Large raindrops clashed against the windshield, the greatest of which had to be close to four millimeters in size. The sound they made brought up repressed memories of bullets as they burst on the windshield. Images of her time on deployment distracted her from her patrol. One positive of the storm was that it kept the roads quite, so her lack of focus was not too detrimental to her patrol. Her subconscious fixated on two voices that projected through the radio. They spoke of the tropical storms that would continue to make landfall prior to Hurricane Matthew. It appeared that Jacksonville would not dodge the main storm for the first time in decades. A flash of lightning illuminated the interior of her patrol car like the midday sun. A short time after her shoulder radio snapped her out of her fog.

“Possible ten fifty on highway two hundred and fifty near the merge with highway two hundred and twenty nine.”

“Ten four, car twenty four responding.”

Possible accident? Who on earth is driving in this weather? She clicked a button in a square of thirty or so other buttons in the center console. The light bar atop her patrol car began to flash red and blue in silence. It did not make much sense to use the siren, since it would struggle to overpower the noise of the storm.

As she neared the T-junction of highways two hundred fifty and two hundred twenty nine, another flash of lightning cracked mere feet in front of her car. Its boom made her heart skip a beat. Behind the flash four blots darted into the road. Tires squealed as they struggled to come to a stop. The four blots bounced about the road to avoid the car while it spun five hundred and forty degrees. In slow motion, a fifth object crossed the front of the vehicle. This one was much larger and reflected the glare from the headlights; it was a car! Any closer and the two vehicles would have swapped paint.

When the car careened to a stop, it faced backward in the middle of the road. Her hands shook and the knuckles paled as they clutched the steering wheel as she took deep breaths in and out to regulate her heart rate. Through the vent, carbon and sulfur burned her nostrils. She could make out the faint outline of the automobile she missed by such a narrow margin. For some reason, the driver’s door appeared to be wide open. How did I not hit the door? Did someone get out? No sooner had she stepped out into the rain, had her uniform turned into a sloppy mess. She imagined that if felt similar to wearing a soggy biscuit. She had to take each step leaned parallel to the road to keep from being blown over by the wind.

“Hey, is anyone there!?” her throat burned much like it was inflamed from strep throat. Yet, she stained to hear her own yells.

Behind her headlights oscillated between high and low beams to get her attention. With slow and deliberate steps, she approached the third motor vehicle. She could not make out the person through the windshield and the muscles in her arm tensed in apprehension. Once at the driver’s window, the glass rolled down into the doorframe.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” she asked in an even tone.

“Hell if I know. I haven’t got a clue what idiot sent me to Jacksonville in the middle of a hurricane, nor why I-Ten was closed. Who closes an entire interstate anyway!” the driver snapped.

“Sir, please remain calm. Let me be more specific, why are you stopped here and why did you flash your headlights at me?”
“Yes, well I was driving down this God forsaken road and lightning all but struck the hood of my car. Then I noticed that car sitting there. I couldn’t tell if I hit it or not, and I’ll be damned if I get out in this consarned nightmare weather . . . That’s why I called you.”

“Ok, well did you see anyone leave the other ve . . .” she began to ask but was cut off.

“What do you think! I can’t see sh . . .”

“Please don’t interrupt me. Do you have any helpful information for me?”

“Nothing more than I already said.”

“Very well, what part of your car are you concerned collided with the other one?”

“Driver’s side bumper,” he said his eyes rolling from right to left.

“I can tell you there is no damage, if you have nothing further for me you may leave.”

“Hold on, how do I get to Jacksonville from here?” His arrogant tone tried her patience.

“Do you not have a GPS?”

“My phone died and I forgot my car charger,” he responded in a more humbled tone.

“Turn around and follow this road to the ‘T’, turn right, follow that road, and you will hit the city.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem sir, drive safely.”

She stepped away to let him leave, his tires sprayed water in a rooster tail as he spun the car around and took off. Moron . Any other time she would have followed after and pulled him over out of principle. Now however there were more important issues to attend to.

Everything seemed to be encased in a waterfall. I can't see a darn thing. She leaned to look in the door, just before she could get a good view two eyes peered up at her a few feet above the road, "Hey, are you ok?" Two, four, and six more eyes inched into the light, "Ah . . . hello?". Lighting flashed in the distance; its radiance unveiled four coyotes, close to two or two and half feet each, "Oh heck no". Somehow the rain seemed to flow upwards around them. There was a ten-second pause before the thunder roared. With its clap, she pivoted on her heels and took off toward her patrol car. Within reach of the door, she slipped, and her head bounced off the pavement. Now the metallic scent of iron was all she could smell. Her hands slipped across the wet pavement, which no longer felt solid but akin to gelatin.

