A Light in the Desert

by Anne Montgomery

  For a moment, he thought perhaps God had provided him with another companion. He thought of what the two animals could carry, and became dizzy with excitement. But the singing brought him back from his daydream. While the horses sniffed at one another, Nunzio edged around the boulders moving closer to the singing.

  Then he stopped, unsure of the vision before him. He blinked his clouded eyes several times, but the blurry apparition remained. “Madre de Dios!” He stared into the rough rock shelter in which she sat.

  Kelly, unaware of the man who watched her, had just awakened from a fitful sleep. Her idea to cut west across the desert had taken her through some rough terrain, and provided no access to help. When the day’s heat settled late in the afternoon, she knew from experience to seek shelter until the cooler evening temperatures arrived. The fact that she neglected to bring any water made the need to stay cool more vital.

  Kelly had guided Becky to a shady spot by the rocks, grabbed her mane, and slipped off as gracefully as she could. Exhausted, and despite the kicking baby in her womb, she had drifted off to sleep.

  Now she shifted uncomfortably and leaned back against the shaded indentation in the rock, her belly bulging out over her thighs. She scanned the sky and noticed towering thunderheads in the east. The monsoon had been over for at least three weeks, but an out-of-season storm was building on the horizon. Since it was too hot to move, Kelly closed her eyes, softly hummed an old lullaby, and went back to sleep.

  Nunzio squeezed himself into a crevice between two boulders. Perhaps he was about to die. He reached into his pocket, grabbed the bottle, twisted off the cap, and took a long draught of tequila.

  Nunzio had not been in a church for many years, but like most Mexicans, he was raised Catholic, was taught to venerate God and Jesus and the Holy Mother Mary. His roots were in a country where the Virgin appeared frequently, sometimes in a splotch on a leak-stained wall; sometimes in the twisted shape of a cactus; sometimes baked into a tortilla. Thousands flocked to these miracles to ask the Mother of God to answer their prayers.

  Still, Nunzio never knew anyone who had actually seen the Holy Mother personally. Like all Catholics, he was raised on such sightings. There was the Virgin de Guadalupe and Juan Diego’s miraculous cloak. He’d been taught that children in Fatima had spoken to her many times and came to no direct harm.

  But why would the Holy Virgin appear to him? Nunzio grabbed for the bottle again. When he woke, the sun had shifted, and was now low in the sky with a steady breeze pushing in from the east. He remembered his vision, so Nunzio edged up over the rocks for another look. To his astonishment, she was still there, lying in the shallow stone grotto, her face with the sad appearance he had seen so many times in religious paintings and sculptures. Who else could it be? But something about her wasn’t quite right. He watched intently through his alcoholic fog and clouded vision, finally realizing what made her different from the other Madonnas he had seen. This one was still pregnant.

  Tears streamed down the old man’s face. He knew what he must do.

  As he was about to leave, Nunzio had a thought. “Keep still.” He admonished the roan as he rummaged through his belongings. “Make no noise. We don’t want to wake the little mother.”

  He selected two plastic bottles of water, a small loaf of whole wheat bread, and an orange. Looking at the offering, he realized the Holy Mother deserved better. His mind raced as he itemized his possessions. Out of his hazy past came the tale of the Wise Men, the fanciful kings bearing gold, frankincense, and myrrh. No one ever explained to Nunzio what frankincense and myrrh were, but the old miner certainly knew all about gold. A toothless smile spread across his face.

  Creeping quietly toward the sleeping girl, almost expecting her to vanish as he approached, Nunzio laid the food and water on the rocky ground beside her. On top of the loaf of bread, he placed a glittering, pitted gold nugget, three inches in diameter. Then Nunzio Martinez blessed himself for the first time in many years and hurried off.

  50

  Cooper hung up the phone and addressed Kate, who sat on the cabin steps beside him. “Search and Rescue’s been called in. And Buddy said he’d send up some of that drug. What is it?”

  “Haloperidol.”

  “Yeah, that stuff. If Elect Peter thinks it might help jar Jesus out of his stupor, I’m willing to give it a try.”

