They passed by a rail yard, filled with tracks and switching areas, and then entered an area that symbolized a transformation in the area to their west. A group of large and newer homes sat behind a gate that fronted the community. It was filled with now-dead lawns and was flanked by an expensive-looking shopping mall.
They drove through another part of town with warehouses and decaying apartment buildings that had been, even before the die-off, disintegrating and crumbling in a neighborhood that evidenced impoverishment and abandonment. The difference was noticeable and Erin realized they had passed by the limit of a good place to live, and were now looking at a neighborhood that had been occupied by the despairing, sidelined people who had lived on the borders of a barely civilized world.
A large, low one-story building made of adobe squatted on the desert to the east. The windows were all broken and it was surrounded other smaller structures that crouched on a barren landscape.
They continued past the neighborhood, staring at the shabby retail stores, broken down cars, and barbed wire surrounding industrial areas that contained more tire repair stores. A broken down church with a steeple that was no longer vertical stood to the west of the road. It leaned to one side and looked as though it were about to succumb to gravity and end up on the street.
“This is pretty grim,” she said.
“This was a wealthy part of the country, by Mexican standards. It wasn’t all pretty, but it was a good place to live compared to the rest of it.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Well, I did spend time here and I’ve seen a lot of the alternatives, and this was a lap of comfort compared to some places I saw.” Stryker paused. “This was all about tourism and American money. Everyone worked in the hotels and restaurants and had salaries that were much higher than everywhere else because they could charge more for the same things. Even with the higher prices, Americans still spent a lot here, because it was still cheap compared to the States.”
The soil was rocky and looked infertile, and the sides of the roads were covered with tall grass that had turned yellow, almost the color of straw. They drove by a giant stand of cactus, and Erin slowed as she gaped at it.
“What the hell is that?” She asked.
“Those are Cardon Cacti. They are the largest cactus in the world and grow to sixty feet tall and weigh up to twelve tons. The weight thing is deceptive because they can be up to ninety-five percent water, and as we know, water is really heavy.”
“Why do they have those vertical parallel ribs?” Erin asked.
“Think of it like an accordion. When it rains, they can expand without breaking the skin of the plant and that’s how they get so wide. There’s one in there that is almost wider than it is tall.”
They passed an empty village with a few sad, broken-down vegetable stands on the side of the road, and then the landscape again opened and featured more rocky soil and dead grass. An abandoned field was to the east, covered with agave plants that were surrounded by weeds and faded to a yellow color.
“Those are agaves and were used to make tequila,” Stryker said when he saw Erin staring at the field. They drove on for another few klicks.
Finally, they passed what looked to be two military bases far in the distance, one with naval frigates at the pier, and the other with fence surrounding the buildings.
“What does Ensenada mean?” Erin stared at the town in the rear view mirror.
It was now behind them and Stryker was grateful for passing it without incident. “It means a cove or a bay.”
“Ensenada is the birthplace of margaritas and fish tacos,” Jose said from the back, his voice hopeful.
“So, you’re awake,” Stryker grumbled back.
“Your name is Stryker? Is that a last name?” Jose was feeling talkative and it was grating.
“It’s the only name,” Stryker replied. “Now shut the hell up until I start asking questions.”
Highway 1 swerved east. They lost sight of the ocean, and then they passed over two river bridges. The banks of the rivers—really arroyos that were now dry—were covered with stands of blooming cottonwood trees.
“You had rain recently.” Stryker glanced into the back seat.
“Last week. We had a whole day of rain,” Jose mumbled.
“Why did you ask that?” Erin asked.
“Cottonwoods only bloom after a rain. Those arroyos are dry now, so they must have had rain recently.”
“Now the guy is a botanist.”
“You don’t notice that kind of stuff?” Stryker looked at Erin with a curious expression.
“No.”
“You should. You’ll live longer.”
Erin stared back at him. “And how is a tree blooming going to save my life?”
“For starters, it tells you there is water available and you can find water if you need it and have the means to find it. The desert holds small aquifers that are very shallow, and they generally occur in arroyos and on the side of rivers where cottonwoods grow.”
Erin shrugged and looked away.
“You really need to pay more attention,” Stryker admonished.
Erin looked at him and saw a serious expression.
“Look I’m not a naturalist and I don’t see everything you do.”
“Let’s talk about it later.”
Erin returned her attention to the road ahead.
After crossing the bridges and a long, empty expanse of land, they drove by another small town with a sign that read “Guadalupe.” The community was a series of battered abandoned homes, a few empty lots and what had been some sort of tourist shop.
“What does ‘Curios’ mean,” Erin asked as they passed a small building with the sign hanging down on one side from the remaining s-hook.
“They are shops that sell trinkets and souvenirs.”
They again entered open land covered with ocotillos, with their whip like trunks extending up.
“What are those?” Erin nodded to the side of the road.
