by Cara Adams
For the next two hours they talked a while and then rode in companionable silence. From time to time he pointed out features of the desert for Jaz to recognize, and Hunter asked her to check the compass to ensure they were heading in the correct direction. They’d left the track long before, although they should cross another track soon. The one that had led to the abandoned township.
Just then Jaz pointed. “Look up there. There’s a track, and it’s going our way.”
“Great. Another ten or fifteen minutes and we’ll be there,” said Hunter.
Damien stretched. He’d be ready to get out of the truck, and he was sure the dog would be, too. As long as there were no snakes around here. Although Phideaux likely would do as Jaz told him. Well, hopefully.
Damien was surprised that there were no buildings here at all, not even tumbled-down ones. If they hadn’t been driving really slowly, they’d have gone right past the cemetery, thinking they hadn’t reached the correct place yet.
“Over there. I see gravestones,” said Jaz, pointing.
“There are a few bricks just here. That might possibly have been the chimney of a house.” But Damien was doubtful. What had happened to the rest of it?
Hunter slowed to a crawl and drove over the rutted track to the edges of what was likely the cemetery.
Damien stared out the window, which he’d rolled down. There was some straggly grass and a few tussocks of weeds, which indicated that no sheep had wandered this way in quite a while. It was a very small cemetery, if it truly was a burial ground. There were maybe half a dozen headstones lying flat on the dirt and none upright, and that was all.
Damien had a horrible feeling that this was not going to earn any money for Jaz. Oh, well. It was a nice little mini-vacation for them anyway. He’d enjoyed simply being with her, although it would have been better if it was suitable as well.
Hunter stopped the truck, and Damien opened his door, climbing out. He reached in to help Jaz, but she was already wiggling across the seats and jumping down. Phideaux was on his feet, ready and waiting to get out, but she gripped his head and said, “Cemetery, Phideaux.”
He whined with disappointment but obediently stood at her side. He looked so downcast Damien wanted to ask, “Can’t he play first?” but he was Jasmine’s pet, and this was her workplace. Damn. He’d never have expected the huge mutt to get under his skin so much he wanted to play with him instead of focusing on work first.
* * * *
Hunter stayed back, leaning against the truck watching as Jasmine did almost exactly what she’d done at the Junctionville cemetery. She took a lot of pictures of the cemetery and its surroundings then close-ups of the graves and the headstones, and finally she got out her notebook and copied down the information on the clearest of the headstones.
“What is this place called?” she asked him and Damien, turning to look at them.
Damien shrugged, and Hunter said, “This road is the old Towler-Wetherby Track, but I don’t know a place name for here. Maybe just say it’s about sixty miles from Wetherby.”
“Maybe the headstones say,” said Damien, waking into the cemetery.
He stood beside Damien and read the few carved stones, but it was just the usual thing, dates of birth and death, wife of and mother of—nothing about the place where they were.
After a little while, Jaz put her things in her backpack and said, “Okay, Phideaux.”
The dog, which had been sniffing around one of the more distant graves, raced across to her, barking, and she threw the ball to him. Soon all four of them were chasing the ball, throwing and catching it, but Hunter had to admit the dog was faster than the rest of them.
He wandered back to the truck and got out some water for them all and then unpacked a rug to sit on and the cooler of food. They cleansed their hands with hand sanitizer, not wanting to waste their water on the first day, and then ate. Hunter grinned as he unpacked the bone Ny had sent for Phideaux. The mutt was fast becoming the spoiled pet of all of them.
“Do you think this cemetery will be one the Cemetery Trust will want?” asked Damien.
“I don’t know. There aren’t very many graves, and most of them aren’t even named. But the ones in that far corner look much newer, so maybe they already know about it. I mean those ones look really new, like the cemetery is still in use.”
“But no one lives anywhere near here,” said Hunter. He jumped up and walked over to where she indicted. Phideaux barked and followed him across.
