High Desert Barbecue (25 page)

C
arrie squinted.

“
That says ‘Forest Service.’”

“
Shut up!”

T
here was silence for a moment. Carrie lowered the tip of the pole to the ground and stared at the scary man, trying to avoid eye contact. All his weight came down on the left foot, like a resting crane, with the right one barely in contact with the ground. She wished, desperately, that she were back at her desk just daydreaming about going hiking.

“
You two plan on backpacking the canyon?”

N
ext to her, Carl cleared his throat.

“
Yeah.”

“
Where is your permit?”

“
Permit? There’s no permit for—”

T
he scary man—scary ranger, now—screamed.

“
Where’s your fucking permit?”

“
We don’t have one.”

“
I could arrest you right now!”

“
I don’t really think—”

T
he scary ranger awkwardly swapped his makeshift crutch to his left hand and dropped his right to his waist, where it rested on the butt of a pistol.

C
arl stopped speaking.

“
Maybe we should just go,” Carrie said. “We could hike some other time.”

“
Good idea,” the scary ranger said. He staggered toward the trailhead. From his pocket, he withdrew a folded piece of paper, which he quickly tacked to the trailhead sign with two pushpins pulled from the same pocket. Barely legible in the gathering dark, it hung limply in place, proclaiming “Trail Closed” in large block letters.

“
Is anybody else hiking in the canyon?”

“
I don’t think so.”

“
Good. Good.” He pointed to the piece of paper. “Nobody, and I mean
nobody
, is to go hiking here without a permit. Do you understand me?”

“
Uh. Yeah.”

“
Good.”

T
he scary ranger gave them a last look, and then stepped out on the dark trail. Immediately, he lost his footing and went tumbling downhill. They heard him curse, and then right himself out of view.

“
I’m all right!”

T
hen the sounds of laborious walking resumed.

C
arrie and Carl stood in place for a long moment, looking in the direction the scary ranger had disappeared.

“
Want to catch a movie?” Carl finally asked. “I think there’s a theater in Cottonwood.”

“
Yeah, sure,” Carrie answered. She barely noticed Carl’s hand resting on her ass.

Chapter 56

S
cott lay along the edge of the ledge, chin resting on his hands, peering off into space.

“
There is some wacky shit going on down there.”

B
ehind him, Rollo sat back against the rocks enjoying the cool evening breeze. His hat brim was tilted down over his eyes.

“
How can you see anything?”

“
I can’t. They’re staying out of view and it’s getting too dark anyway. But I’m catching snatches of conversation.”

“
What are they saying?”

“
I’m not really sure, but it sounds like they’re not getting along very well.”

R
ollo grunted.

T
he younger man slid back from the edge and sat up.

“
Hey, buddy. I have a question for you.”

R
ollo lifted his hand to push the hat out of his eyes.

“
Uh oh. I don’t like the sound of that.”

“
Thing is, you’ve been living out here on your own for a lot of years, right?”

“
Yeah. So?”

“
And that means you’ve honed your survival skills. You can build shelters, make fires and hunt and gather with the best of ‘em, am I right?”

“
I guess so. Where are you going with this?”

“
What I want to know is … If you’re a modern fucking Daniel Boone, how come you’re such a lousy shot?”

R
ollo shuffled his feet and grumbled.

“
I’m not so bad.”

“
You’re terrible. You should have at least hit somebody by
accident
.”

R
ollo slumped in place.

“
Hey. Another question.” Scott raised his hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“
It’s getting dark—”

“
It’s not that dark. How many fingers?”

R
ollo tilted his head forward and squinted.

“
Four. Four, damn it!”

S
cott laughed out loud.

“
I thought so. You can’t see a damned thing, can you?”

R
ollo sighed. He wiped both hands over his face, drawing the flesh downwards and smoothing the whiskers on his chin.

S
cott scratched at the scruffy new growth lining his own jawbone.

“
C’mon. You can’t see for shit.”

“
All right. I can’t see very well.”

“
And you weren’t going to admit this because …”

“
I hate wearing glasses. They look goofy.”

S
cott let that hang in the air for a long moment.

“
How old are you?”

“
Oh for Christ’s sake. All right, I need glasses.”

“
That raises another question—”

“
Full of fucking curiosity, aren’t you?”

“
Only when my life is in the hands of my trusty blind scout.”

“
Fuck you.”

“
Anyway.” Scott shifted sideways to ease the threat posed by a sharp rock to his posterior. It now nestled in less dangerous position, pressed into his right thigh. “If you can’t see, how do you hunt?”

R
ollo removed his hat from his head with his right hand and punched the crown with his left fist. Now more crumpled, it went back on top of his head.

“
Well … I’m sneaky.”

“
How’s that?”