  “Notice anything odd here?” Kate nodded toward the drive in front of the cabin.

  Cooper looked around and shook his head.

  “There’s your car and Elect Sun’s station wagon, but where’s Ramm’s vehicle? I’m guessing he doesn’t walk up and down this mountain.”

  They split up and searched the area for any sign of a car.

  “Coop! Come here!” Kate appeared from around the backside of the cabin. She waved him over and disappeared.

  “Look here.” She pointed at the open gate of a corral. “Looks like Ramm is missing his car and his horse.”

  Cooper saw the hay scattered on the ground, then checked the bucket attached to the fence post. Sweet grain filled the bottom half.

  Kate and Cooper returned to the cabin, where they found Ramm once again stationed by the front window, staring at the western horizon.

  “Where’s your car, Mr. Ramm?” Cooper asked.

  “I don’t own one,” he answered without turning toward the officer.

  “And your horse?” Kate inquired.

  “Nor do I own a horse.”

  Kate looked at the dog lying at Ramm’s feet. “How about a dog? You own a dog?”

  Ramm ignored them.

  The front door opened revealing a baby-faced policeman. “Buddy said I was to give this to you, Deputy Cooper.”

  “Thanks, Bruce.” Cooper accepted the manila envelope. “Do me a favor. We’re looking for Mr. Ramm’s vehicle. Take a look around the area, and make sure the Search and Rescue folks know it’s missing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, and you might find a horse wandering around somewhere, as well.”

  “I’ll get right on it.” Bruce Fielding took a long look at Ramm.

  “Bruce!” Cooper lifted one eyebrow.

  “Yes, sir!” The young officer nodded and left.

  Cooper ripped open the envelope and read the document. “Incredible.” He handed the single-page document to Kate.

  “Is that it?” She perused the information again.

  “Apparently.”

  Kate was stunned. “If this is true, Ramm hasn’t existed since 1971 when he was declared Missing in Action by the Army. All this time he’s never had a bank account, lived anywhere, used a credit card, or had a driver’s license?” Kate looked around the well-appointed cabin. “So, who owns this place?”

  Cooper studied Ramm. The deputy noted the powerful hands, the athlete’s build. The man stood barefoot, motionless, the white terrycloth robe falling below his knees. Outside the window, fast moving clouds obscured the late afternoon sun.

  “Even the FBI files turned up nothing.” Cooper said. “Makes me think something very weird is going on here.”

  “You mean other than the fact he thinks he’s Jesus Christ.” Kate laughed.

  “Is that necessary?” Elect Sun said icily as she entered the room with a tray of sandwiches.

  “Um, I’m sorry, Elect Sun. I’m sarcastic out of habit. But you must admit, this is very strange,” Kate nodded toward Ramm. “And we’re just trying to get Kelly back.”

  At the mention of Kelly’s name, Ramm turned and faced the others. “Kelly?” he said as if trying to recall something important. “Kelly.”

  The door burst open. “Found the truck,” Fielding said. “It’s down at the bottom of the hill. It was hidden in some brush. I’ll show you.”

  Ten minutes later, Kate watched Cooper, hands clad in latex gloves, work his way through the vehicle. “How’d it get down here?”

  “Backwards.” He checked the glove box.

  Kate eyed the truck’s backend, which
was stuck in a ditch, nose tilted up toward the road. “Your powers of deduction are impressive. No wonder you’re a detective.”

  “And that looks like blood on the steering column.”

  51

  WHEN KELLY FINALLY woke, she was astonished to find the sun had already set. “Oh! Stop that!” she admonished the baby kicking at her ribs.

  Kelly pushed at the stone wall and tried to stand, but stopped and sat back down, amazed to see two water bottles resting before her. She reached over, grabbed one of the containers, and greedily sucked the liquid. She wiped her mouth with one hand, and reached for the bread with the other, but her hand lingered, poised over the food, when she saw the glitter. Kelly grasped the oddly-shaped object. The nugget was heavy, lumpy in places, smooth in others, and it reflected the moonlight as she turned the metal over in her hands.

