Cry of the Wild Page 2

  "Crysta!" Rosanne came running, her eyes round with concern. "What is it? What's wrong? Crysta, for heaven's sake, answer me."

  A picture of treetops and blue sky flashed through Crys­ta's head. Then a horrifying sensation of falling came over her. She grabbed the desk, completely disoriented. When at last she got her bearings again, the pain had abated.

  "Oh, God, do you think it's your heart? It happens sometimes, you know, even at our age."

  "No—no, I'm fine," Crysta whispered shakily. "I'm fine. It was probably just a gas pain or something. It's gone now."

  "You're sure? You look awfully pale. You shouldn't ig­nore chest pain. Maybe you should take the afternoon off and drop by the doctor's office. I can reschedule Grimy for another day."

  The idea of an afternoon off appealed to Crysta, though she had absolutely no intention of using the time to see her doctor. Therapy or no, she was frightened now. Really frightened. "Do you really think you can handle every­thing alone? We've got a busy day scheduled."

  "With my eyes closed."

  Crysta leaned back in her kitchen bar stool and tapped her fingernails on the Formica countertop, gazing at the wall phone. After an hour and a half of placing phone calls, one to Derrick's boss, one to Aunt Eva, and several others to his friends, she had no more idea where her brother was than when she had begun. Derrick was on vacation, his boss had said, but he didn't know where. Her aunt and Derrick's friends had said the same.

  Given the fact that Crysta and Derrick had been trying to wean themselves from one another, it didn't strike Crysta as odd that her brother had taken a vacation without notify­ing her. But it did seem odd that he hadn't specified where he was going. With their mother's heart the way it was, both Crysta and Derrick made it a point to be accessible by phone whenever possible. Even when Derrick went on his wilder­ness treks, he left word at his departure point of what area he expected to be in on any given day.

  Crysta resisted the temptation to call her mother. Her mom might know where Derrick was, and then again, she might not. The only certainty was that Ellen Meyers would become alarmed if Crysta revealed that she was trying to locate Derrick. After several years of watching her children deliberately drift apart, Ellen would sense something was wrong. And Crysta couldn't risk that. Not over a dream that might or might not have had special meaning.

  With another weary sigh, Crysta glanced at her watch, disgusted with herself for regressing to the point that she had taken off work in the middle of the day to stare at her tele­phone. Normal people didn't do things like this, and above all else, Crysta longed for normalcy.

  "I can't go on like this," she whispered.

  The words echoed in her mind long after they were spo­ken. During the long evening, Crysta repeated them many times, until they took on the solemnity of a vow. Would she never learn? She had to get Derrick out of her head, once and for all, or live the remainder of her life alone. That dis­couraging thought accompanied Crysta to bed and fol­lowed her into a restless sleep.

  Two mornings later, shortly after dawn, Crysta's ring­ing telephone jarred her from the depths of slumber. She shoved herself to a sitting position, threw a glance at the anemic light spilling in her bedroom window and reached for the receiver. Who would be calling at this hour? That question was answered when Crysta heard her mother bab­bling over the wire.

  "Mom, what's wrong? Whoa, slow down. Derrick's what?"

  ‘‘The police just called. He's missing!''

  For an instant, Crysta felt as if the bed had dropped out from under her. "Missing?"

  "Lost along the river. I knew he shouldn't go trekking off alone in that godawful country."

  Crysta's head spun. She braced an arm behind her to keep her balance, trying to make sense of what her mother was saying. Derrick's job in quality control for Blanchette Con­struction took him up and down the West Coast doing ran­dom inspections at building sites. He could have chosen almost anywhere to spend his vacation. Godawful country, according to Ellen Meyers, was anyplace outside the reaches of Los Angeles.

  "Mom, can you start at the beginning? Where was Der­rick last seen?"

  A little hard of hearing, especially when rattled, her mom rushed on. "Oh, Crysta, there are grizzlies in that place. And thousands of miles of wilderness. You have to go up there! You'd be able to find him. I just know it."

  "So he was in Alaska?"

  "Of course. People don't drop off the face of the earth here in the States."

