Do You Copy?

MOUNTAIN RESCUE SERVICE

Incident Report: Missing Person Search

Case File: AT–MP–2024-107

Subject: Caleb Grayson (Male, 25)

Date: 14 October 2024

Status: Missing

​

[18:37:16]

DISPATCH: Search and Rescue Command, stand by for a missing hiker report.

[18:37:21]

SAR COMMAND: Go ahead.

[18:37:23]

DISPATCH: Reporting party states Caleb Grayson, male, twenty-five years old, has failed to return from a scheduled day hike. Vehicle remains at the Hemlock Cross parking area. Subject is approximately five hours overdue.

[18:37:35]

SAR COMMAND: Last contact?

[18:37:37]

DISPATCH: Yesterday evening, but his phone is now unreachable.

[18:37:41]

SAR COMMAND: Weather conditions?

[18:37:43]

DISPATCH: Heavy rain overnight. Temperatures falling after sunset.

[Pause - 00:04]

[18:37:51]

SAR COMMAND: Understood. Notify all available teams.

[18:37:53]

DISPATCH: Copy.

[18:37:55]

TEAM THREE (JACK CARTER): Team Three responding.

[18:37:57]

SAR COMMAND: Missing hiker. Last known position somewhere along the western ridge, wearing a bright orange jacket. Details to follow.

[18:40:04]

TEAM THREE (JACK CARTER): Understood. En route.

[END TRANSCRIPT]

​

Jack rubbed his hands down his face, staring down at the taunting map on the table. It had been days, five to be exact, since he received the initial missing persons report. Days, and yet, nothing. No sign, no tracks, not even an idea as to where Caleb Grayson might be. The rain had been bad enough, and as the temperatures dropped and the water came, any hope of evidence pointing to a location was lost. Yet they persevered. Dividing the area into sectors, they searched, hour by hour, day by day. But the conditions were getting worse, and Caleb was nowhere to be found.

“Jack, the forecast says the storm is coming in fast, within the next day,” spoke Mike, the leader of Team Five. “If we don't find him soon…” He didn't have to finish his sentence; they both knew what was implied.

Jack sighed, leaning against the table. “Tell Team Two to double back past the ravine,” he said, exhausted, bags hanging below his eyes. But he couldn’t give up. Not now. “We continue the search till nine. If we’ve found nothing by then, we delay till the storm has passed.”

The notion of what they would be looking for once the storm was over didn’t need to be told. In their line of work, it was often best to keep an emotional barrier. Getting connected, getting personal about a case, never led to anything good. Burnout. Regret. Shame. A cycle of grief that never seemed to end.

“I’ll make sure they get the message. In the meantime, take a break, will you?” Mike looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow. “I swear, dude, you’re gonna drop dead any second.”

Jack nodded, watching as he left. He looked towards his watch. They still had a good few hours before night came; he could spare a few minutes to eat.

During the past five days, they had set up tents in one of the basins bordering the west ridge. The site had become a kind of temporary command post; it was muddy and wet from all the rainwater, with radios constantly crackling with static and repetitive updates.

Boots tracked in and out of the main tent without ceremony. On one side was a board with pinned maps, damaged from the weather, with a grid of lines drawn on with markers. Although by now the ink had become blurred.

Jack pulled on his coat and stepped outside.

The cool air hit immediately. It was surprisingly still, and if the situation weren't so dire, he’d appreciate the late summer evening. In the distance, he could see the mountains, holding strong against the recent barrage of poor weather.

A flare of orange caught his eye near the supply crate. Someone had lit a small burner stove, trying to coax warmth into a tin mug of coffee. The bitter smell drifted throughout the camp, grounding his senses.

Jack took a seat on a nearby log, accepting the warm drink pressed into his hands. He leisurely sipped, mind stuck on the missing hiker.

He’d done this job for years. And seen all kinds of things. Yet the one part that never sat with him was the way some people could just… disappear. One moment they're there, and the next—gone. It was something that should be impossible, and before he took this job, he thought it was. But over the years, if there's one thing he’s learnt, it’s to accept that sometimes things, strange as they may be, just happen. Not every mystery could be solved. Not every person could be found.

Before he could finish the coffee, he heard someone approach from behind.

“Jack.”

He turned. It was one of the newer volunteers, still young and eager in his job. That wouldn’t last.