  Then the moon glow vanished. Kelly gazed up at the sky where fast-moving clouds hid the orb. The wind had picked up and she shivered. A storm was definitely coming.

  Kelly took a few quick bites of bread and pocketed the stone. The horse, having wandered over, began sniffing at the water bottles.

  “I’m sorry.” Kelly rubbed the animal’s nose. She stood using the horse as an anchor, then tilted the bottle, spraying a stream of water into the Appaloosa’s mouth. While some of the precious fluid disappeared into the parched earth, most of the water was lapped up by the thirsty horse.

  She remembered Ramm. Sick. Alone. She stroked the horse’s neck and whispered, “Come on, Becky. We have to go before the rain.”

  Kelly reached for the other water bottle. She had no bag, so she lifted the sweatshirt up over her head, placed it on the ground, and deposited the bottle in the middle. Then, she paused. For the first time, she questioned where the provisions had come from.

  “Hello!” Kelly called into the darkness. “Is anybody there?” But no answer came.

  After folding the food and water tightly in the middle of the sweatshirt, Kelly wrapped the arms around her waist, tying a knot in the front. She shivered. The thin, cotton T-shirt she wore would not keep her warm for long, so she decided to ride bareback in order to keep the blanket available should she get cold. She folded the cover and draped it across the horse’s neck. Now, she had to get on the beast.

  The area was covered with dark boulders pocked with tiny holes, remnants of bubbles from when the rocks were molten. Slowly, she worked her way to the top of one, holding the rope tightly in an effort to keep Becky still. When she’d mounted the boulder, Kelly grasped the Appaloosa’s mane.

  A sharp sound, Kelly recognized instantly. She froze. The horse’s eyes bulged in fear and the animal danced, reared back, and tried to get away. The rope ripped from Kelly’s hand, but she kept hold on the mane and was jerked off her feet.

  The snake lunged at the four-footed monster, but the horse’s sharp front hooves came down hard on the coiled creature, severing the rattler’s head. The jolt broke Kelly’s grip, and sent her plunging onto the rocks. The horse, in terror, bolted in a wild gallop and escaped into the open desert.

  “No! No! Becky, come back!” Kelly screamed, scooting away from the still wriggling body of the rattler. Though the snake was dead, the rattles still shook and the mouth still hissed while both ends waited for the message of the diamondback’s demise.

  She tried to stand, but a sharp pain shot through her right ankle. The appendage refused to support her weight. On hands and knees, she crawled over the black rocks and back into the tiny cave.

  Kelly unwrapped the pullover. The sweatshirt had miraculously remained tied around her waist, and helped cushion her fall into the rocks. She took a few sips of water, forcing herself to conserve the precious liquid, and nibbled at the bread. She shivered again and slipped the sweatshirt back on.

  “Becky!” Kelly called again into the desert night. “Becky! Come back!”

  A wave of pain engulfed her and she was shocked to feel a rush of fluid soak through her pants. Then a dizzying pain wracked her body.

  “Becky!” The sound of her voice trailed away, lost in the stiffening wind. Wet and cold, she needed the Navajo blanket that had fallen during the horse’s frantic retreat. She knew it was out by the rattler, at least twenty yards away. So, she started crawling.

  52

  KATE AND COOPER WATCHED the area around the cabin fill with a swarm of Search and Rescue personnel, both professionals and volunteers. Cars and trucks and handlers with horses and dogs all waited for instructions. Two helicopters flew low overhead working in a checkerboard pattern. Despite the darkness, the pilots continued combing the area using large searchlights, the beams skit-tering off the uneven desert landscape.

  Cooper’s phone rang. He answered and listened. “Got it.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket. “Sanders says our interview with Buck wasn’t very thorough.”

  “Because …?” Kate asked.

  “Because Carl James, our dead SP Trainline subscriber, worked for the Southern Pacific. Buddy says he was canned a few months before he died. Apparently, he had a penchant for drinking on the job.”

  “Should we contact the Psychic Hotline to see if he derailed the train?”

  “Always the wiseass. And there’s something else you’ll appreciate. No group called the Sons of Gestapo officially exists.”

