kit, water, energy bars,
flashlights, flares.

Dressed simply
in cargo pants and a white tank top, Isla tied back her mass of curls into a
messy bun on the top of her head. Though her eyes kept drifting back to
Jeremiah, her mind kept remembering, she willed herself to focus on the task at
hand. They had a pair of honeymooners to find.

As she hooked
the leather sheath for her machete to her belt, she caught a glimpse of
Jeremiah sporting a comical look on his face. "What?"

He said nothing,
just raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the machete now hanging at her
hip. Isla shrugged and went back to stuffing her rucksack full of gear.
"Never know," she mumbled.

After two packs
were filled with all of the survival gear they could comfortably carry, Isla
handed her bowie knife, sheathed and ready, hilt first to Jeremiah. "That
wolf could be some kind of spooky spirit guide. But more than likely, it's just
a wolf. We need to be safe. You never know," she said again, more forcefully
this time.

Nodding,
Jeremiah took the knife from her and clipped it to his own belt. They carried
their packs to Isla's old truck and took off for the rendezvous point in the
heart of Machrie Moor.

Chief James
Sinclair of the Arran Police Department didn't believe in voodoo, hocus pocus,
evil spirits, or any of that other spooky shite that the islanders went on
about whenever anything out of the ordinary happened.

More than
likely, a couple of hikers went missing, they'd gone and gotten themselves
lost, or gotten themselves dead, or both. But it never had anything to do with
any of that other nonsense.

So he didn't
have any problem calling in the girl the locals called "The Arran
Witch" to help in the search. Lass was the best tracker he'd ever come
across in all his days in law enforcement.

She never said
how she came about her special skills, and he never asked, but she'd delivered
on every search he had put her on. So when he saw the volunteer searchers turn
to each other and whisper behind their hands as Isla approached with the
visiting Dr. Rousseau, he did the exact opposite and walked over to greet them.

Offering his
hand first to Isla and then to Dr. Rousseau, Chief Sinclair gave them a warm
smile. "Marnin,' Isla, Dr. Rousseau."

"Jeremiah,
please."

"Awright
then, my name's James but most people just call me Chief. I really appreciate
the help. Isla, you said you had the couple on one of your hikes. What would
you say about their experience level?"

"From what
I could gather, they were both athletic, kept in shape. They'd done a bit of
hiking back in the States but nothing too difficult. What they lacked in
experience, they made up for in enthusiasm, so it wouldn't be too much of a
stretch to imagine them going off the trail.

Chief frowned
at that, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Gonna have a quick
briefing over there by the stones in five. I'll give everyone their routes
after that and we'll be off."

Isla turned in
a slow circle, scanning the flat, shrub-covered pastures of the moor, edged in all
directions by mountains that mirrored the highlands of the mainland. This was
her home, she thought. Two people were missing and she was going to find them.

The spot Chief
Sinclair had chosen for the rendezvous point and base camp was the site of a
trio of standing stones. The ruins on the moor, and the stones, were a popular
stop for tourists on walkabout. Since it was not a difficult hike from the
public parking in Blackwaterfoot to the stones, the Chief had felt sure that
the hikers would have made it here before getting lost.

Isla motioned
for Jeremiah to follow as she went to join the small group of volunteer
searchers. Seeing Callum and Jack among the group, they smiled and waved their
hands in greeting.

Callum sidled
up beside Isla and bumped her with his hip. "Mornin,' Little Bear,"
he said, tugging on her hair.

"Little
Bear?" Jeremiah asked, cocking an eyebrow at the two of them.

Jack approached
from behind, and he cuffed Callum lovingly on the back of his head and kissed
Isla on the cheek. "Don't mind Cal, he has to have a nickname for
everyone. He calls her Little Bear because she reminds him of Bear Grylls, only
tinier and prettier of course."

Laughing at
that, Jeremiah pulled Isla toward him and wrapped an arm around her, placing a
kiss atop her head.

He raised his
hazel eyes to meet Callum's shrewd stare and raised his chin a bit, as if
challenging Callum to say something about his familiarity with her. After
studying Jere's face for a moment, Cal nodded once and gave him a crooked grin.
"So that's the way of it then?"

"Looks
that way," Jeremiah answered.

"Good.
Don't make me regret it."

Isla looked
back and forth at the two men and wondered at the exchange that passed between
them. She was about to ask what the hell was going on when Chief Sinclair
stepped up to the group and cleared his throat.

"Awright
everyone, we'll have a quick briefing and then we'll get this search started.
We're searching for Ethan and Kate Redding, newlyweds from Asheville, North
Carolina. He's a computer programmer, twenty-nine years old. Six foot, athletic
build on the thin side, blond hair in a military buzz, blue eyes."

Chief Sinclair
took out a picture of the couple that had been found in their suitcase and
passed it around the group. "She's a graphic designer, originally from
Colorado. Twenty-six, long blond hair, also blue eyes, five six, medium
build."

When all the
searchers had gotten a good look, Sinclair took the photo back and handed it to
Isla. When she gave him a puzzled look, he just smiled. "You're most likely
to get to them first so you keep that with you."

"The
couple was last seen two days ago when they left word with their landlord that
they were going out to hike the moor. Isla, Cal, and Jack, since you are our
more experienced hikers, you head east toward
Gleann Dubh
. Take the good
doctor with you if he can handle it."

"What is
it with you people and the doctor thing?" Jere asked to nobody in
particular. Isla just laughed and pulled him over to where an officer was
handing out two-way radios. They each took a radio, checked the battery, and
clipped them on their belts.