“Ocotillos. They were the first fencing used by Native Americans.” As if on cue, they passed a corral that was fenced by the plants.
“How does that happen?”
“You can pluck stems from a live plant, stick them in the ground about a foot apart, and in a few years, you have a natural fence. We had several remote corrals on the ranch back in Texas that we built with them, and they lasted forever. They don’t need to be repaired, you don’t have to water the plants, and you just don’t plant them where you want the gate. Wait for them to get mature, and then you install the gate, and you got yourself a free corral that doesn’t need any maintenance. You can see them all over Texas. Some were built over two hundred years ago and are still standing. And, you walked by two of them that day we went to the meadow. You don’t remember that?”
Erin looked away, wondering how she could forget anything about that day.
“Those men aren’t soldiers,” Jose squeaked from the back of the Humvee, apparently needing to talk.
Stryker glanced back at him. “Go on.”
“They all drink too much and some of them smoke mota.”
“Mota?” Erin asked.
“Slang for pot,” Stryker explained to Erin.
“And some of them were missing teeth like those people who take… anfetaminas,” he said after searching for the English word and shrugging helplessly when he couldn’t think of it.
“He means meth.” Stryker glanced in the rear view mirror and his eyes continued to roam the landscape around them.
“They were mean and punched me if they didn’t like my food, and I just don’t think they are soldiers. I thought soldiers were disciplined and organized, and these people were not that.”
“Maybe you need to consider a new line of work,” Stryker replied dryly.
Erin shot him a dirty look.
“We already know that.” Stryker ignored Erin’s gaze. “The dead lady told us they were drug dealers.”
“I guess I probably did know that too,” Jose replied, shrugging.
“What else do you know about them?” Stryker glanced away as he said it.
“Well, Big Carlos, the man who is in charge, is not very nice. He screams at people and gets very crazy at times. The men are all afraid of him and the woman all get used by him – even the married ones.” He glanced away, apparently embarrassed by his admission about the women.
“And it is ‘Big Carlos’ which, I guess means he is a large man.”
“Very large. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone that big until I saw you by the Humvee.”
Stryker glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Jose examining him. He swept his eyes to the east side of the road and again watched in all directions with a practiced regularity.
Erin did the same.
The landscape continued to move by them, and they passed through several more villages before turning west, and then again getting on Highway 1. Erin kicked the speed up to eighty and they chewed up the miles, only having to slow for the occasional stalled vehicle. The sun was beginning to approach the ocean when they stopped in a small town called San Quinton.
It was really three small towns, separated by empty land between the communities. The third was where they stopped, as it was the largest of the three municipalities.
“It looks like we have to stop for fuel anyway, so we might as well stay here.” Erin stopped next to a large semi. Stryker got out of the vehicle and used a foot pump he found in the back seat to transfer fuel from the saddle tanks into the Humvee’s tank.
He got back in, and Erin drove to the next rig. She watched the fuel gauge approach the full mark before Stryker pulled the hose from the semi and let the rest of the diesel drain into their tank.
Erin looked around them and pointed to a house that sat alone around three hundred meters from the highway to the west.
“That might be a beach house. Why don’t we stay there?” She looked at Stryker with a hopeful expression.
“Why not?”
They drove to the turn-off, started down an asphalt road and shortly were sitting in front of the structure. It was a modest house, perched on a slight rise in the surrounding landscape, and was probably a second home.
“Keep an eye on him.” Stryker got out of the vehicle and walked up to the door of the house. He twisted the knob and found it locked. After a look under the welcome mat yielded no key, he walked around the side of the house testing for unlocked windows. The third one opened, he pushed his M-4 through the opening, and saw he was looking into a kitchen.
Nothing moved.
Stryker crawled through the window and cleared the rest of the structure, and then walked to the front door, opened it, and gestured Erin to come in.
“What about Jose?” Erin asked as she approached.
“I’ll get him. Figure out where we’re sleeping tonight.”
Stryker left the house, walked to the Humvee, and used his combat knife to cut the zip ties that secured Jose to the vehicle, lifted him out with his hands still tied, and frog-marched him back to the house.
Erin stood in the doorway, her M-4 butt perched on one hip. “Two master suites in the back of the house, but no beach.”
“Crap and I requested beachfront,” Stryker murmured as he hustled Jose through the door by one elbow.
“What do you want to do with him?” Erin nodded toward Jose.
“I’ll zip him to the headboard in the spare bedroom after he does his business, but first I have to ask him a lot of questions, so why don’t you see what you can find around here to eat.”
“I’m on it.”
Stryker cut the zip ties from around the man’s wrists, sat him down, and started asking questions.
CHAPTER SIX
Stryker arose early the following morning, made a cup of coffee from the MREs, and sat on the porch watching the sun peek over the horizon to the east. The Allman Brother’s song “Melissa” played on his mental CD player as he watched the landscape around him grow shadows and slowly reveal itself.
