In the Path of Falling Objects (15 page)

The bank was too steep to walk close to the river, so I had to climb up farther and try to get to the hilltop before I could head back toward the wooden bridge. I made my way through the loose and crumbling dirt and thick brush of the hillside. When I had gotten high enough that there seemed to be some level path along the spine of the hill, I began walking in the direction from which the river had carried me.

Above the river on that hilltop, I could see across to the road and
to the dirt turnout with the bent-over sign where Mitch had parked the Lincoln. The car was gone, and I felt so abandoned and alone, afraid for Simon, and angry at him, too, for what he had done on the bridge, for what Simon had been letting Mitch do to him for three days now.

Because I knew there was something in Simon that made him want to be like Mitch, and I was afraid of that.

I’d heard Lilly scream my name when the river swallowed me, but nothing after that beyond the roar of the water, the awkward thrashing of my arms and legs covered in the weight of my wet clothes, my own struggled breathing. I wondered where she was at that moment and wished that she could be with me, too, away from this place, away from Mitch.

Soaked and sore, I finally made it back to the sagging bridge and crossed to the other side of the river where the car had been. My backpack lay in the twisted shrubs where I had dropped it, the canteen still resting upon it in the spot where Lilly had placed it after I offered her a drink. I was relieved in finding my things, in knowing that Matthew’s letters—and my map—were still there.

I took the gun from the shirt-sling around my waist and tucked it down into the pack. I didn’t change clothes; the only other pants I could wear were still wet from the rainstorm the day before, anyway. But I found a dry tee shirt of Simon’s and pulled it on over my head.

It smelled like Simon. It smelled like cigarettes, too.

I ached.

I wanted to cry, to scream, to run down that road as fast as I could, to find Mitch and put a bullet in him, to save Simon, to save Lilly, but I just sat down in the dirt by my pack and rearranged the contents to spare Matthew’s letters from the dampness.

Then I took out the map and drew in that short trip I’d taken from the bridge and the walk back on the other side of the river.

I was so tired. For the first time, I realized that I thought we’d never make it to where we wanted to go. I thought I’d never see my brother again.

I decided I’d sat there long enough. As I put my things away and stood up on shaking and tired legs, I heard the sound of a car on the road. So I hurried to sling the pack over my arm and moved quickly out to the roadside, hoping to catch a ride with anyone who might be traveling along that abandoned stretch of highway.

The noise came from a Volkswagen Beetle, painted a dull sand color with rust spots on its skin. It so naturally blended in with the terrain of the desert that it almost disappeared against the background of the river gorge.

The storage rack on the top of the car was loaded with bundles of what looked like canvas and several wooden posts, all lashed down tightly with rust-stained ropes.

It pulled into the same turnout where Mitch had parked the Lincoln earlier.

The driver stuck his arm out the side window and waved.

His face was hidden behind goggles, and he wore a cap the same color as the car he was driving, with what looked like a square towel or rag tucked into it, hanging down over the back of his neck. When I noticed there was no glass where the windshield should have been, I understood why he was wearing those goggles.

So I waved back.

I thought about how Simon had stuck his thumb out to get Mitch and Lilly to stop for us. Dread rose from my stomach.

The driver was alone.

He opened the door and stood beside the idling car. He pulled his goggles and hat away and I could see he was just a boy, probably no older than I was. He smiled. He looked friendly.

“Did you fall out of an airplane or something?” he said. “ ’Cause I never seen anyone just appear out here all alone.”

“I guess I’m lost,” I said. “I got stuck out here.”

“Are you okay?” Now the boy looked concerned. I noticed he was looking at my wet jeans, and the water dripping from my hair.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know if I was okay or not.

“Well, can I help you or something? Do you need a ride?”

“I think I do. Yeah.”

“Where to?”

I thought. “I don’t know. Arizona.”

“Are you high or something?”

“No.”

“Well, I can’t take you to Arizona right now. I got things to drop off to my dad. And Arizona’s a long way. I’d have to ask my mom and dad if it was okay. But I’ll give you a ride. Sure. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.”

