Where-oh-where can Atalanta be? The school and the Reservation is in a panic looking for her. Another exciting chapter as our heroine goes missing! LOL! Melodramatic yes but it is a lot of fun.

Chapter 30

The celebration was winding down earlier this year than normal. But the day’s festivities had started earlier due to the Devil’s Washboard run. The snow and colder weather settling in had convinced many to retreat beside a warm home fire.

Eloise, along with several of the organizers was chatting at the food and refreshment table enjoying the fellowship of their clan.
“Looks like the excitement has died down.”

“Yeah,” Eloise agreed, “It’s just as well with the weather moving in.”

“Anybody seen Atalanta?” Ben who had just joined the group asked.

“She was just with them girls over there,” Eloise pointing to the trio of Darcy, Vicki, and Penny.

“I think I’ll go and see about rounding her up so we can go home.” His wife nodded her agreement.

“She wasn’t feeling good and stepped outside for some air,” Penny replied when asked about Atalanta, but the girls sheepishly reported that they had forgotten the time. Ben had gone outside to try and find her, but he was unable to tell her footprints from the others that were leaving to go home, as the gently falling snow filled in the tracks. He turned to walk back inside.

“She wasn’t feeling well,” Ben told his wife adding, “I’m going to see if she went home. Will you all check to see that she is not in the building … and check in the bathrooms?”

“I think I’ll go with you.”

Ben pulled his wife aside and whispered tersely, “I know she can take care of herself but she is only 14 years old and she is in our care; I wish you’d stay here because if she is not at home we will have to organize a search and rescue mission. It’s not snowing hard enough that I couldn’t find some sign of her if she went home.”

“You’re right,” Eloise replied somberly kissing her husband on his cheek, “We’ll check here thoroughly, and you … be careful.” She watched him leave, ducking slightly through the open door frame and disappear behind the closed door. She turned to her companions to direct their search efforts while she went to talk with the three teenagers that had last spoken with Atalanta.

Stopping, his feet on the porch, Ben knew the house was empty. It felt empty. Walking over from the town hall he had seen plenty of footprints. The more recent prints and the earlier imprints leaving half filled depressions from the accumulating snow.

Nevertheless, he called out and searched every room even though the house seemed to mock his every action. She wasn’t there. Hopefully Eloise had had better luck than he did. He was standing at the kitchen counter reaching for the phone to call her when it began clamoring for his attention, echoing loudly in the empty house and magnified by the still cozy air.

“You find her,” Ben asked.

“Find who?”

Ben recognized Sam’s voice, “I thought you were Eloise calling. What’s up?”

“Atalanta hasn’t checked in and she isn’t answering her phone so I thought I’d call you to see what she is up to.”

“The truth is Sam; we don’t know what she’s up to. Nobody has seen her in the last hour. She’s not here and I thought you were Eloise calling from the town hall with news.”

“She is not with some of the kids?”

“No, that’s not likely. I did talk with three girls that apparently were the last to see her. They said she wasn’t feeling well and went outside for fresh air, and they being teenagers got busy talking and forgot about checking on her.”

“How long ago was that,” Sam asked.

Checking his watch Ben answered, “Over an hour now. I’ll call you back after I talk to Eloise.”

Despite the late hour the Donnor kitchen and living room was crowded. Three members of the reservation police, both Donners, four other members of the tribal council, and a handful of volunteers were on hand.

After Ben had called her back Sam had reported to Delarose and he had sent her and another security member to the village to help in search and rescue efforts. It was after midnight when they arrived at the Donnor home and were debriefed. They had two expert trackers out looking for any sign of Atalanta, and had begun calling the neighbors from the Donner home.

The only solid information they had was from the three teenage girls that were the last people to see Atalanta. They reported that she complained of being hot, and a queasy stomach, as well as asking about who Marty Hover was. Marty Hover was among the missing too, and now a person of interest. They were going on the assumption that Atalanta was drugged and wandered off, or was kidnapped.
Their options were limited to the trackers until daylight, and even then depending on the weather, it was highly unlikely that short of a miracle they would find her trail. Logistics for a grid area search was being readied for the first light of the new day-Christmas day.
They found Atalanta’s personal cell phone in her room but not the phone that Sam had given her. She probably had it with her and by tomorrow they would be able to triangulate its position.