  "Mother, Alaska is a state. Try to calm down. I know you must be frightened, but getting so upset isn't good for you."

  "But if he isn't found soon, he could die of exposure."

  "Don't think the worst. I'm sure that won't happen."

  Crysta wished she was as certain of that as she sounded. Her gaze flew to a snapshot on the nightstand. In it Derrick had an arm slung over her shoulders, head bent to press his cheek against hers. Reddish-brown hair, wide-set hazel eyes, fine features. They were a matched set except for gender. She couldn't imagine life without him.

  Licking her lips, Crysta said, "Derrick's a competent woodsman. He'll find shelter. Have you called that Sam Barrister, the lodge owner? He and Derrick spend so much time together, he might know where Derrick went."

  "I called him right away. He kept trying to reassure me, but I could tell he was worried. Derrick was staying at his lodge, like he always does when he goes up that way. He called from the lodge to check on me last week, in fact, right before he went on the hike. He disappeared along the Yentna River."

  "How long has he been missing?"

  "They can't be sure. It's been a whole day since he was due back, but he could have been lost earlier and no one would have known. When he didn't come back, Sam Bar­rister formed a search party. After they found Derrick's gear, he notified the authorities. He said that he tried to contact you, but he couldn't get your number through in­formation."

  "I see." Crysta's clammy skin turned icy. Images from her dream swept through her mind. Did the Yentna River have a wind-twisted spruce somewhere along its banks? And lots of cottonwood? Stop it, Crysta. Stop it. You can't let your­self begin believing in the dreams again, not if you value your sanity.

  Wrapping the phone cord around her index finger, she watched her fingernail turn purple, then took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly. "Are they still searching for him?"

  A jagged sob came over the line. "Yes, but for how long? After a certain period, they're bound to give up. Crysta, you can take a few days off. That woman—what's her name?— she can run the shop."

  "Oh, Mom..." Crysta wished she was with her mother so she could comfort her. Being upset like this was bad for her health. "Derrick's all right. I'm certain of it. Don't cry, please."

  After a moment, Ellen seemed to regain control. She heaved a teary sigh. "Crysta, you haven't, um, been in touch with Derrick or anything, have you?"

  "Mother, of course not. Don't you think I'd tell you?"

  "No, I don't mean like that—not a phone call or any­thing. I mean the other way. When you said you were cer­tain he was all right, I thought—I know you two have been trying to distance yourselves from each other, but..." Ellen's voice trailed off. "I knew no good would come from all that counseling. Look what's happened. You're brother's in trouble, and you haven't sensed a thing! This is the first time, the first time, Crysta. What does that tell you?"

  Crysta closed her eyes and wondered if a person's head could actually explode from tension. She must guard her every word, her every inflection, or her mother would guess the truth: that she had dreamed of Derrick, over two days ago. Ellen was already far more upset than was good for her, and Crysta knew from experience that her mother would believe the dream had significance.

  "Are you still there?"

  "Yes. I'm getting a terrific headache, and it's hard to concentrate, that's all."

  Ellen's voice became sharp. "Is it coming on suddenly? Oh, Crysta, you have to go up there. I know this thing be­
tween you and Derrick has been a source of heartache for you, but, darling, he may need you."

  While talking with her mother, Crysta knew better than to deny her telepathic link with her twin. Ellen would only become more agitated. "I understand that, Mom. I haven't turned my back on Derrick—you know that. He and I have just been trying to get things into perspective."

  "Then you'll go? The closer you are the better chance you have of contacting him! You know—sensing where he is."

  Crysta yearned to scream or hang up the phone, neither of which was an acceptable course of action. It wasn't that she didn't care. She cared far too much. The dreams were bunk; she had to believe that. And yet...

  "Listen, Mom, why don't I call Barrister and the police, then get back to you? Let me see what I can find out. What's the name of Sam's lodge? I've forgotten it."

  "Cottonwood Bend.

  With a trembling hand, Crysta quickly jotted down the name, the report of a gun echoing in her mind. What if something had happened to Derrick, something terrible, and she had wasted precious time? "I'll call you right back, okay? Try to stay calm."

