Outsiders
Page 1
Outsiders
The Collection
Lynn Ames, Georgia Beers,
JD Glass, Susan X Meagher and
Susan Smith
Books By These Authors
Lynn Ames
Heartsong
The Flip Side of Desire
The Value of Valor
The Cost of Commitment
The Price of Fame
Georgia Beers
Finding Home
Mine
Fresh Tracks
Too Close to Touch
Thy Neighbor’s Wife
Turning the Page
JD Glass
Punk Like Me
Punk and Zen
Red Light
American Goth
X
Yuri Monogatari 6 (Sakura Gun [London]
)
Books By These Authors
Susan X Meagher
Arbor Vitae
All That Matters
Cherry Grove
Girl Meets Girl
The Lies That Bind
The Legacy
Contributing Author to:
Undercover Tales
I Found My Heart In San Francisco series
Awakenings
Beginnings
Coalescence
Disclosures
Entwined
Fidelity
Getaway
Honesty
Intentions
Susan Smith
Burning Dreams
Of Drag Kings and the Wheel of Fate
Put Away Wet
Outsiders
© 2009 by Lynn Ames, Georgia Beers, JD Glass, Susan X Meagher and Susan Smith
ISBN (10) 0-979-92545-2
ISBN (13) 978-0-979-92545-0
This electronic original is published by Brisk Press, New York, NY 10023
Edited by Linda Lorenzo
Cover design and layout by Carolyn Norman
First printing: October 2009
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the authors or the publisher.
* * *
Table of Contents
In a Flash - Lynn Ames
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Balance - Georgia Beers
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Triskelion - JD Glass
Blackout - Susan X Meagher
Billy Boy - Susan Smith
More Information About the Authors
Books By These Authors
In a Flash
By
Lynn Ames
Chapter One
Yazhi Begay stood under the blistering hot August Arizona sun and stared hard toward the distant southeastern sky. As she watched, a bolt of lightning streaked downward out of a cluster of dark clouds. The sight propelled her into motion.
“Ben!” she shouted into a walkie-talkie. “Ben, do you read me?” Even as she listened for an answer, Yazhi rummaged in the storage shed and grabbed a heavy climbing rope, a construction helmet with a headlamp, and a flashlight.
She jumped into her beat-up Jeep, threw the equipment in the back, and keyed the radio again. “Ben, do you read me? You have to get out. Now. Ben?”
She swore and punched the gas pedal, spinning out on the gravel and dirt. Within minutes she spied her older brother’s pickup truck in the parking area near the entrance to Lower Antelope Canyon. According to her watch, Ben and the photographer he was escorting had been in the slot canyon for nearly forty-five minutes.
“Ben?”
Again, there was no response. That was when she noticed the walkie-talkie lying on the seat in Ben’s truck. Yazhi watched another lightning bolt light up the southeastern sky and her heart jumped into her throat. She was out of time, and her options were dwindling.
***
Renée Maupin considered herself a patient woman. After all, her profession required that she sometimes spend hours standing in one spot, watching, waiting, for just the right moment. But the presence of this man who insisted on shadowing her through the canyon set her teeth on edge.
She lowered the camera and glowered at the guide. At another time, she might have liked to photograph him. With that flawless, reddish-brown skin and those deep, dark eyes and dramatic black hair, he was…beautiful. She sighed. “Please, for the last time, just go. I’ll pay you extra. It’s not like I can’t find my way out. What could be so hard? You either go forward or backward. I tell you what, you can even wait for me at the end if it makes you feel better.”
Ben Begay simply blinked and continued to lean against the side of the canyon, his limbs loose, his attitude indifferent. That he was clearly unaffected by her entreaty enraged Renée.
“Give me some space here. You’re in my light.” He didn’t budge. “Look, I’m sure I’m not the most pleasant person you’ve ever dealt with. This would go a lot quicker if you’d just humor me and move on down the road.” Still nothing. “I’ll make you a deal. If you disappear, I promise I’ll finish up within a half hour and you can come back for me. I won’t move from this spot without you. Whaddaya say? Pretty please?”
Finally, the guide shoved off the wall with a grunt and sauntered around the next curve of rock and out of Renée’s line of sight. She tipped her head back and surveyed the narrow gap between the rock walls some one hundred feet above, tilted the camera on the tripod, spread her feet shoulder-width apart, and looked through the viewfinder. The light was almost perfect. Just another couple of minutes and she’d have the shot she’d come all the way to Page for.