“What do we know about Mr. Hover,” Sam asked again.

“Not much,” answered Police Chief Joe Mayor, “he graduated high school this year and does odd jobs. He has had a few juvenile pranks, underage drinking and marijuana usage, but nothing extraordinary either way.”

Sam narrowed her gaze, thanked him and walked off to find Eloise who was in the kitchen.

“Excuse me,” Sam interjected in a conversation Eloise was having with several women, “but could I talk with you a minute.”

“I feel that we’re missing something,” Sam began once she had Eloise alone, “do you think that I can talk with one or more of the girls that Atalanta was with last.”

“Sure Penny lives right down this same street. I’ll call and see if she’s still up.”

“You didn’t have to come with me,” Sam grunted as she and Eloise waded through a foot of snow that had fallen.

“I don’t mind,” Eloise said from behind her ski mask, “I could do with some fresh air and they know me. What do you hope to learn?” she added.

“Probably nothing,” Sam admitted, “but you never know what little thing turns out to be that one piece you need. Besides it is better than doing nothing.”

Eloise nodded in agreement. Atalanta projected an air of cool confidence and ancient wisdom that belied her tender years, but she felt uneasiness in this situation that logic failed to displace.

Sam too, was reviewing what she knew concerning Atalanta. She was Sam decided unique even among the mutants that came to Whateley. Atalanta was a mystery; a dichotomy of competing powers. Or else she was package deal mutant but not the typical physic that power testers were familiar with. No, hers was combining the Exemplar trait with a warrior spirit honed by centuries of conflict, and passed down through her DNA. A natural skill uniquely sharpened by training with Manny Black; a special operations soldier that specialized in controlled and lethal violence.

She knew families and bloodlines passed down blessings and curses to their offspring; her ancestors all had served and fought in almost every war for the last 500 hundred years. That heritage belonged to Atalanta as well; both her parents had served in the military.

That was the natural physical heritage that she inherited, but Sam also felt that Atalanta’s heritage included a spiritual or supernatural component. She felt that Atalanta’s recent birthmark was sufficient evidence by itself to draw that conclusion.

The unease that she felt was that this mystery smacked of an amateurish attempt that was buoyed by dumb luck. And dumb luck often was a person’s greatest opponent because you just couldn’t plan for it. In her experience that kind of luck needed to be pressed hard before it changed into good fortune or deep do-do for you.

She trailed Eloise who had turned off the street and up a drive that glistened smoothly from the flashlights they carried. A porch light came on as they trudged across it’s wooden planking. Seconds later more illumination sprang into action as the front door opened highlighting a man and a woman.

They looked to be in their 40’s, dark haired with the muddy complexion of the Medawihla tribe.

“Come in,” the woman greeted Eloise warmly stepping back to allow them passage.

“This is Samantha Everheart from security at the school, and she thought that Penny might know more than she thinks she does,” Eloise explained cleaning the snow from her shoes as Sam followed suit.

“Sam has more experience investigating these things,” Eloise continued once they were firmly inside.

“I’m older than I look,” Sam explained at their raised eyebrows.

“Sam this is Ralph and Penelope Beaufort,” Eloise added briefly as they followed the Beauforts into the kitchen.

Seated at the table was a girl with dark curly hair cut short in a page boy look with clear blue eyes. She contrasted sharply with Atalanta’s long athletic frame and quiet, confident, but oddly innocent air that she emanated.

Again she reflected on the mixed messages that Atalanta sent.

“Penny,” Sam began once they were introduced and sat down across from her, “I want you to start from right before you got to the site of the Devil’s run and try and recall with as much detail as you can everything that went on. From the foods you ate and the drinks you drank. I want you to relive the taste and the texture, the wind in your face, the names of the people you saw and talked with. Okay?”