  "Crysta, don't hang up! You will fly up there, won't you? I'll pay for your ticket. Promise me you'll go."

  "Of course I'll go. And I'll pay for my own ticket. I love Derrick, Mom. I know it may not seem that way some­times, but I do love him, just as much as ever."

  As soon as she broke the connection, Crysta flopped back onto her pillow. Cottonwood Bend? Then there were cottonwoods along the Yentna. Uncertainty swamped her. Two entire days had passed since her dream. What if, against all the laws of logic, Derrick had been trying to send her a distress signal?

  Sitting up, she quickly dialed her aunt Eva, not caring if she rousted the older woman from bed at so early an hour.

  "Mom just phoned," Crysta explained hastily when her aunt finally answered. "The authorities in Alaska con­tacted her. Derrick's missing."

  "Oh, dear God."

  "I was wondering if you could go stay with her, Aunt Eva. She's awfully upset."

  "You're not going up there, are you?" Eva's gravelly voice went taut. "Crysta, you've no idea what most of Alaska's like. Those lodges aren't located next door to shopping malls and bus stops. I went up there once with your uncle Fred, remember, and I know what I'm talking about. You love your brother, and I understand that, but in this instance, letting the authorities handle it would be the wiser choice."

  Crysta glanced at her brother's photograph. As compe­tent as the Alaskan authorities probably were, they didn't know and love Derrick the way she did. "I really feel that I should."

  "Your mother?"

  Crysta ran a hand into her hair. She could always count on Aunt Eva to understand. "She's terribly upset. If my being up there eases her mind, it's a small thing to do."

  "Flying to Frisco, maybe. But Alaska? A woman, all alone?"

  "I'm pretty adaptable, Aunt Eva. Besides, Derrick's best friend, Sam, owns the lodge. He'll watch out for me. I have to look at this practically. Staying here, I won't be much comfort to Mom. She'll feel better if she knows I've gone up there. And I'll feel better, too. At least that way I can as­sure myself that everything possible is being done to find Derrick." Crysta reached for the phone book. "I need to make some calls and try to find out all I can. Meanwhile, Mom shouldn't be alone, not when she's so upset."

  "I'll go right over."

  "Try to calm her down, Aunt Eva. Stress the fact that Derrick's familiar with the area and a good woodsman. Remind her of who has been organizing the search. Derrick told me there's no better guide in all Alaska than Sam Bar­rister. I'll contact the authorities up there and divert their calls to me—either here or up there at Barrister's lodge. I'll get back to you with any news."

  The moment Crysta hung up, she opened the phone book. After finding the area code for Alaska, which she could never seem to remember, she dialed information for the number to Cottonwood Bend and then placed a call to its owner. Seconds later, Barrister's deep voice crackled over the line. Was it similar to one of those she had heard in her dream? No, that was crazy.

  She quickly introduced herself. "Are you having a storm up there, Mr. Barrister? We have a terrible connection."

  "It's the mobile phone. I took it in for repairs, but it's still on the fritz. I'm trying to limp by with it until the end of the season."

  The nape of Crysta's neck prickled. So the lodge wasn't serviced with phone lines. "Your mobile phone," Derrick had said in her dream. Sam Barrister's?

  "I'm thinking of coming up to help search for my brother, Mr. Barrister. I understand Derrick disappeared on a hiking trip in your vicinity."

  "That's right.'

  "And he's been missing a day?"

  "Two, actually."

  "Two! Why on earth did you wait so long to get a search started?"

  "I wanted to give him the chance to make it back on his own. He came back a day late once before, so I wasn't alarmed at first, not until I went out looking for him and came across his gear." He paused a moment. "I guess I shouldn't have waited, but I really hated to call in search- and-rescue until I knew for certain it was necessary. Those fellows are all volunteers. They have to leave their jobs and families."

  "Volunteers? You mean it's not the police searching for him?"

  "They're involved. But volunteers do most of the leg- work. This is a remote area. It takes pilots volunteering to fly people in, Anchorage businesses donating foodstuffs. You have to appreciate how much people have come to­gether on this."