“
As my eyes have gone south on me, I’ve had to get closer and closer to my dinner-in-waiting to take a shot. I’m pretty good at sneaking up on deer, elk and whatnot.”

“
No shit?”

“
No shit.”

S
cott sat silently for several moments staring into space. Then he smiled.

“
You think armed, naked pyromaniacs might count as ‘whatnot’?”

“
You mean khaki-shirted—” Rollo stopped speaking as his eyes went wide. He snatched his hat back off his head and slapped it into the ground.

“
Crap!”

*

T
hree, maybe four hours later—neither man had a watch—Scott and Rollo carefully retraced their way down the cliff to the canyon floor below. Dim moonlight gave just enough illumination to make the hazards of the trip apparent, without revealing enough of those hazards to ease the way. Rollo led, slowly, working with gravity to drop from handhold to foothold without sending rocks—or human bodies—plummeting down the cliff to alert the enemy below. More agile, but less accustomed to stalking in the dark, Scott followed in the path of the older man. He assumed that any projection that could handle the larger man’s weight would hold his as well.

M
uscles strained to ease weight from one hold before applying it to the next. The trick wasn’t just to climb down safely, but to do so silently—or with as little noise as possible. Sweat broke out on their foreheads and under their shirts, then dried rapidly in the cool night breeze.

S
trained nerves stretched the climb into what seemed like hours, but was only ten or fifteen minutes. With their packs left on the ledge above, they wriggled, slid and fell all the way to the ground with a minimum of noise, fuss and blood loss.

S
till in the lead, Rollo stepped cautiously along the canyon floor. He felt with his feet for loose stones before taking each step. By this time, Scott could see little more than the silhouette of his friend, making it difficult to follow his lead. He listened closely to whispered instructions, and then did his best to ape the hermit.

P
rogress was slow as they inched forward, dodging brush, side-stepping stones and generally sneaking their way up-canyon.

T
he men froze and ducked as something passed closely overhead.

“
Owl,” Rollo hissed. “Probably.”

M
inutes later, Scott stubbed his toe and a stone rolled away like it was shot from a cannon. It sent up a clatter that seemed destined to bring the firebugs down on their heads.

R
ollo froze ahead on the trail, and the younger man stifled an apology. Instead, he shrugged, not knowing if his companion could even see the gesture.

G
ently placed feet ate up ground quickly, and soon they were in territory that they knew had been occupied just hours before. Rollo held up his hand and waved it to slow the younger man. He stepped even more slowly than before. As he had so many times this night, he eased his foot forward and …

C
oming up behind, Scott saw the older man lose his balance. His arms wagged frantically as he pitched backwards, only to be caught by his younger friend just before he crashed to the ground.

“
Rena?” said a voice softly in the dark. “Oh no. Not again. Please, not again. C’mon, please let me sleep.”

S
cott pushed Rollo upright and then lunged forward. He bent and slapped his hand over a dimly seen mouth.

“
No. I’m not Rena,” he whispered. He dropped his left knee—hard—on the stranger’s ribs. “But I do have a few questions for you.”

R
ollo dropped into place next to him, clamping his hands like vises on the stranger’s arms.

“
Damn.” He sniffed the air, and then leaned closer to the captive. “Do I smell pussy?”

Chapter 57

L
ani slept fitfully, tossing and turning through the night in her sleeping bag tucked amongst the brush on the canyon floor. Moonlight cast an eerie glow over the landscape creating what would have been a beautiful scene, except that it was populated just out of sight by phantom maniacs supplied by her own imagination. Every whisper of wind or rattle of a pebble dislodged by night-traveling creatures became a sneaking marauder.

S
he’d hiked late the previous day, stopping only as the light faded. A cold meal of powdered hummus, rehydrated and rolled in a slightly stale tortilla, served as her dinner, unwilling as she was to light her stove or make a fire that might serve as a beacon to human predators, however far behind they might be. Washed down with warm water, the tortilla and hummus made for a passable meal, spiced by hunger and anxiety.

C
hamp seemed equally nervous as he dined on bits of salami mixed with his dry kibble. Between mouthfuls he leaned against Lani and whimpered.

A
burst of gunfire up the canyon eroded the last of the woman’s calm. The sound echoed and faded, offering no hint as to its resolution. She sat on her sleeping mat resting her head on her knees and fearing the worst. With night falling—and Champ pawing sympathetically at her hair—she’d made her camp in as concealed a spot as possible. She drew on years of outdoor experience to choose a small clearing hidden from easy view. A taste for unauthorized backpacking trips in national parks had taught her the basics of concealment. Rocks and shrubs up-canyon from the clearing broke up the ground so as to discourage hikers from tramping through the refuge—or so Lani hoped.