The boy scratched his head. His hair was very short and dark, and just the way his eyes studied me, so relaxed, almost smiling, made me feel he was honest and sincere.

“I’ll take you to my place, if you want. It’s a few miles across the river. We can get you something to eat and you can tell them about how you need to get to Arizona. And where you came from. I bet it’s a good story.”

The boy replaced his cap and goggles and sat down behind the wheel.

I just stood there. I looked back down the road where Mitch would have gone with Simon and Lilly.

“Are you going to stay here or get in? It really doesn’t matter to me if you don’t want to.”

I shrugged and stepped around to the opposite side of the VW. I
put the pack down on the floor between my feet and the car took off, heading out across the sagging bridge.

The bridge creaked and swayed as we drove across it. The boy looked at me.

“Scared?”

I guess he noticed I’d tensed up. “Yeah.”

I wasn’t thinking about the bridge, or the water, though. I was thinking about Simon and Lilly.

And then I said, “I would never think this bridge could hold up a car like this.”

“It’s never let me down so far. I’ve driven across this bridge at least a thousand times. Here. Sorry it’s such a mess.”

He reached behind my seat and pulled another pair of plastic goggles out from the piles of papers and cans, shoes and clothing.

“These will help for the dust. And bugs, too. Only they’re not so bad now as they get in spring.”

I pulled on the scratched and hazy glasses. I turned around and looked at all the things haphazardly piled in back.

“I’m pretty disorganized,” he said. “My dad says I’m a clown. My mom just says I’m a mess. Living out here, I guess neither one is an insult.”

The VW lurched and pitched as its wheels hit the dirt road on the opposite side of the river. The boy pushed his foot down and the car sped forward.

“No one ever just
falls
in the river,” he said. “And, besides, your pack’s dry. Were you trying to kill yourself or something?”

“No,” I said. “It was a mistake. I did something stupid.”

“Now that sounds like a good story,” he said. He shifted gears and stuck a dirty hand out to me. “My name’s Dalton.”

I shook his hand.

“That’s a weird name.”

“I know.”

“My name’s Jonah.”

Dalton burst out laughing and slapped his palm down on the steering wheel.

“Now
that’s
a weird name, Jonah!”

“I know.”

I slipped my wet feet, still wearing Simon’s socks, from my shoes. The floorboards of the VW were warm, hot even, and it felt good.

I saw Dalton look down at my muddy feet.

“Man, you are really drenched.”

“I don’t have anything to put on. All my clothes are wet after last night.”

“It really came down last night,” Dalton said. “This wash up here must have been under a good seven foot of water. You were outside last night?”

I thought about being in that car, sitting in the muddy lot outside the motel.

“For a while.”

“I wasn’t at my camp. I just got back from Los Alamos today.”

“You live in a camp?”

Dalton shrugged. “Kind of. We own this land, and we plan on building a regular house on it, but for now it’s just a camp. There’s a few old Indian ruins on it, part of a pueblo, and when my dad found it . . . well, he’s kind of obsessed with digging around in it. But he’s obsessed with a lot of things. My dad’s an artist. He paints.”

“What does he paint?”

“You’ll see,” Dalton said. “Pictures. Crazy stuff, but some people like it, I guess. We lived all over. Mostly in Mexico. You know where the Yucatán is?”

“No.”

“Well, we lived there ever since I was about eleven, but about six
months ago we all packed up and came up here. Mom, Dad, me, and my sister.”

“Oh. It must be nice, living with your whole family together like that. Do you like it where you’re at now?”

Dalton bit his lip. “I liked Mexico better, but it’s okay living out here, too, I guess. I know you’re probably thinking we’re hippies or something, but it’s not like that at all. That’s why I keep my hair so short. So no one will wonder.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” I said. “And anyway, me and Simon can’t afford a haircut. That’s why my hair’s so long, in case you were wondering if I’m a hippie. ’Cause I’m not.”

“Simon?”

“My little brother.”

Dalton laughed. “I could give you a haircut.”

“Maybe.”

“Won’t cost you anything.”

“What if my brother doesn’t recognize me?”

What if I never saw him again, anyway?