She sucked in a deep, long breath and let it out slowly and evenly as she depressed the button and listened to the familiar and comforting “click, click, click” of the high-speed shutter. Satisfied, she unscrewed the camera from the tripod and replaced it in its hard-sided case.
As she closed the clasp, her mind registered a roaring sound. Idly, she thought it sounded akin to the running of the bulls in Pamplona that she’d shot the previous summer.
Renée turned in the direction of the sound, and her eyes opened wide at the sight of a massive wall of water hurtling down upon her. Instinctively, she thrust the hand holding the camera case high up in the air just as the tsunami-strength wave lifted her and smashed her other shoulder against the rocks. She screamed in horror as she caught a glimpse of tree trunks and boulders hurtling past. Her body was tossed about like a rag doll. Stay afloat. She kicked off the wall and desperately scissored her legs to keep her head above water. She was losing the battle and she knew it. I’m going to drown—in the desert.
A huge section of pine tree glanced off the rocks and barreled straight for her head. Renée closed her eyes. Spots dotted the inside of her eyelids, and she tasted blood. She felt a strong tug under her arms. So God is coming for me, after all. She thought to complain that she had much more she intended to achieve on earth, but ran out of time. Her world ceased to exist.
***
“Hello?”
&n
bsp; “It’s me, Yaz. How’s she doing?”
Yazhi glanced at the various machines as multi-colored squiggly lines marched across the screens in tandem with beeps and whirring sounds. The figure in the bed was very still. Too still.
“Hey, Ben. No change. She hasn’t woken up at all.”
“Have the doctors been in?”
“A while ago. She’s got a fractured skull, a dislocated shoulder, a couple of broken ribs and a lungful of water.”
“It’s my fault. If I’d had the walkie-talkie on me…if I hadn’t left her in there by herself…”
Yazhi rubbed her tired eyes. “Ben, sweetie. What’s done is done. Beating yourself up will not change the outcome. She is alive, and it appears that she will stay that way. All things considered, she’s a very lucky lady.” Yazhi could tell from the silence on the other end of the connection that her big brother didn’t share her assessment. In truth, it wasn’t what she was thinking, either, but Ben had already suffered enough for his carelessness. She didn’t want to add to his misery.
Eventually, Ben broke the silence. “Are you going to stay in Phoenix?”
Yazhi regarded the woman under the thin sheet. Her pallor was pasty, her head was swathed in gauze, tubes protruded from her left hand and right arm, and her eyes twitched underneath bruised lids. They hadn’t been able to find any emergency contact information for her. She would be all alone and scared when she awoke.
“Yaz?”
“Yeah. I’m going to hang around for a while. I’ll call you if there’s any change.” She clicked the End button on her Blackberry and rose to look out the window at the mountains, now framed in shadows by the setting sun. The scene was so peaceful, so benign. Yazhi was struck again by the contrast from the tumult of just a few hours earlier.
It had all happened so quickly, in the end. There was no time to process. Now, as her mind quieted and her heart rate finally returned to normal, Yazhi could no longer keep the images at bay.
When she saw Ben casually walk out of the canyon several seconds after finding his walkie-talkie in his truck, she was elated. He was fine, after all.
Her joy was short-lived. “Where’s the photographer?”
Ben shrugged. “Wanted to ‘be alone.’ Chased me out. Told me to come back in half an hour.”
“No! Ben, quick, help me get the rope.” Yazhi made a beeline for her Jeep.
“Where’s the fire? What’s going on?”
Yazhi tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “Where is she in the canyon? Can you pinpoint it from up top?” She could hear Ben breathing heavily behind her, trying to keep up.
“Yeah. She hasn’t moved in twenty minutes.”
Yazhi flung the rope across her shoulder and threw the hardhat to Ben. “Show me!”
Ben led the way, stopping at a point roughly three hundred yards from the parking area. “She should be right below here.”
Yazhi knelt and put her ear to the ground before springing to her feet once again. “Come on!” She ran another hundred yards, stopped abruptly near a narrow fissure in the earth, and uncoiled the end of the rope.
“What’re you doing?”
Yazhi’s hands were sure as she tied the rope with a double knot around her waist. She handed the other end to Ben and motioned to him to follow suit. “Flash flood coming.” She visually measured the opening and nodded. “Anchor yourself around that”—she pointed to an outcropping of rocks a short distance away—“and give me slack until I yank on the rope.”
“Yaz, you can’t—”
“It’s her only chance, Ben.”
“Then let me be the one to go down.”
“Can’t. You won’t fit. One tug to give me slack, two to hold position, three to haul me up.”
