Page 14 of Still Afraid

“Excellent,” Lance said. “That leaves seven people still unaccounted for?”

Josh nodded. “Correct. And I have scent items and campsite locations for two of them. We can start there.”

After a few more minutes of packing up, they headed to the base camp for a bite to eat, then were off to where the first person they would look for had been camping.

The campsite was one of the farthest away, along the edge of the tornado’s path. The sun had climbed over the ridge of mountains to the east by the time they reached it. They hadn’t gotten this far last night.

The campground was huge and the damage extensive. Praise the Lord, only fifty percent of the campsites had been occupied as of yesterday. According to the owner, if the tornado had hit twenty-four hours later than it did, it would have been even more horrendous, as they were completely booked for the weekend.

Josh and Lance started looking around the campsite. Chloe opened the bag holding a t-shirt belonging to the missing person.

“Poirot, search.”

Poirot took a long sniff of the shirt, barked, then sniffed the area, wandering back and forth.

They were searching for a forty-eight-year-old Kentucky man named CJ Wilson. He’d been camping with his brother and their twelve-year-old sons. The brother had taken the boys to the pool for the afternoon, and they had sheltered in the bathhouse, but CJ had stayed at the campsite with a headache.

Chloe prayed desperately that they’d find him alive for the sake of his son and nephew, let alone his brother and whoever else was back home in Kentucky.

Poirot nosed this way and that. No doubt the man’s smell was all over the campsite, but had he left? Had he had time to get somewhere safer? Had he walked out disoriented and gotten lost in the woods? Was he dead under a tree? Anything was possible.

The campsite had two tents—one flattened and the other tossed on its side. A single tent stake remained anchored in the ground. A tenacious little stake.

After a few more minutes of searching, Poirot barked and appeared to be on a scent trail. He went back toward the river, crossing over through the tornado’s path, and led them all the way to the river.

It was swollen from the deluge earlier yesterday morning and the day before that. Debris littered the shore, including logs and a random, upside-down canoe at the edge of the small beach.

Poirot ran into the water.

“Poirot, no!”

The dog turned around and gave her an annoyed look.

“It’s not safe.”

He barked at her.

“Lose the attitude. We’ll have to call for a boat. That water is too deep.”

Josh came up beside her. “Are you really trying to rationalize with a dog?”

“You know he understands.”

Josh laughed and didn’t deny what she had said.

Poirot sat down in the water, waiting.

Lance called in on the radio saying they needed a boat to follow the scent trail.

While they waited, the three humans searched the area for clues or belongings, anything that could be collected for those whose lives had been scattered across the mile-long stretch of the tornado’s path.

They collected a few items and made a pile on a picnic table they’d righted.

Chloe pointed at the canoe. “Probably should move that more inland too.”

Lance was closest, so he walked toward it with her.

They each grabbed an end and lifted. It was heavier than she expected, as if it was stuck on something underneath it.