Hunter stared at four graves. They had tiny wooden crosses planted in the earth at the head of each grave. “Andy, Aiden, Amanda, Amy.”
“Do you think they are four people from the one family? Maybe they died in a car accident or something,” said Jaz from behind him.
He shook his head. “We’d have heard if there were any road accidents anywhere around here. Or any other loss of life. Everyone in the desert would know if four people died like that.”
Jaz crouched down by one of the crosses. “It looks like it was written with a Sharpie, and they hadn’t been invented when everyone else here died. Any why are there no last names? Surnames are really important on graves. They’re all quite common names, although it’s weird they all start with A. Their parents must have wanted their kids always to be at the front of the line at kindergarten.”
Hunter grinned. “That’s no joke. With a last name like Wishram, it was always a worry that whatever the teacher was handing out would be all used up before they got to me. And they started using surnames for grade order even in elementary school at Burton.”
“Maybe that’s the reason. Maybe their last name started with a Z, and the parents were overreacting,” said Damien.
They all laughed. Phideaux was sniffing around a grave again, and Hunter realized it was where he’d been quite a lot of the time. Evidently some rodents or maybe snakes had a nest there. It was one of these newer graves, so perhaps a small creature had made use of the more recently turned soil to build itself a home.
“Come on, Damien. We’d better go pitch the tent and set up our home for the night.”
“Okay. But after that, let’s walk up that hill. It’s maybe three miles. It’ll be a nice walk after sitting all day in the truck.”
“Is that too far for you, Jaz?” asked Hunter.
“No. It’s fine, but I’d like to look around here a bit more to make sure I’ve got everything I need.”
“Sure.” He walked back to the truck, and he and Damien took out the tent and began setting it up. It wasn’t new, but it did have a built-in floor and extra weather protection. Nights could get cold in the desert, even though the days were hot. And the floor was essential protection against bugs. The tent fabric was treated with a tropical-strength insect repellant layer, which meant they didn’t need to worry about a visit from a scorpion in the night.
They’d almost finished getting everything ready when the dog yelped loudly and then whined. Hunter turned around to see him standing on three legs and holding up a front paw.
“Oh, fuck. I hope he hasn’t been bitten by something.”
“I’ll get the first aid box,” said Damien, racing back to the truck.
Hunter ran across to Jaz, who was on her knees looking at Phideaux’s paw. There was some blood she was trying to brush away with her fingers, so he pulled off his T-shirt and said, “Use this.”
As soon as she wiped the blood away, he could see a long and nasty splinter in the dog’s foot. “Sorry, boy, but a splinter is better than a sting from a scorpion,” he said.
“I wish I had tweezers though. It’s not going to be easy to grab with my fingers.”
“There’ll be tweezers in the first aid box. Damien’s getting it.”
She raised huge, worried brown eyes to look at him. “You have a first aid box? Wonderful.”
He wanted to say of course they wouldn’t travel across the desert without bandages and disinfectant, but he didn’t want to worry her anymore than she was. She hadn
’t meant to imply he wasn’t going to look after her properly.
“Here we are.” Damien dropped to his knees beside them and opened the container.
Jaz wiped the wound again very gently with his T-shirt and picked up the tweezers. She rubbed Phideaux’s muzzle with the back of her hand and said, “This is going to hurt, buddy. You need to be brave, okay?”
The dog whined but stayed perfectly still, and Hunter saw the trust the woman and the dog shared. He wanted them to trust him like that, too, to be filled with the knowledge that he would always be there to look after her and the mutt as well, instead of being surprised and pleased when he produced what she needed.
“Would you like me to hold him still for you?” he asked.
“You’ll stay still, won’t you, boy? I need to grip the splinter properly to pull it out.”
Once again Phideaux whined, but he didn’t move.
Hunter watched her grab the end of the splinter and tug it firmly, but smoothly, out of the wounded paw. Damien had the little bottle of disinfectant in his hand, so Hunter took the splinter and tweezers from her, and she poured the liquid over the cut and then wrapped a bandage around the dog’s foot.