Penny hesitantly began from when she arrived at the foot of the mountain, speaking sometimes in monotone at other times in breathless hurried bursts. Sam smiled while the grownups fidgeted before they retreated to another room.

“Wait,” Sam interrupted her, “did Atalanta say he ‘gave me the creeps’ or that he was creepy?”

Penny looking up and to the right sheepishly recalled, “It was me that said he gave me the creeps and Atalanta agreed that was the vibe that she got too from him.”

“No biggie,” Sam assured her, “But can you describe for me what makes Marty creepy? Is it the clothes he wears, what he says or does, or who his friends are?”

“No I don’t think it is any of those things,” Penny mused, “it’s not what he says; its how he says it. He’s around when you don’t want him to be.”

“Like a stalker?”

“No a stalker is personal to one person; Marty seems to be just around every corner to almost all the girls and he seems to have this smile that he is laughing at your expense. He makes me wonder if I have something on my teeth or toilet paper stuck to my shoe.”

“Okay I’ve got it. Go on. What happened next?”

Penny continued her narrative until Atalanta left their table and went to retrieve her coat.

“Are you sure,” Sam interjected, “Are you sure,” she asked again leaning forward on her elbows, “that she carried her drink with her to get her coat.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Finally, Sam had something concrete to investigate; the drink cup might have been trashed but it was equally true that it might not have been seen and was still where Atalanta left it.

“Thank you Penny,” Sam smiled, “you’ve been a big help.”

Eloise and Penny’s parents had gathered back around the table after wandering off.

“You find something,” Eloise inquired as she came to stand beside Sam, and the Beauforts beside their daughter.

“A long shot, but I’ve had long shots that have paid off before. I need to get into the meeting hall tonight.”

“I can let you in.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not really,” Eloise replied shrugging into her coat adding, “we have to go outside anyway to get home.”

Sam got into her cold weather gear, thanking Penny and her parents as she followed Eloise outside in the cold and the snow. The snow approaching knee depth on their way over was now above knee deep. If the snow kept falling it soon would be too deep for ordinary foot travel; requiring snowshoes, skis, a snowmobile, or four-wheel drive vehicles.

The town hall at the town square had its own courtyard flanked on each side by municipal services and the police station. Retrieving her key Eloise unlocked the door and turned the lights on flooding the interior. The cavernous interior empty now was making their voices and footsteps loud and heavy.

The coat rack was to the left of the door, beside it a small round table, and on it, a single plastic cup. Sam sniffed its contents and tasted it, “Hive analyze any ingredients not normally found in soft drinks.”

“ 3,4-methylenedioxy-methamphetamine, 3,4,5-trimethoxyphenethylamine , and 1-phenylpropan-2-amine.”
Hive supplied the relevant information; MDMA, Ecstacy, and Mescaline!

Sam straightened, her fingers tightening around the cup, “This drink has drugs in it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, we need to get back and show this to Chief Mayor,” Sam replied already in motion towards the door.

“That Dustin Bull that was here, where was he from?” Sam asked as they waded back through the snow..

“Dustin,” Eloise frowned, “What’s he got to do with this?”

“Maybe nothing, but that drink had mescaline in it, and mescaline has mind altering properties that have a high degree of use in the desert southwest.”

“He is from the Arizona/ California area,” Eloise replied and added, “but we expelled him.”

“That you did,” Sam agreed, “but how do you know he left?”

Eloise’s answer was long in coming, “By our honor code,” but Eloise knew as soon as the words were said that it was a system with no enforcement teeth. The remainder of the trip was spent in silence.

Seated at the Donner kitchen table Chief Mayor, Ben, Eloise, Sam, and Gregg Boone, a member of Whateley security that Delarose insisted on, discussed what the drugged drink meant for finding Atalanta.

“It is your opinion that Dustin didn’t leave when ordered to - that he wanted revenge, and that he recruited Marty to help him.”