  Crysta had heard of search-and-rescue teams, and she admired the volunteers for their dedication. But when it came to Derrick, she wanted the very best trackers looking for him—professionals, if at all possible. Fear knotted her stomach. She yearned to hear Derrick's voice, to hear him laugh, to feel the warmth of his hand on hers.

  "Are you saying the search for my brother is being left to amateurs?" Despite her attempt to be calm, Crysta couldn't keep the note of hysteria out of her voice.

  When Sam Barrister spoke, his tone was silken and pa­tient. "Search-and-rescue teams are well qualified. In ad­dition to them, Blanchette Construction made arrangements to bring in a Huey helicopter with infrared devices that de­tect as much as a two-degree variation in temperature. Ev­erything that can be done is being done. Bank on that."

  "And has the helicopter detected anything?"

  "Not yet, no. But they didn't start making sweeps until yesterday. There's endless territory to cover. All the high-tech equipment in the world can't perform miracles."

  The helicopter sounded impressive, but beyond that, Crysta pictured a handful of unqualified men stumbling around in the woods calling Derrick's name. Her throat tightened.

  "Do you have a spare cabin I could use?" Derrick was too important to let strangers handle everything. Her mother was right; Crysta should be there. "I'd pay, of course. I'd really like to be nearby, and I know my mom would feel better if a member of our family was up there."

  He hesitated a moment. "How's your mom doing? Der­rick told me about her heart problems, so I wasn't too happy when I heard the authorities up here had called her. I asked them not to, to try to get in touch with you, but I guess the fellow I talked to went off shift. I tried to get your number through information but couldn't. I figured they might have better luck. First thing I knew, your mom was calling me." He sighed. "I'm sorry about that. I wanted to get word to you so you could be there with her and cushion the blow when she heard the news."

  "She's awfully upset, I'm afraid." Crysta fastened her gaze on Derrick's photograph. The concern she heard in Barrister's voice reinforced all the positive things Derrick had told her about him.

  "It's an expensive trip, Crysta. I can waive my rates, but that won't help on your air fare or your float-plane flight inland."

  His voice was deep and warm, filled with sympathy, yet Crysta detected an underlying tension. Something wasn't clicking here.

  "I see."

  There was anothe
r short silence. "No, I'm afraid you don't. Let's be straight with each other, okay? Your com­ing up isn't a good idea."

  "Why on earth not?"

  "What could you actually do to help? This is rugged country. A person who doesn't know his way around could easily become lost. As cruel as this may sound, you'll be more a hindrance than a help. It's pretty primitive up here, and right now every available person is out searching. There's no one to accompany you anywhere."

  "I see."

  Actually, she didn't see, and she was infuriated with her­self for making the same inane response twice. Why was the man trying to discourage her from coming? Crysta knew from Derrick's stories about Sam's lodge that all different types visited there: businessmen, actors, football players, families with children. The main lodge, though rustic, kept food laid out 'round the clock for any hungry guests who might trail in from the surrounding cabins. That wasn't what one would term primitive.

  "I knew you'd understand," Barrister replied. "I'll keep you posted, okay? If Derrick's out there, we'll find him— you can count on it."

  Bristling, Crysta said, "Derrick is my brother—my twin brother."

  "And you love him. But loving him isn't enough in country like this. In fact, it could be a drawback. It's ex­tremely difficult for family members to remain objective. You'll be better off if you stay home. And so will Derrick. Why don't you give me your number. I'll give you a call back tonight to let you know how the search is progressing and if we've found any signs of—"

  The phone crackled loudly with static. Crysta pressed the receiver closer to her ear. "Mr. Barrister?"

  She listened a moment, then clenched her teeth in frus­tration. Disconnected. She redialed the number and got a busy signal. Had he hung up on her? His phone might have gone on the blink again, but it seemed like mighty conve­nient timing.

  Dropping the receiver into its cradle, she reviewed her conversation with the lodge owner, becoming more con­vinced by the moment that there was something he wasn't telling her. She had no idea what that might be, but she was convinced his reluctance to have her up there stemmed from something more than concern over her finances and her safety. What, though? That was the question. Was he hid­ing something?