Once he had
divided the rest of the searchers into teams and chosen their routes, the chief
spoke again. "Keep your radios on, but keep the chatter to a minimum
unless you have something important to say. We're on channel two. Everyone
ready?"

Nodding at the
chorus of affirmative answers, Sinclair delivered a few last minute
instructions. "Radio in to base if you find anything that may be a
lead—clothing, hair, blood—give us your coordinates, and we'll bring out the
dogs. Let's go!"

Each group set
off in their assigned directions, moving slowly, scouring the land for any
signs of the missing hikers.

Isla, Jeremiah,
Jack, and Cal checked their supplies one last time and then set off eastward at
a brisk pace. Allowing Callum and Jack to lead the way across the moor, Isla
hung back with Jere. Keeping her eyes on the path in front of her, always
looking for signs of the wayward hikers, Isla addressed Jeremiah in a hushed
tone.

"This will
be a difficult hike, even for us. I want you to tell me if you feel out of your
depth. It will be safer for everyone. Last thing we need is to lose a searcher
too," she said, in her blunt trail guide voice. She was all business now,
Jere thought.

At first he bristled,
somewhat offended that she didn't think he could handle himself. But he knew
that—in her special Isla way—she was looking out for him. So he pushed his
bruised manly pride out of the way and nodded at her. "Got it."

Making their
way slowly across the flat, grassy moorland, the group searched for any signs
of the missing hikers. It was understood that it wasn't likely they'd find
anything on the moor, as it was open and flat with few hazards, but they needed
to be thorough.

The moor was
bordered on the east by vast pastureland. Many of the trails on the island cut
through the sheep pastures—it was allowed by the farmers as long as the hikers
were respectful of the livestock and closed gates behind them.

Following the
most commonly traveled route, Isla took the lead, driving the group at a fast
clip, anxious to get to the meat of the search. Just when it seemed like the
endless flats would go on forever, they came upon the String Road.

After crossing
it, they walked through several more acres of moorland, awash in blooming
heather and rowan trees, until they came upon the edge of a thick wood.

Hitching her
pack up higher on her shoulders, Isla stopped and looked back at the three men.
"This is where it gets dodgy. The Machrie Moor trail would have ended back
at the road for a less experienced hiker."

Isla closed her
eyes and raised her face to the wind. When Jeremiah took a step toward her and
looked as if he would speak, Callum stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
Giving his head a quick shake, he whispered, "Just wait."

She stood with
complete stillness, clearing her mind of all distraction. The forest would
speak to her as clearly as any person could, drawing her in, giving her direction.
She could hear the creaking of the tall pine trees as they swayed in the wind,
smelled the crispness of the island air. And when she opened her eyes, she saw
the tracks distinctly as if they were painted on the ground in bright red
paint.

"They came
this way," she said, entering the woods at a fast pace and leaving the men
to follow.

Although this
was not like any kind of tracking he had ever heard of, Jeremiah wisely kept
silent and followed.

She did use
some traditional tracking methods, finding broken branches and scraped trunks
on trees. She pointed out the two sets of tracks to him, one looked like a
man's hiking boot about his size, a twelve, and the other was probably a
sneaker, about a woman's size seven.

He could barely
make out the tracks when they were pointed out, so he couldn't imagine how she
found them. Still studying the prints, Jeremiah and Isla whipped their heads
around when they heard Callum call out.

"Oi, got
something over here."

Hurrying to his
side, they saw a small pink backpack at the foot of an Arran Whitebeam tree. It
wasn't a hiking pack, to be sure. The pink Jansport looked more like what a
student would carry to school. But it had
Kate
written in black marker
on the front pocket.

"Damn
it!" Isla hissed. "What would have made her drop her pack?" None
of the men spoke, but they all knew the answer. Nothing good.

Isla unclipped
her radio and pressed the talk button. "Team one to base. Over."

"Base,
come back," came the crackling reply.

"Got a
pack here, got
Kate
written on it. Over."

"What's
your twenty, team one?"

Isla read off
their coordinates from her handheld GPS.

"Roger
that. We'll send out a canine team. Over and out."

"Team one,
out."

The foursome
continued on due east, Isla again taking the lead. They traveled through the
dense forest for hours, getting whipped by branches and clawed at by briars.
Finally, Isla stopped them for a rest.

Finding
moss-covered stones to sit on, they each took their canteens out of their packs
to rehydrate. Isla radioed to base that they were taking a short break, again
reading off their coordinates.

They could hear
the distant baying of the hounds as they made their way to the location of the
pack. The dogs would take the scent and do their work, but they couldn't track
the scent through water or across the craggy mountains like the search team
could. They all had their strengths and their weaknesses, and hopefully they
would work together to find the missing.

After
recharging with energy bars and water, they set a course east by northeast as
Isla followed her clues unseen by the others. The forest cleared and the ground
in front of them dropped away into a deep glen.

"
Gleann
Dubh
," Callum supplied for Jeremiah's benefit. "The Black
Glen."

"Keep your
eyes on the ground ahead and mind your feet," Isla said. "She's more
treacherous than she looks."

Battling their
way carefully across moss-covered rock, they struggled down the western decline
into the glen. Reaching the lowest point, Isla paused, lifting her face to the
craggy cliffs up the eastern face.

Closing her
eyes again, she stretched her senses, searching for signs of life, listening
for changes in the air. When they opened, the trail the hikers had taken glowed
for her, a bright blood red that filled her with an overwhelming sense of
dread. Swallowing down her fear, she squared her shoulders and continued on.