“That’s not going to protect it for two minutes,” she said, looking in the box for something tougher to use.
“You can rip up my T-shirt.” He liked that shirt, but she was right. The bandage would be filthy in no time at all.
“Actually a sock would be stronger. Can one of you please bring my backpack over here and I’ll get a clean sock to tie on his foot.”
Damien jumped up and got it, and in the end, she used both her clean socks, tied onto Phideaux’s leg with a length of twine.
Phideaux limped across to the tent, went inside, and lay down. Jaz followed him, sitting beside him and rubbing his head. “Poor buddy. I know it hurts right now, but it’ll soon heal over.”
Damien put some water in Phideaux’s bowl and poured a cup for each of them as well, and then he tipped some more water into a smaller container for them to take on their walk.
Hunter was worried. Phideaux couldn’t come with them. His paw was still much too tender. “Will he be all right here alone while we go hiking?”
Jaz shook her head. “I can’t leave him now. I don’t want him to feel like he ought to follow us.”
Now he felt even worse. He knew Damien had been looking forward to the walk, and he had as well, but he couldn’t leave Jaz here alone.
“Okay, we won’t go hiking.”
“Why not? You and Damien can go. I’ll be fine here. I’m used to it being just me and Phideaux. Besides, we haven’t seen a person or a car since we left the highway. If you tell me what to prepare, I’ll have supper ready for you when you get back.”
“Are you sure?” asked Damien.
“Of course. I told you, Phideaux and I have been traveling for months now, and we’re used to camping out like this.”
“We didn’t bring anything that requires cooking because fuel is hard to find and the smell of meat might bring predators. But there’s plenty of food in the cooler. Ny made sure of that. Are you really going to be okay here for a couple of hours?”
“Nothing’s going to happen. Since you don’t need me to cook, likely I’ll be curled up and sound asleep by the time you get back.”
* * * *
Jaz sat in the doorway of the tent and watched the men gradually disappear up a slope and over the top. She wondered how accurate their estimate of three miles was. They’d lived here all their lives, she knew that, but she also thought distances out here were very deceptive. That hill they’d just climbed didn’t seem very far at all, maybe half a mile, yet the amount of time it’d taken two fit men to walk there told her it had to be closer to two miles.
The higher hill they were heading toward was as far away again. Jaz rather thought they’d be going on an eight-mile walk rather than three miles. Or maybe they’d meant three miles each way, but she still thought that was an underestimate. They waved as they disappeared from her view, and she turned to face Phideaux. The poor dog was still feeling a bit miserable. That splinter had been quite deep, and pouring disinfectant into the wound, although very necessary, would have stung like hell.
“You’ve been a very good boy. I hope Ny packed you something nice for supper to be your reward,” she said, stroking his soft head and petting his ears the way he liked. She sat with him for a long time, kneading and soothing him until he went to sleep. That was the best thing for him. Likely by the time he woke up, the men would be almost back and it’d be time to eat. And then to go to bed. Jaz giggled softly. Hell yes. She was looking forward to the going-to-bed part of the program.
Jaz thought she heard the sound of tires on dirt and sat up straighter, frowning. She listened intently and couldn’t hear anything more so she wondered if it had just been a stray breeze. Contrary to what some people might think, even out in the middle of the desert, alone with nature, the world wasn’t silent. There were insects and birds moving, the breeze blowing, and the scraping of dirt against rocks.
She tilted her head and then wiggled forward to the doorway of the tent. This time she thought she heard a faint sound of boots on dirt. Maybe she had heard tires before. But whoever it was must have seen the tent. It was bright blue in a beige-brown-ocher desert. Why hadn’t they called out or honked their car horn?
Jaz crawled out of the tent and stood up. Over to the side of the cemetery was a dirty white minivan. Why hadn’t she heard the engine? And where were the people?