“We’ve got a possible sighting.” He was fidgeting with his hands, eyes not meeting Jack's.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

The volunteer hesitated, glancing back towards the main tent.

“Just north, just near the rock shelf line. Someone thinks they saw movement yesterday evening, but… visibility was bad.”

Jack felt the air shift around him as he abruptly stood. “Why wasn’t this reported sooner?”

“It was,” the volunteer said quickly, raising his hands. “They’re just—unsure. Could’ve been a deer.”

Jack exhaled sharply, pinching his nose. “Everything out here could've been a deer.”

He turned back towards the tent, his pace fast, leaving the volunteer jogging to catch up.

Once he entered, he placed his hand on the table.

“Which grid?”

The volunteer stepped closer. “Sector Nine.” He pointed to the spot.

Jack tilted his head. They’d already searched there twice.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

The volunteer quickly nodded. “Near the upper shelf. Between the drop and the—the tree line. But he said he wasn't sure. Just that there was… movement.”

“Movement,” Jack repeated flatly.

Being out in the wilderness taught you about how active it really was. The animals, the foliage, the running streams. It was, in a sense, alive. So when someone says they saw something, it's because no one likes to say nothing. Because at the end of the day, out here, there was always something.

He leaned over the map, tracing Sector Nine with two fingers. Rain and condensation had softened the paper so much that it almost felt like cloth.

“How long we got till sundown?” he asked.

“Two, maybe three hours tops,” someone replied from behind him.

Jack straightened, clapping his hands. “Alright. Team Three, with me.”

A few heads turned, but no one questioned it. The air was heavy with quiet exhaustion, and going over ground they’d already covered wasn't just frustrating, but demoralising.

Still, no one argued.

Within minutes, they were moving.

The hike out of camp was quieter than usual. Even the radios were subdued, each transmission shorter than the last.

Jack led at the front, boots sinking slightly into the softened earth where the rain had chewed at the trails. The forest quickly closed around them, the tents disappearing behind a curtain of trees.

“Control, Team Three en route to Sector Nine,” he spoke into the radio.

“Copy Team Three, make it quick.”

The team spread out as they reached Sector Nine, moving in a slow line through the trees. They searched the same way they always did, calling out, checking beneath fallen logs, scanning patches of disturbed ground.

Nothing.

For nearly two hours, they found nothing.

The sun had begun to set, and Jack was beginning to wonder if they’d wasted their time. Then, he spotted it.

“Hold up,”

The team halted. Half-hidden beneath a tangle of wet undergrowth was a scrap of bright orange fabric.

Jack crouched, and his stomach tightened.

The fabric had been roughly torn, snagged on a broken branch. But the colour was unmistakable.

“Control, Team Three.”

Static hissed before a response was heard.

“Go ahead.”

“We’ve found something. A piece of clothing, marking the coordinates now.” Jack clicked his fingers, signifying for someone to make a note.

A murmur spread through the team. For the first time in days, they had something.

That's when Jack noticed it. Just beyond the branch was a rock shelf. It wasn’t large enough to show on the map, but big enough to create a shallow overhang. The earth beneath it appeared darker than the surrounding ground. It was small, but sheltered and protected from the rain.

“Let’s take a look,” Jack prompted.

The team moved forward, following his command. But as they approached, Jack realised it wasn’t an overhang at all. It was an opening. A narrow crack in the mountain, hidden behind roots and moss. He shone his torch, but the beam vanished into darkness.

“Cave?” someone asked.

Jack frowned, tilting his head. “Maybe.” He stepped closer, peering in. The air spilling from inside was cooler than the evening breeze, sending goosebumps up his arm.

Then, a sharp static burst from his radio.

“Team Three, report.”

Jack glanced upward. The sky had darkened, and clouds were rolling over the ridge faster than expected. A distant rumble of thunder echoed throughout the mountains.

“Storm’s here,” one of the volunteers muttered quietly.

Jack looked back into the darkness, eyebrows pinching together. Something about it bothered him.

“Control,” he replied reluctantly. “We’ve found a possible cave entrance. Requesting permission to investigate."

The response came immediately.

“Negative. Weather warning has been upgraded. All teams return to camp immediately.”

Jack stared at the radio. Just for a moment.

“Alright.” He clipped the radio back onto his jacket. “Let’s move.”

The storm arrived sooner than expected. Rain hammered against the tents throughout the night, turning the camp into a sea of mud. Wind tore through the basin, rattling canvas and carrying the occasional crack of falling branches from somewhere higher up the mountain.