"Come on!" Two more steps, and she slumped into the driver's seat. Something kept the door from latching shut. A whimper echoed through the interior of the car, the coyote's head slipped out of the door, and it latched at last.

"Shit!" she fumbled to grab her shoulder radio and dropped it between the seats, “Are kidding me, come on!” She pulled it back up by the cord and clicked the transmit button.

   About six hours later the storm had wound down and she returned to the spot from the night before. She would have rather investigated the area while she was there before, but the intense weather was too much of a risk. Puddles lingered along the road. One tropical storm had ended but more were sure to follow. She approached the red twenty fifteen Mustang GT. Her vest rose, paused at the top of its arc for a brief second, then returned to its original position. Please don't be a body. Anticipation mounted as she neared the now closed door of the Mustang. Her knuckles flushed white as she gripped the handle and opened the door inch by inch. There was no body, but the vehicle was packed full. She pulled the small notebook from her sleeve pocket and began to write down what she saw.

• From the rearview mirror hung a ball chain necklace with one single dog tag and a wedding ring. Closer examination of the dog tag showed that it was likely a genuine tag; most telling was the full social followed by USN and O POS. The wedding ring looked to be tungsten; tiny grooves were etched into the circle; a small diamond was inlaid in the center. On the bottom, the band was smooth, which seemed odd; perhaps it had been resized.
• In the passenger seat were various water and sports drink bottles underneath several different backpacks. Sleeves, pant legs, and socks overflowed from within the packs. Off to the side of her pad, she wrote, "Uh, what a horrid smell". It was an earthy dirt smell mixed with hints of sulfuric tones. At the very top of the pile, almost in contact with the ceiling, was a blanket and pillow. Each fold of the blanket was a near perfect ninety-degree angle, and each layer was pulled tight; not a single wrinkle was visible.
• Two twenty pack cases of water, one half empty, lay on top of a hodgepodge of papers and folders in the passenger footwell. She sifted through the documents, but it was comprised of junk mail, ads, and other unimportant information. A few fast-food wrappers were mixed in among them. Leaned up against the case was a single coyote brown combat boot. Embedded in the laces was a second identical dog tag. To the side, she annotated, "Good chance he is a combat veteran, it is more common for them to put tags in their boots".
• A single backpack rested on the driver's side rear seat. From inside, she pulled out several adult novelty items. Wrinkles in her face loosened when she realized they were all still in their packages. On each one was a sticky note that read: "Why did you buy this?! You are pathetic". Dozens of empty vodka bottles formed a small pile on the floor. Almost every flavor imaginable: standard vodka, cherry, vanilla, pineapple, grape, peppermint, watermelon, whipped cream, and orange. She commented, "Good God".
• Anchored between the two backseats, a bright pink car seat stood out against the black interior. Stacks upon stacks of photos and letters filled the car seat, but her attention was pulled away by a Colt M4 rifle leaned against the car seat. No magazine was in the mag well; she scanned the area to see if any magazines were on the floor but saw none. Small indents cut into the smooth skin of her forearm as she lifted the firearm towards her. For an unloaded weapon, it is heavier than it should be. Further inspection showed that the action had been welded shut; likewise, the barrel had been welded. Concrete had been poured into the barrel to plug it. With an asterisk, she remarked, "Likely an old service firearm obtained by illegal means". No longer interested in the firearm, she focused now on the picture in the car seat. Every picture contained the same three people, one male mid to late twenties, one female close in age, and one female child about four to five years old. She observed, "Seems like a happy family, so why . . ." a small piece of paper slid across her hand; its smooth surface caused small bumps to form on her arm. It was a letter that read:

"Dearest Love,

I hope you are well; Z and I cannot wait for you to be back home in a few days. Is it weird that the last nine months have gone by both fast and taken forever? Z can hardly wait to show you her new trick. I don't want to spoil it for you, though. Well, see you soon. Love you so!

Forever and Always,

V."

A response letter read:

"My Love V,

This has been by far the worst deployment ever for me. There are things I had to do that no person should ever be forced to do. I pray that Z will not think any less of me. I am beyond excited that my brother will be able to bring you guys with him on next week's MAC flight. I hate that I don't get to see Z's tricks as she learns them. I hope you recorded them at the very least. Well, the muster call just sounded, so I got to go. Love you so!

With Love,

J"

After reading several similar notes, she found one last one that was in a different handwriting, or at least the formation of the letters was different. Opposed to the all capital block letters used prior, this one was written in a cross between cursive and standard handwriting. It read:

"Dearest V,

It has been almost a year since you and Z were taken from me . . ."

Substantial splotches distorted the ink on the paper and made it illegible. She could almost feel the moisture trapped in the paper's fibers. Further down, the letter became legible again and read:

"It kills me that I was not there for you, I should have been with you. Why God can't just take me so that I can be with you again, I don't know. I have tried to speed up the process, but for some reason, life won't leave me . . . God, I miss you.

