Page 107 of The Whispering Girls

“One was a county over in Eagle Brook and the other was in Davenport, near the coast.”

“That’s vague.”

“I know. I would need more time to deep-dive back in ourrealoffice. This was all I could do right now.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever been this unprepared for a situation and investigations—ever.”

McGaven was looking at the property lines between Jack’s property and Devin’s on his iPad. “It looks like there are areas that almost seem to merge between the properties.”

“Let me guess. The wooded area where there were hunters.”

“Yes, but there’s also another area that might be good to enter from,” he said.

“It’s not certain we’re going to find them at this property. But people running from the law and committing crimes feel more comfortable in areas they know well. Many criminals who commit crimes like burglary, home invasion, and rape stay within a certain number of blocks of where they live.”

“We’re going to be searching and having surveillance in the area?”

“Yes. With all the stuff you brought, did you bring any of those wildlife cameras?”

“I have two. We might not need them.”

“Why is that?”

“We witnessed people hunting, right?” he said.

“Yes…so there will most likely be those types of cameras in place.”

“Yep.”

Katie wasn’t sure if she felt good about the search. It felt like they were going to be entering a combat zone.

“It’s hard not to think about John,” he said.

“I know. But he’s a survivor.” Katie kept telling herself this, and her instincts told her he was still alive. But not for long if they didn’t find him soon.

FORTY-FIVE

Sunday 1330 hours

John was past being hungry and he didn’t think about it anymore, but his thirst was almost unbearable. If he could make it to the top, there would be plenty of water with the snow. There was one time when he was on a Navy Seal mission when the team was pinned down for days and the water was severely limited. He remembered how they had worked together and each had just the smallest amount of water to sustain them.

He had been using the handcuffs to scrape away at the wall. It hadn’t been successful at first, so he kept trying different places. The brightness from midday helped to illuminate just enough light for him to see basic outlines, but not many details.

John had found an area that was loose, getting ready to give way. He focused on what he knew in the moment.

He knew that he was in a well, which meant he must be on some type of farm or ranch.

He knew that the well was old since it wasn’t being used.

He knew that it wasn’t a working well based on the dry and crumbling interior.

It was highly unlikely that anyone would find him and that his only chance to survive would be to get out and reorient himself as to his location.

The noise that echoed all around him was the sound of his heavy breathing.

He seemed to be making headway. The water was more than a trickle and becoming closer to a steady stream. He decided to start several holes in the same area and soon there were several small streams hitting the bottom of the well.

John sat down to recoup his energy. He rested his hands and arms. There was a warm sensation on his hands and he realized his wrists had been injured with the constant pounding and friction of the handcuffs. Blood trickled from his wrists down his hands and spotted his shoes and the well bottom.