  “Wonderful. We’re finally getting some correlations that work, because Ramm doesn’t exist either.” Kate watched three riders mount up. A hound dog mix paced excitedly behind the horses. “By the way, where’d you get all these people on such short notice?”

  “A state like Arizona really counts on its volunteers. There are such vast tracts of wilderness that when people go missing, we just can’t cover all the open areas without help. The police don’t have the manpower. These people,” Cooper nodded toward the three horsemen, “bring their own vehicles and horses and dogs and backwoods expertise. In situations like this, we’d be hard-pressed to function without them.”

  A man sitting at a table by a large white van waved Cooper over. He pulled off a pair of headphones and rested them on his neck. “The boys in the copters say they have to call it a night. The wind is getting shifty. There’s a storm coming. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Have ’em head in,” Cooper said. “But tell them to be back here ready to go at dawn.”

  “Will do.”

  “Wait a minute. Can any of the pilots land anywhere near here?”

  “Let me check.” A few moments later the van man said, “Down near the mine. There’s a flat area just to the east. Sam’s finishing his run. He’ll meet you there in about thirty minutes.”

  “Thanks.”

  Cooper and Kate walked toward the cabin, past three volunteers manning a table filled with refreshments. The deputy grabbed a shiny glazed donut with a generous smear of chocolate icing. He finished it off in three bites.

  “Say nothing, Butler.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Inside the cabin, Kate and Cooper were greeted by the aroma of what smelled like spicy meat. Elect Sun sat next to Ramm. Elect Peter and Deputy Fielding sat opposite each other, spooning what looked to be chili from white ceramic bowls. Fielding looked up sheepishly when Cooper entered.

  “Any word on Kelly?” Elect Sun rose and gathered two more bowls from the sideboard.

  “I’m afraid not.” Cooper glanced at Ramm. “Has your friend said anything new that might help us find her?”

  Elect Sun placed two steaming bowls of the fragrant concoction on the table. Cooper pulled out a chair for Kate then sat next to her.

  “I thought you were vegetarians,” Cooper said, after tasting the dish.

  “We are,” Elect Peter assured him.

  “But this is chili.” Kate ate another spoonful of the spicy dish. “It’s delicious.”

  “Meatless, I assure you.” Elect Sun settled wearily on a chair.

  “Why do you accuse me?” Ramm’s voice startled everyone at the table.

  “The girl was here. Yo
u took her from the train,” Cooper tried to control his anger. “You bought her clothes. And there’s blood on your carpet and in your truck. I’m guessing both samples belong to Kelly Garcia. So why don’t you just tell us where you dumped her?”

  Elect Sun gasped. “No, no! You’re wrong. He would not hurt her.”

  “Can you truly believe I would harm a child?” Ramm didn’t give Cooper time to answer. “Let the little children come to me, and do not forbid them; for such is the kingdom of heaven.”

  “Oh, cram it!” Cooper pushed away from the table and walked toward the door.

  Elect Sun buried her face in her hands.

  Cooper stopped and turned around. “I don’t especially care who you think you are. What I do care about is a lost pregnant teenager. I’m going to need your fingerprints.”

  Something deep inside Ramm’s fractured mind screamed that he should resist, and that, under the circumstances, he did not have to comply. He had yet to be charged with a crime. But part of him wanted all of this—all the years of hiding, pretending—to finally end. He held out his hands. “Do as you wish.”

  Cooper opened the front door and disappeared. Moments later, a short bald man, wearing glasses and sporting a Yuma County Sheriff’s Department windbreaker, entered the room with what looked like a metal notebook.

  “Gil, right here.” Cooper singled out Ramm. “Mr. Ramm just gave us permission to take his prints.”

  Ramm’s fingertips were smeared through the dark ink and pressed into prepared forms, one print to each box. Vivid blue-black splotches filled the card. Gilbert Armena signed and dated the forms.

  “Thanks.” Gil nodded, closed the notebook, and left the cabin.

  53

  THE HELICOPTER, WHIRLING blades slicing singular music, sang through the desert night.

  “No!” Ramm covered both ears with his hands.