Hope to be with you soon,

Your love"

• There was only one more thing for her to inspect. A sizable sheet was draped over something substantial in the passenger rear seat. She grabbed the corner of the sheet and ripped it away from the headrest.

Oh God! Not only was there one body, there were two. She first noticed the little girl from the photos, Oh God, please no! What kind of sick person is this guy. She ran to the passenger's door, she ripped the handle, her shoulder bulged, and let out a loud pop.

"Of course, it is locked," her face was bright red and warm as the summer sun, "Thank goodness no one was here to see that."

On the balls of her feet, she double timed to the driver's side, unlocked the doors, and sprinted back to the passenger's side. This time the door opened so smooth she all but ripped it off its hinges. Twenty or so empty plastic bottles fell in a tidal wave. Their plastic shells gave off the sound of firecrackers under her feet. When she slid the lever on the backrest of the seat, her index fingernail caught in the fabric and ripped a crescent moon shape out of her nail. The ripped off half clung to the cloth; she was so focused on the little girl that she didn't notice. With great care, she cradled the girl's head. Fibers on her sleeves stretched to accommodate the flex of her biceps. It was not until she set the body down that the cotton stuffing spilled on the ground.

"What the . . ." before her eyes, the body transitioned from a girl to a life size doll with an image of the girl on the front. Aluminum inside the fender popped, a dent hugged her back under her weight. She grabbed her head and flashes of a small girl soaked in blood overlapped her field of view, and then everything went black.

A young girl lay in the middle of the desert road, her simple white dress was stained red. Two holes tore the cloth in the center left portion of her chest. She approached the body and her heart sank.

“Oh my God no . . . I . .”

“Sergeant what the hell happened?”

“Gunny . . . I . . . I didn’t see her . . . she crossed the line of fire.”

“Go get your mind right, I can’t use you if you're all flustered.”

“Oorah Gunny.”

“It’s Gunnery Sergeant, leave that Gunny shit for off duty.”

“Aye aye.”

Her eyes rolled back and forth and her vision began to refocus. Where am I? What happened? As she started to recollect her surroundings her eyeline focused on the ditch in front of her. Five yards away, a single footprint was embossed in the mud. Beyond the tree line was unknown territory for her. She had a vague idea of the area. For all she knew, it could be an open field, dense forest, or sprawling swamp. All of these types of terrain were somewhere in the conservation area. No matter the case, it was clear, backup was her next step. While the landscape was unclear to her, this man had been there for at least a few days if he was still close by. On top of that, he may be armed and dangerous.

Small bumps on her shoulder radio left rings on her fingers, "This is officer two four one, I have a code S-eleven, and possible codes S-eight and S-cero. Request additional support at my location".

It would be a while before the other units would arrive, so once she was back in her patrol car, she took the opportunity to pull up this man's background. Click, click, click the keys of the keyboard called out so fast they began to bleed together. Since she had the name and full social, the computer pulled up the information in an instant. Male, six foot two, two hundred and twenty pounds, resides in Orange Park, a common place for sailors to live.

As luck would have it, one of her friends was a Navy Master at Arms, or MA, on Naval Air Station Jacksonville. I don't remember what shift she is on . . . I'll just shoot a text. Light from her cellphone left a white glow on her retinas, which made her grey eyes shine with the vibrance of pure silver. An image of her with a black and gold cat nestled around the back of her neck appeared. She opened her phone's messenger app, clicked on her friend's number, and tapped its screen with vigorous precision.

"Hey, I hope I am not waking you. Could you get some information on a sailor there? His name is J____ social xxx-xx-xxxx. I might be opening a case on him. Thanks!"

Over the radio, a male voice broke the silence, "Vehicles forty-eight, twenty, and two are en route ten to twenty minutes out."

"Ten four."

Car two? Why is the Chief responding? Tremors vibrated her hand, a reply from her friend had come in such short time, "How's it goin? Next time a full social might not be wise in a text. MAs and I searched the name, he isn't stationed here . . . Perhaps Mayport? We are giving them a call. Be faster that way than waiting for a manual search. Know what I'm sayin. FLTMPS isn't working, or we could have used that. TTYL / LYL!" Darn, USN on the tag means U.S. Navy. I hope he didn't transfer to one of the other branches.

Static overpowered a faint voice on her radio. Head titled toward her left shoulder, she spoke into her radio, "Ten one." More static, "Ten one, I repeat ten one".

"Don't . . . him . . . do it,” a young girl’s voice cracked in and out. 

"What the? Who is this?"

"Find . . . keep . . .safe."