Despite his best efforts, sleep evaded Jack. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the cave entrance. It was as though it was taunting him. He knew returning to camp had been the right decision. Entering an unknown cave system with fading light and an approaching storm would have been reckless.

Yet something still bothered him.

By morning, the weather had worsened. With no other choice, search operations were suspended. The announcement landed heavily on the camp. But nobody argued. They were all exhausted. Wet. Cold. The storm was dangerous enough; attempting a coordinated search would be pointless.

Still, Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that they had left something behind.

They packed up the supplies, deciding to leave what was unnecessary, not wanting to wait till the storm got worse. Slowly, the camp dwindled as the wind picked up. As he looked at the map for one final time, Jack made up his mind.

He packed a torch, spare batteries, and a radio and left before anyone could stop him.

The climb to Sector Nine was slower than before. The storm had transformed the landscape, branches littered the trail, streams had burst their banks, and mud sucked to his boots with every step.

Twice, he considered turning around.

And twice he kept going.

He knew this was stupid. He’d gotten too involved. But that tight feeling in his chest wasn't going away, and he’d come too far to give up now.

When he finally reached the rock shelf, it took a couple of minutes to locate the entrance. It had been almost completely disguised by the rain. Only when he pushed aside a curtain of roots did the darkness reveal itself. The opening was narrow, but he could feel it, as though it were staring back at him,

Jack switched on the torch and stepped inside. Immediately, the noise of the storm began to fade. He followed as the tunnel sloped gently downward. At first, it was exactly what he’d expected. Rock. Water. Darkness. Nothing that particularly stood out.

Then the passage continued.

And continued.

Every time he expected it to narrow into a dead end, it stretched further into the mountain.

Minutes passed, perhaps longer.

But it kept going.

It was seemingly endless. A labyrinth, tunnels that just kept going, and going, and going. He should leave, should wait till the storms passed. But then, the beam of his flashlight swept across the uneven wall, and something caught the light.

Metal.

Jack stopped, reaching down to inspect the object. At first it wasn’t clear, but upon a closer look, he realised it was a pair of glasses. It was slightly bent, with a crack in the lens, but beyond that, it appeared undamaged. He wasn’t aware that Caleb wore glasses.

His pulse quickened as he turned another corner. A few steps ahead, he found something else. It was a navy hoodie, although the drawstrings appeared to be missing.

Jack pulled out his radio, holding it close to his mouth. “Control, this is Jack.”

The only response he received was the crackle of static. No signal. Of course.

He clipped the radio back onto his jacket and continued deeper. The tunnel, previously quite snug, suddenly widened. The flashlight beam swept across a small chamber.

Jack froze.

The room, because it felt like that—a room, was filled. In the corners were fabric, clothes, blankets, piled high. The scent of must and mildew permeated the air, causing Jack to hold his hand to his nose. But amongst that was something else, something… rotten.

For a short moment, he simply stared.

Then, he saw it. On one of the piles, just a few feet ahead, was a bright orange jacket. One of the edges was torn and covered in grime and mud.

Slowly, he approached, grabbing the jacket and holding his torch to it. A name tag sat, slightly weathered on the collar.

CALEB GRAYSON.

Jack's heart pounded. He swallowed, quickly turning to look around the room. The maze, which had previously felt isolated, now felt different. A chill ran through him.

Something wasn’t right.

He should turn back, run back to camp, and tell them what he'd found. So many cases, so many missing people. How have they never found this cave before?

Then he heard it.

A faint sound, coming from further in the cave. Jack leaned forward, squinting slightly to try to see. He shone the light, and behind one of the piles saw a small opening, another passage, leading deeper into the darkness. His instincts screamed at him. Turn back. Don’t go further. But for some reason, he just couldn’t look away.

“Caleb?” he called.

His voice echoed. No one answered.

For a few seconds, he stood there, body tense. Then—a voice.

“Jack?”

Every muscle in him locked. His eyes widened.

A static crackled from his radio.

“Jack.. kzzzt… report…kzzzt.”

He tightened his grip around the torch. The cave ahead stretched endlessly. Behind him lay the storm, the camp, safety. Ahead, ahead was only darkness.

Then, the voice came again.

“Jack.”

This time, it sounded closer.

Jack swallowed, raising the torch.

Hesitantly, he took a step forward.

“Jack, do you copy?”