Sam nodded her head in agreement.

“Why? What reward could Dustin offer Marty that he’d risk his life here for it?” Mayor argued.

“I don’t know,” Sam hissed through clenched teeth, “But what I do know is Atalanta’s drink was spiked, and that she and Marty are missing. Whether or not Marty had anything to do with that, the fact remains that in this weather they are both at risk and need to be found as quickly as possible.”

“That we can agree on,” Joe returned and turning to a subordinate gave additional instructions to the trackers.

One of those trackers, Lou LaRue, was several miles east of the village cutting signs through the forest northward. LaRue left the grid searchers to their maps, coordinates, pins, and protocols while he loaded his gear onto Homer his burro. His one concession was the radio to stay in touch. From the search headquarters he traveled directly east following the road to Dunwich, sacrificing haste for observation.
Intimately familiar with the wilds of New England, and especially the Medawihla Reservation, Lou pushed as hard as he dared for two hours before he began to look for signs. It was another thirty minutes before he stopped and led Homer south into the forest where the ridgeline ran farther east at a northerly angle before intersecting with the Dunwich road a couple of miles ahead. If Atalanta had come easterly they would have to follow the ridgeline and come past where he stood.

He judged that he had traveled fast and far enough that if anyone taken this route their sign would be visible. He didn’t find any sign which he expected, but he needed to cross it off his list. He then proceeded to backtrack to the road before crossing it to travel north into the woods. His destination was an old logging road passable by foot or by four wheel drive vehicles. It cut sideways across the terrain meeting with a series of other logger trails before entering Canada and joining with a road similar to the Dunwich road.

Lou knew too that along that trail was a line cabin; a cabin that was used by loggers for restocking, and lost hunters or hikers for rescue. If there was a kidnapping, and if they came this way, he expected that they would use that road and most likely be holed up in the cabin overnight. Locating that cabin in the dark and in a snowstorm was an almost impossible task but then he didn’t need to find the cabin; only find and follow their sign. The snow seemed to be slackening and a look to the skies revealed thinning clouds to the north and west with one lonely dim star peeking through. The bulk of the front had moved through their area and what were left were intermittent snow bands.

He heard its labored breathing long before the jalopy came into sight, it’s twin headlights cutting across the slick smooth surface. Lou was thankful he had not chosen to cross the road. He watched from the cover as the clunker plowed through the snow covered roadway. He chuckled as he walked from the forest and in the wake of the receding automobile.

“Homer,” He told the burro, “wasn’t it nice of them folks to break trail for us.” The donkey brayed agreement or it could have been annoyance at being roused from his warm stall. Donkey brays were all pretty similar, so the bray could have just been a bray.
Lou patted Homer’s neck fondly, “I agree,” he laughed while fishing out his phone and following in the car tracks.

“Yo, Joe, Lou here, they just passed by me,” he greeted the Chief by name. “Yeah,” he added when asked for details, “The sawmill road, I saw three of them, and no, I couldn’t identify any of them, but the vehicle did look like Mark’s.”

Lou was told to follow it discreetly; not to engage, but only to observe and that Joe would be along with reinforcements after daylight.

Lou acknowledged the direction and hung up frowning.

Lou and Homer made good time now that they were following a plowed trail, but as the terrain became steeper and route more treacherous, he was left walking between the tire tracks rather than face the packed snow that had refrozen.

He almost missed where they had turned off the road; the turnoff was at a dip, and in a series of switchbacks that slipped behind a rock formation into a grove of spruce with a smattering of hardwood.

Surprisingly the turnoff was flat and broad and because it was protected by the overhanging branches, there was little accumulation here. Suddenly, as if a switch was thrown the forest retreated leaving a large clearing directly in his path. A cabin peeked out from under the trees at the far end surrounded by several types of vehicles. The car he had been following was parked directly in front of the cottage and less than 30 yards away. The three men were close enough that their voices carried clearly, and if not gathered about the trunk and facing away would have easily seen him.

What happened next was the stuff of legends told around campfires.