"Girl, you better stop messing with me. This is an official channel," in the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of red and blue lights. In tandem, the static cleared from her radio.

Car forty eight was the first to arrive. The officer in the passenger's seat walked towards the abandoned car while the driver walked towards her and tapped his index finger on his shoulder radio.

"Did the two of you hear that also?" she asked, one foot out of the door.

"Ya trippin? Ain't been a peep. We been tryin to radio you for a hot minute."

"Peculiar, I had some crazy interference."

"Interference, eh? What ya be . . ." she raised her right hand to cut in, "Sorry to interrupt, got an important text".

"Girl, can you believe this Mayport is saying you'll need to get a subpoena to get any info. All we got is: he was last attached to HSM-40 after a five year stint at HSM-46 next door. Sorry we couldn't get more. Love yah girl, oh and good luck!"

"Guess it's the hard way then. Sorry, you were saying?"

"I said, what ya be hearin?"

"Oh, some crazy static and some girl messing around."

"Punks. Well, what you got goin on here?"

Notebook in hand, she listed off the contents of the car, "I can't place this guy. So much of the scene makes it seem like this guy is struggling on the mental front. Yet, at the same time, there is so much structure and order. All the cases I have investigated that are similar to this, by this stage, the person struggles just to function".

"Yo, what is with these creepy body pillow things?" the third officer asked from the car.

"Yeah, I don't know. Maybe he is trying to pretend his family is still together?"

"What is the plan then?" the second officer wondered.

"I figured we'd wait for chief since she has a K-nine . . ."

"Romeo just got his drone qual yesterday. Let’s just use that."

"Oh, cool. Yeah, let's do that."

"Romeo!"

"What up, Quebec?"

"Get the drone, we gonna scout."

Romeo grinned so wide that small u-shaped dimples formed at the ends of his lips. He had a bounce in his step like a rabbit. From the trunk, he pulled out a hard-shell Pelican case. One that had perfect proportions at twenty-four inches in height, width, and depth. Romeo lifted the giant of a drone, his spine complained with a crack that made her hair stand on end, "Hey, lift with your legs!". He clambered to set it down. With the wings extended, it showed its actual mass. Most drones she had flown could fit inside of a single wing. It had three cameras: a Forward Looking Infrared for thermal detection, a standard infrared for low light situations, and a standard high definition video camera. Next, he pulled out a twenty four inch monitor, one that was nicer than the second monitor she had for her home computer. Seconds later, the drone was in the air. While most drones sound like a swarm of bees, this one sounded like an actual helicopter.

"Soon, they won't even need us anymore," she commented, her eyes widened and narrowed, similar to a camera lens' attempt to focus.

" 'Bout a mile, mile 'n a half of thick forest, half mile of scattered trees, 'n all swamp after that. West heads further into the park 'n more forest. East is a cliff, swamp, and more forest."

"Thinkin’ East then boss?” Quebec asked. 

"It would make sense, easiest to hide in the forest . . . but I don't think he is there. My guess is he is at the edge of the dense foliage near the swamp."

Tree after tree crossed the screen, much the same as in a cut scene from a video game or movie. Until all three of them perked up in unison, "There that's it!" she exclaimed.

Coordinates are locked on the top right of the screen for reference. The drone continued a slow sweep of the area for signs of life, traps, or other hazards, "Wait, wait, go back".

"What'd yah see?" Romeo asked

"A girl, didn't you see her?"

"You still trippin? Ain't nothin' there," Quebec chuckled.

"I'll call the drone back 'n we'll play the tape back."

Fingers buried in her ears to the first knuckle, she tried to block out the thunder of the drone landing. Still images jumped through the timeline of the recording, "There! See I told you!".

Both of their heads turned to look over their shoulders, in the same way, an owl would, "You really are trippin'". "What no she was ther . . ." static reached out to them from their shoulder radios, " . . .Please . . .him . . .needs . . .you . . .".

"What the fu . . ." Romeo quivered; his eyes bounced around in their sockets, his brain unable to make sense of what was going on. "Yo, you freaking me out".

"It isn't me . . ."

"You settin' us up, yeah?"

"Nah, fam. She bein for real."

Through the window of her patrol car, she unlocked her Mossberg. Strapped it around her shoulder, reached back into the center console, and pulled out a belt. Along the belt were small pouches filled with shells. Down the middle of the pouches on the right side lay a piece of tape, the edges frayed into long strands. Permanent marker on the tape read: Double Aught. In line with the center of the strip, a piece of tape read: One Ounce on the left side. In one motion, her left wrist flicked the belt around her waist, her right hand caught it, and clicked it in place. Quebec and Romeo had armed up as well; no words needed to be spoken. Romeo set his Ruger 556 on the ground, its strap broken at the front post, pushed a button on the drone, and off it went.