Huge hands grabbed her from behind, and a third hand pressed her neck. “Sorry, sugar. Time for you to take a nap.”
Chapter Five
Jaz woke up to find her hands handcuffed behind her back and her ankles tied together. She was in the back of the minivan and surrounded by wooden crates. What the fuck was she doing here and why the crates of equipment? Why hadn’t the men just left her in her tent? If she was tied up she’d have no idea where they’d gone or which way to follow them.
She stared at the wooden crates. Wooden crates. The splinter in Phideaux’s paw. Likely those new graves had held these crates. But why four graves? Why not just one? And why go to the trouble of naming them all?
Unless one lot of people hid the crates and the next lot retrieved them? But that sort of story belonged in the Prohibition era. Not these days. The most likely item to be smuggled was drugs, and it made no sense whatsoever to leave them somewhere. Why not just deliver them to where they were going? And that would be a major population center, not tiny desert towns. Besides, no one heading to Las Vegas from South America would come past here.
It didn’t make any sense whatsoever.
Jaz tired to wiggle her shoulders to relax her tense muscles without alerting the men to the fact that she was awake. If they thought she was still unconscious likely they’d talk and tell her what was happening. At least, that’s what always happened in the movies.
But the men didn’t speak much, and the only thing Jaz knew was that they were still in the desert on a track or off-road because they were traveling not very fast over rough ground. Once they reached the highway, they’d go a lot faster and could be heading anywhere. Even more importantly, once they reached the highway, Hunter and Damien would have no hope at all of finding her. Not that anyone had seen the minivan approach the cemetery anyway.
Why did they abduct me? There has to be a reason. It would have been ten times simpler to just leave me in the tent. Why?
Why the transfer of goods at the cemetery, and why had they taken her? They were the key questions. If she could answer them, she’d know what this was all about. Maybe the crates would tell her something.
Jaz twisted herself up into a sitting position and then used her heels and her butt to inch across the floor until she was beside the crates. There were eight of them, which meant there’d been two in each fake grave. There was quite a lot of sandy grit on the floor of the van, which seemed to prove they had been dug up, so
her guessing was doing okay so far.
It took her quite a while to wiggle past all the crates, but their only markings were a series of letters and numbers, which likely meant something to the owners of the shipping company but didn’t help her at all.
Now what? Preventing the bad guys from reaching the highway seemed to be the most important thing. How was she to do that?
Jaz leaned back against the crates and thought.
* * * *
Damien really enjoyed the hike with Hunter. It’d been way too long since he’d taken a day off to go hiking. The weather this time of year was absolutely perfect. Hot, but not too hot, and with a slight breeze to temper the sunshine. He stretched his legs out and walked using his entire body. It was a great feeling. At the top of the first hill, he and Hunter waved to Jaz, who appeared as a tiny dot in the opening of the tent. Then they turned and kept going. It took longer than he’d expected to reach the second, higher hill, but there was still more than enough time to get back to the tent before dusk, and downhill would be faster anyway.
He and Hunter walked along the ridge, admiring the amazing view. “Fuck, the desert is so beautiful. I could never live anywhere else.”
“Me either. City people think it’s empty, but there’s so much life hiding inside it, and the view is ever-changing.”
He walked to the end of the ridge and turned slowly to look at every one of the three-sixty degrees laid out before him. Tucked between two ripples in the countryside was a tiny white box. “What do you think that is, Hunter?”
“Huh? Where?”
Damien pointed. It wasn’t moving. At first he’d wondered if it was a minivan or truck, but why would it be parked there? It didn’t seem big enough to be a house, and why would a house be painted white all the way out here?
“It looks like a truck or a minivan. Maybe it’s an RV and someone is camping there.”
“Oh, all right. An RV makes sense.” Damien turned and fist-bumped Hunter. Ever since they’d been boys it had been their standard method of signaling success, congratulations, or simply agreement to each other.