I expect Nemeth to be the one to break the mood first. Instead, it’s Martin.
In the rapidly falling light, he brings out his ubiquitous map, snaps it open. “All right. Gather round. Over the next five days, this is the game plan.”
* * *
—
Martin has divided Devil’s Canyon into a series of quadrants. I’m no expert, but even I realize we can never cover all this ground in a matter of days. Hence each quadrant has been given a weighted value. What did Nemeth explain earlier? Probability of detection, something like that.
“We need to preserve Daisy for the heavy lifting,” Martin explains now. “She can only search for forty-five minutes at a stretch, then she requires a fifteen-minute break before continuing. Given that, the humans need to target her efforts as efficiently as possible, working as the forward crew.”
In the past ten years, I’ve found more bodies than I would’ve liked, but I’ve still never set out explicitly to recover bones. Given the dry climate and passing years, Timothy O’Day’s remains have most likely skeletonized into a collection of dried bones, scattered by scavengers. In all honesty, they wouldn’t appear much different from the kindling I gathered for tonight’s fire. A sad testimony to what we all become in the end.
“We know when Tim headed out, he left behind his tent, sleeping bag, and food but had most of his other gear with him,” Martin continues. “In the past few years, we’ve retraced several logical areas where Tim may have veered off trail, forking left instead of right, that sort of thing. Our assumption has been that someone as experienced as my son would quickly fall back to basic survival skills upon realizing he was lost. First and foremost is the need for shelter.”
I had always thought water would be top priority, but according to Luciana’s overview of the rule of threes, shelter came first.
“Therefore, we’re going to start with these four quadrants, which include a series of caves on the far side of the canyon. Any one of them would be a viable option for taking cover. It’s a solid two-hour hike to reach that destination. Along the way, I want everyone to pay attention. Remember, we’re not just looking for Tim, but signs of Tim.
“His backpack was navy blue. He wore a dark green windbreaker. He carried with him a variety of khaki pants and predominantly long-sleeve white knit tops, which he layered with red, green, or gray flannel. Be on the lookout for fragments of color, scraps of fabric, anything out of the ordinary. This area is not heavily trafficked. Spot any boot prints, signs of human passage, speak up.”
Martin pauses. We nod obediently.
“Tim also knew the importance of leaving a trail behind. Look for lengths of rope tied to branches. Maybe torn strips of cloth, or pieces of duct tape. He’d want to mark where he came from to manage his own orientation, as well as aid search efforts. Be aware.
“Also, while we’re headed to the caves as a source of natural cover, Tim was well-versed in making shelters. He had a tarp in his pack as well as plenty of cord, so he could’ve erected something as official as a makeshift tent to something as temporary as a twig lean-to. Best way to spot something like that, look for hard lines or straight objects. Nature is rarely perfect. If something catches your attention, stop and take a second look. Often our eyes pick up on things before our brains can fully process the image.”
I raise my hand.
Martin glances up, already appearing vaguely annoyed. “What?”
“How does that work for Daisy? If we get too far ahead, will that contaminate the scent field for her?”
Luciana answers the question. “If we were looking for a live recovery, then yes, I’d need Daisy to be in the lead and the rest of you to remain downwind. But cadaver recovery is very specific. Daisy isn’t trying to catch the scent of human, but the odor of decomp. Trust me, she won’t confuse us with that.”
“Even if its bones? I mean . . .” Scott falters, looking self-conscious, if not a bit stricken, to have stated the obvious out loud. “Five years later, how much decomp is left?”
Luciana again: “The age of the remains is not a factor. There have been cases of canines hitting on hundred-year-old bones. Nor do they confuse animal bones with human.”
This catches my attention. “Hundred-year-old bones must be nearly fossilized. What organic matter is even left for a dog to scent?”
“We don’t know.” Luciana shrugs. “A dog’s sense of smell is ten thousand to a hundred thousand times better than our own. It’s one of the reasons my team doesn’t utilize synthetic cadaver scents for training. Trust me, you can buy entire kits—Pseudo-Corpse Scent, Drowned Victim Scent. They come with chemical ratings, mass spec profiles, and all sorts of scientific mumbo jumbo. At the end of the day, however, no one is really sure what it is that triggers the dog’s response. Is there a corpse scent that still lingers on hundred-year-old bones? Certainly not that we can detect. For that matter, our training material of choice is human teeth. They’re easy enough to obtain, legal to own, and much less disturbing than, say, severed body parts. Old teeth don’t seem particularly decompy to me, especially after we’ve buried them a million times. But our dogs always know.