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Dalton pointed his hand through the open space where the windshield should have been, at a narrow opening in a red slickrock canyon far ahead in the distance. “That’s where we’re going. Chavez Canyon.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“For what?”

“For helping me out.”

I felt better.

Then I told Dalton our story, as he drove along that rutted and uneven dirt track. I explained everything that had happened to Simon and me since we left Los Rogues; how our horse had fallen dead, the night we spent in the derelict trailer, meeting Mitch and Lilly, the strange old car, and riding across the state in the backseat
beside Don Quixote. And I told him about my fight with Simon, and how Mitch threatened to kill him, and that I believed him, that I was scared.

And I even told him how I’d slept with Lilly the night before, and how Mitch and Simon were both so jealous, and that was how I ended up adrift in that river, and soaking wet on the side of the road.

“Damn,” Dalton grinned. “You had sex with a girl you just met the day before?”

And then he cleared his throat. “I hope whatever you got rubs off on me. How old are you, anyway?”

I said, “Sixteen.”

“Damn. And I’m eighteen and never got nowhere with a girl. Of course, there’s no girls besides my sister within a hundred miles of Chavez Canyon.”

“I wasn’t looking for it,” I said. “Like I said, I never even wanted to get into that car in the first place.”

“So are you in love with her now? Or just . . . you know . . .”

“I think so. I don’t know.” I sighed.

“Well, I don’t know exactly how you should handle telling my folks this story,” Dalton said. “I mean, I never lie to them, and they’re really cool. But I don’t think my dad would want me to drive you out to Arizona if he thinks we’re chasing after some psychopath or something. And you should definitely leave the sex part out when you tell my mom, with my little sister around.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Dalton was calm and confident, skinny like me, with sun-brown skin and a faint black peach fuzz mustache over his lip. He was dressed all in tan, the kind of clothes you’d almost expect an archaeologist to wear, his cotton pants tucked into the tops of dusty, laced-up boots.

And he listened attentively, just saying, “Wow,” from time to
time, as I told him the whole story, even about Matthew and how I was afraid we wouldn’t ever see him again.

“Crazy, man,” he said when I finished talking.

And I shifted, uncomfortable in my wet clothes, and saw I’d made a dark spot where I’d soaked the seat.

“Oh. Sorry,” I said, seeing that Dalton had noticed, too.

He just laughed. “Oh yeah, this car
never
gets dirty or rained on.”

I suddenly felt anxious and guilty for riding along with Dalton, heading in the opposite direction from Simon.

“So that’s why I really need to get on the road and try to get my brother back. And Lilly. I think something bad’s gonna happen.”

“Let’s just think about this, Jonah. I mean, I’m all for helping you out. But there’s nothing out here, you know? We got no telephone or radio or nothing, so it’s not like we can call the state troopers out or something.”

“I’ve got money,” I offered. “I can pay you if you take me to get my brother. Please.”

“Look,” he said, “I really want to help you if I can, believe me. But it’s getting late, and my dad’s expecting me back today with this stuff.”

He pointed a thumb up at the roof. “And it’s nice of you to offer money, but if I was going to give you a hand, I wouldn’t do it expecting to get paid.”

He turned the VW across a creek in a wash, spraying fans of water out from the wheels. I looked across, into the canyon. It really was an incredible place of sheer, slick walls rippled by seasons of weather, cottonwoods and willows springing up from the floor where the water would rush in torrents when the rains came.

“Just come to the camp with me. I mean, there’s nothing you can do now, anyway. You got in the car and we’re going,” he said. “I’ll get you something to eat. Then we’ll see.”

I sighed and rubbed my eyes.

I could tell Dalton sensed my indecision.

“Do you want me to turn around and bring you back to the road, then?” he asked.

I thought about it.

“No.”

“Cool,” he said. “I know my folks won’t mind having a visitor. We don’t get a chance to talk to any other people too often. Just remember, you don’t have to tell them everything. Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll remember.”

“You want some of my dry clothes?” He pointed at the stuff in piles behind me.

“Sure.”

Dalton stopped the car right in the middle of the road, got out, and pulled his seat back forward. Then he began picking out unsorted articles of clothing from between and beneath the books and papers in the little car.