“Now, Daisy is our tracker. Bob is our recorder. That makes me the navigator. Most of you probably have real hobbies. I do things like watch how mist rises off the water, the movement of fog as it eddies through a canyon, the waft of smoke from a backyard grill. Scent behaves exactly the same way, as it is captured by the same air currents. It rises up with temperature and open expanses. It pools at barriers, such as fence lines, mountain ridges, thick outcroppings. Cooler mornings you want to start downwind in a gully. Hot afternoons you want to be at the top of the same gully.” She pauses. “I put our current conditions at base neutral, not too hot, not too cold. Meaning I’ll start Daisy downwind”—she holds up the puffer—“then keep an eye on topography. The rest of you can assist with that as well. A downed tree, a steep rise in elevation. Look for anyplace you can picture fog collecting. Those are great targets for Daisy, increasing her probability of picking up the trail.
“Your next job: Stay out of Daisy’s way. You should spread out behind us, like sweepers on a soccer field, where you’ll serve as extra sets of eyes. Daisy will be tracking for human remains, meaning she’ll go straight past everything else—a discarded backpack, a scrap of cloth, a bit of cord, et cetera. For that matter, she could be standing three feet from the body, and if it’s even slightly downwind, she’ll walk right past it. Her focus will be on what she can smell. Our focus needs to be on what we can see.”
We nod obediently.
“I recommend arranging yourselves in three teams of two. Partly for safety’s sake. We don’t need anyone staring at the ground so hard he or she loses their way and steps off a cliff. You might think I’m being silly, but trust me, it happens.”
“It happens,” Nemeth agrees.
“Daisy, are you ready to work?”
Daisy prances again. She is so ready to work. Her entire being screams, Work, work, work.
“So, in a moment, I’m going to give Daisy her search command. You’re going to think I’m crazy, but it’s an inside joke. Immediately afterwards, Daisy’s going to race around, desperate to discover the scent trail. So be prepared, and stay out of her way. Then you’ll see her settle, grow more methodical in her approach. We’ll give her two hours, standard protocol. If she hasn’t discovered anything by then, we should probably move on.” Luciana glances at Martin. “This particular site does seem temporary in nature, versus the caves you’ve identified as possible long-term shelters.”
Martin nods. He appears mollified to have his master plan acknowledged.
“Any questions?” Luciana asks us.
We shake our heads.
“Pair up.”
I already figure Martin and Nemeth will partner, being superior beings and all. That leaves the four members of the B team—myself, Neil, Scott, and Miguel—to sort out. I’ve been looking for a chance to talk to Neil, so I turn to him automatically. But he and Miggy have already closed ranks. And not subtly at all. They take a definitive step away from Scott, leaving him standing alone. I watch the sting of rejection play across his face. Then the squaring of his shoulders as he accepts his fate.
He gained a wife from the events of the past five years, but it clearly cost him dearly. I wonder if he ever thinks the price was too high.
I cross to him, stick out my hand in formal recognition of our partnership, and say, “You chose wisely, my friend. I have Josh’s secret candy stash.”
He flashes me a grateful smile, while Miggy blusters, “Candy stash?”
“First one to help Daisy pick up the trail gets a peanut butter cup.”
Nemeth and Martin roll their eyes—kids! But Luciana and Bob are definitely in. I’m sure Daisy will earn mucho rewards from Luciana, so it seems fitting the humans have something to look forward to.
Luciana pulls out a map, reviews it shortly, then hands it to Bob, who already has a compass in hand and a pencil tucked behind his ear. She holds out the puffer. Releases a plume of orange powder. We all watch it float through the air, curling sinuously, and I realize the dog handler is right: There is something incredibly mesmerizing about wind flow.
Luciana heads closer to the original hiking path. Releases a second puff. Corrects her position slightly, till the orange powder is drifting directly toward her.
“Direction?” she asks Bob.
“Wind is coming from the northwest.”
“Have our start point on the map?”
“X marks the spot.”
“All right. Behind me. Spread out. Make sure you’re tracking your own positions. Are we ready?”