Everyone thought the song was named “Sweet Melissa” and that it was about a lost love. Nothing could have been further from the truth and Stryker knew that. He gave up arguing the point long ago. The title of the song was actually just “Melissa” and it had nothing to do with a woman except in the abstract.
It was written by Gregg Allman in 1967 in a rundown hotel called “The Evergreen” in Pensacola, Florida. At the time, Duane and Gregg Allman were with a band called the “31st of February” and the group broke up before the song could be released. It sat in the can for years, and after Duane died, Gregg remembered it was Duane’s favorite song. He used to ask Gregg to play it from time to time prior to his tragic death in a motorcycle accident.
When Gregg wrote the song, he was in one more of the countless hotels the group stayed in on their marathon tour. Gregg was tired of the road, yearned to get back to writing music, and was exhausted with the relentless pace of the tour.
Stryker had listened to the song countless times and had turned it over in his head. He knew what the song was really about: it was about the restlessness that lived in him from the time he was born, and overruled the need for stability, but yearned for the road to end and the love that awaits the troubled sojourner.
The constant references in the song to the “Crossroads” spoke volumes about the importance of Robert Johnson, the legendary bluesman, to the theme of the melody. It represented the demarcation point from the man who was the irresponsible wanderer and the one who settled down and grew a family. “Crossroads” was a reference to the intersection where a man chooses to continue the course he is on, or to turn off into a different life filled with different possibilities.
So, Melissa was a romanticized idea of the woman that waited at the end of the road—should the man choose to turn off the path he was on—and represented the wander’s redemption. Stryker often speculated that the song also symbolized Gregg’s salute to his brother, who was robbed of the possibility of ever returning home.
The only thing Stryker still wondered about, with regard to the song, was if Gregg didn’t wait to release it until after Duane’s death to express his sorrow at his brother’s uncompleted life.
For Gregg, it must have been another unfinished journey, just as the song hinted.
The song meant a lot to Stryker and had much to do with his current situation. The possibility of Erin being pregnant changed his landscape in ways he could not have imaged.
Stryker’s personal life had always been like the debit column in an accountant’s books, with no countervailing credits. He started with nothing, being an orphan, had lost comrades in battle, and lost his first wife and child. Although raised by loving grandparents, he knew the isolation of being truly alone from his earliest memories.
A loner by nature, he had made few friends, and was considered something a freak by most people he befriended over the years. Nobody could seem to get by his appearance and the fact that his intellect was truly spooky to most that knew him well. It was so at odds with his appearance, and that incongruity of it was enough to put people off – except the few that could see beyond his exterior.
Stryker also knew that Erin was the only anchor he had left in this world. Edwards was a good friend and battle buddy, but the fact was that he never felt he could bare his soul to anyone but his first wife and now Erin, and he knew that if he told Erin he wanted to quit the fight, he would get big time push-back.
He also knew he couldn’t lie to her. To do so was to diminish her.
“Shit,” he muttered.
He was drinking his second cup of coffee when he heard the soft footsteps behind him. Erin wrapped her arms around him from the back, and kissed his neck. “You’ve been up for a while.”
“Yeah, I was not able to sleep that well.”
“What’s on your mind?”
Stryker paused a moment. “Maybe we should just bag this whole thing and go back to San Dieg
o.”
“Why?”
“Well, I kind of feel like I want to have our child and move back to Texas. I’m not saying it would be perfect, but I would like our kid to have a chance to be raised the way I was. You know, being pretty self-sufficient and able to get by without others is not a bad way to grow up.”
“So, you think I’m actually pregnant based upon an old woman drug dealer?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
Stryker grinned. “Because we’ve been trying really hard and it just sounds right.”
“I don’t feel any different.”
“I do.”
“You would not be the one who would know.”
“What do you think?”
She sighed softly. “I probably am.”
“Well, maybe we should just presume you are and go home.”
“San Diego is not really home. We live on an aircraft carrier.”
“We could just have the baby there and then go back to the ranch.”
“What about Haley and Elle?” Erin’s expression grew troubled, and Stryker knew it mattered to her.
“We can’t control their choices.”
“So you want to be a ‘loser and a quitter?” She asked.
“No, but I’m tired of having the things I love taken away from me. You know, the longer you live, the more things that you love go away. It’s like someone is peeling away the layers of the onion and, someday, the last thing you have left is taken from you and you just stand there and wonder why you should go on. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened to me and I don’t want to go there again or put you in that position.”
“Well, did you quit when you were a marine?”
“Never.”
“You want to start now.”
Stryker looked at her and said in a quiet voice, “I would for you.”
“Never,” Erin replied. “It would probably kill you as a man; so no, that is not an option. You can’t just throw it in my lap and make me responsible for your decisions.”
Stryker stared off toward the sunrise. “You would risk our child to save my honor?”
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