As Ben started to object, Yazhi snapped, “Stop arguing and get going. We’re out of time.” She ignored the fear in her brother’s eyes and strapped on the hardhat.
Ben looped the rope around the rocks and positioned himself for maximum leverage. When he signaled that he was ready, Yazhi threw herself into the opening and rappelled down the rocks.
She could hear the roar of the water. She waited, her legs braced against the side of the canyon and her hands gripping the rope. By her calculation, she was just above the waterline.
A flash of something silver to her left caught her attention. She yanked once on the rope, then twice when she judged herself to be at the right height. Part of a tree trunk flew by and Yazhi pressed her body against the rock wall.
As she looked back, she saw the glint of light reflect off silver again and readied herself. She would only get one chance, she knew. Yazhi slowed her breathing, said a quick prayer, and pushed off the wall.
The power of the water was almost too much to overcome. Yazhi threw out her right arm and grabbed a handful of cloth. The pressure of the deluge as it beat against her was almost unbearable, but she refused to let go.
She realized she would need to reposition herself if she was to have any chance of holding on. Yazhi took a deep breath, ducked below the water, and wrapped her left arm under the woman’s armpits. As she yanked upward, something sharp sliced into her back. Yazhi ignored the pain, threw her legs around the woman’s waist, released her grip on the handful of shirt she still held, and tugged hard three times on the rope.
It wasn’t until she was lying prone on the ground that Yazhi released her hold. She rolled onto her side and sucked in fresh air. Her back felt like it was on fire, and her heart pounded against her ribcage.
“Yaz?…Yaz, say something.”
“Untie me.”
Ben’s shaking fingers picked at the knot ineffectually.
“Never mind,” Yazhi said as she pushed his hands away. She finished undoing the knot herself and sat up. “Call 911. Tell them we’ve got an airlift for them. Then call Amà. We need a healer. Quickly.”
“But you could—”
“Mother is the healer in this tribe. Get her. Now.”
Yazhi gently turned the unconscious woman and cradled her head, which was bleeding profusely. She pried the woman’s fingers from the handle of a silver case and shook her head. How had the woman held on to it?
Ben returned, his anxious face peering over Yazhi’s shoulder. Without looking up, Yazhi said, “Give me your shirt.”
“My—”
“Just do it.”
Ben stripped off his T-shirt and Yazhi tore it into strips.
“Hey!”
“Get over it.” Yazhi wrapped a wide swath of material around the woman’s head. “Get her information out of the Jeep. We’re going to need to know who she is.”
Ben disappeared and reappeared several minutes later. “Her name is Renée Maupin. New York City address.”
“Is the helicopter on the way?” The woman’s skin was cold and clammy and, apart from the blood that ran in a line from above her left temple, her face was devoid of color. Her breathing was shallow and Yazhi could hear a gurgle that she assumed was water in the woman’s lungs.
“Yes. Amà too. I raised her on the walkie-talkie.” As Ben said it, another Jeep drove up and a woman jumped out. She was dressed in traditional Navajo garb.
“Move,” the healer commanded Ben as she approached. She knelt alongside Yazhi and, with expert hands, examined the unconscious woman. After several moments, she began to chant, moving her hands in a path parallel and slightly above the woman’s torso and head.
“Will she be all right?” Yazhi asked, when her mother sat back on her haunches.
“I think she might make it, thanks to you.”
Yazhi ducked her head self-consciously. “I am not you, Amà. I do not have your skill.”
“Nonsense. Let me have a look at you.”
“I-I’m fine.”
“Then why are you favoring that arm?” The healer pointed to Yazhi’s right arm, which she held tightly against her chest. “And what about the blood on the back of your shirt?”
“It’s nothing.” The sound of a helicopter
interrupted Yazhi’s protest.
Paramedics were on the ground in seconds. They consulted the healer, then readied the patient for transport. As they prepared to load her onto the helicopter, Yazhi said, “I’m going with her.”
Before anyone could argue, Yazhi grabbed the clipboard from Ben and stood up. As she was about to get on board, she noticed the silver case and scooped it up.
“Ben, keep this for me until I get back, will you?” Yazhi shoved the case into his hands and climbed into the chopper.
***
Renée cracked open one eye. The fluorescent brightness made her eye water and she closed it again. If she was on the other side, why would her head still hurt this much?
“You’re awake.”
So much for the death theory. Renée opened her mouth to speak, but the throbbing in her skull rendered her speechless. She tried to lift a hand to her head and let out a strangled cry.
“Shh. Don’t. Stay still.”
The voice was smooth and silky. Like honey. “Hurts.”