by Billy Wright
“Wow!” Hunter breathed. “Can I try it?”
“Sure, but be really careful.”
Hunter took the knife and applied it to his forearm as he’d seen Stewart do. The edge was indeed sharp enough to shave the downy peach-fuzz that covered Hunter’s forearm. He rubbed the bare patch with his thumb, and then reverently slid the blade back into its sheath.
Then he threw his arms around Stewart’s waist. “Thanks, Dad!”
Stewart chuckled and hugged him.
Then the boy unbuckled his belt and slid it through the sheath’s belt loop.
Stewart pointed to a little loop over the knife grip. “Keep that loop over the handle so it won’t slip out by accident.”
The boy did so, and as he finished buckling his belt again, he seemed to grow two inches before Stewart’s eyes. “Thanks, Dad.” Then he pelted away to show the rest of the family.
Meanwhile, Stewart filled the gas tank. He put in a few gallons more than he was expecting for the distance they had traveled. The decreased mileage must be because of the truck being loaded with people and camping equipment.
As he was headed inside to pay for the gas, he saw Hunter run into Liz and Cassie coming out of the toilet, which lay outside around the side of the building.
Hunter cocked his hip prominently to display his new prize, while trying to look nonchalant.
“Hunter!” Liz said. “What is that?” Her tone made it clear she was exaggerating her shock and dismay.
“Dad gave it to me.”
Cassie crossed her arms and pooched out her lower lip. “You’re not old enough for that.”
“I am so!” Hunter said.
Liz winked at Stewart. “Are you sure about this, honey? I mean that thing’s so sharp he’ll probably cut his finger off.”
“Mom!” Hunter rolled his eyes in protest.
Liz raised a finger and spoke with over-exaggerated archness. “Hush! Zip it! Silencio! It’s my job as the mother to say such things. If you cut yourself, your sister, your parents, or anything that ought not be cut with that little sword, you will not see it ever again. Do you understand?”
Hunter nodded vigorously, suppressing a grin of excitement.
Cassie eyed the knife and her parents with narrowed eyes. Then she sniffed and walked back toward the truck.
Liz gave Hunter one last meaningful look and followed the girl.
Stewart had his hand on the gas station door latch when he heard Cassie say, “Hey, Mommy, the pickup has a runny nose.”
He turned at the strange comment to see Cassie squatting and pointing under the pickup. Liz knelt as well and followed Cassie’s gaze. She was pointing at a small puddle of liquid forming under the engine.
He sighed and walked back to the truck. “Ugh, what now?”
Liz looked over her shoulder at him. “She’s right.”
He knelt and ran a fingertip through the small puddle. One sniff told him what it was. “It’s gas.”
“Something is leaking?” Liz said.
“Looks like it.” He slid on his back under the vehicle, across the gritty slab of sunbaked concrete, feeling a whisper of threat. A fuel leak on a hot engine was dangerous. How long had it been leaking? Was that why the truck’s mileage had decreased?
“I’ll go in and pay for the gas,” Liz said.
“Thanks,” he said, sliding deeper under the truck. He maneuvered himself as close to the puddle as possible without touching it. Another drip of gasoline helped lead his gaze to the source of the leak.
A hole in the fuel line.
“Hunter, hand me a tissue or something like that,” he said, wiping the fuel line clean with his thumb, only to have it wetted again by the slow but constant drippage.
Hunter crawled into the pickup, opened the glove compartment, and grabbed a tissue from the Mom Kit, as Liz called it, and handed it under the pickup. “Can I see?”
“Crawl under here, Son, and I’ll show you what we’re looking at.”
The boy eagerly soiled his clothes by scooting under the pickup beside his father.
Stewart pointed to the hole in the rusted, metal fuel line, which ran from the fuel tank, along the inside of the chassis, then up along the engine to the top, where the thirsty carburetor waited. “See the hole?”
Hunter said, “Yeah, but why does it look like the metal was snipped or something?”
Stewart looked closer. The boy was right. The hole was not a rust-through or a break. The edges of the hole were clean, straight, as if someone had taken a tiny clipper to it.
Perhaps a small wrinkled creature with razors of dark metal attached to its fingers?
“That’s weird, right?” Hunter said.
“Yeah.”
“Can we fix it?”
“It’s that or be stranded somewhere.”
“We’re not going home, are we?” Hunter said hopefully.
“That depends.” The weight of possibly having to call off the whole trip settled onto Stewart’s chest.
He slid out and went into the gas station. A jack-a-lope that looked older than Stewart stood sentinel near the entrance. The place’s wares were a wild assortment of this and that, not unlike the shop where he’d bought the two dolls. He found Liz paying for the fuel. The owner was a rosy-cheeked old man in a dusty baseball cap with more smile than he had teeth to fill it. A toothpick rested in the corner of his mouth, for what purpose Stewart couldn’t fathom. His pale eyes twinkled with welcome from deep, crinkled sockets. He wore faded, frayed overalls and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt.
The old man said, “Everything all right, young man?”
“Looks like we have a leaking fuel line.”
The old man’s eyebrow arched like a fuzzy gray caterpillar. “How bad?”
“Bad enough to take seriously.” Stewart looked at Liz. “It’s either fix it or limp back home.” The more he thought about it, the more it felt like sabotage, adding up with all the strange events of the last couple of weeks. Something or someone was trying to stop them from going on this journey.
“Mind if I have a look?” the old man said.
“Any help would be appreciated,” Liz said.
The old man grinned at her and slid out from behind the counter.
Outside, he crawled under the truck with a few grunts of effort. He only looked for a few seconds before he slid back out again and extended a hand for someone to pull him to his feet. Stewart took it and pulled. The old man’s hand was dry, callused, strong, the hand of a man who still worked.
Brushing off his overalls, the old man said, “I might have just the thing. Hang on to your britches.” Then he went back inside and returned shortly with a small plastic tube. “This here’s epoxy putty. It hardens in about ten minutes and isn’t affected by gas or water. It should plug the hole until you can fix it proper.”
Stewart felt a gush of hope. Liz gave him a buoyant grin.
The old man squeezed out two dollops of stuff, one black, one silvery gray, from separate containers inside the tube and kneaded them together into a ball the size of a large grape. Then he crawled back under the truck. Stewart knelt and watched him squeeze the putty around the fuel line over the leak, continuing to knead it with his fingers, smoothing the edges. It looked like dark-gray chewing gum.
Then he took the toothpick from his mouth and used it to score a shape onto the putty. It looked vaguely familiar, like a capital Y with an extra upright line, like an upside-down peace sign. Then he licked his dirty thumb, touched the character—the rune—and whispered something Stewart couldn’t hear.
A tingle raised the hair on Stewart’s arms.
With a groan of effort, the old man slid back out into the scorching sun. “I think that’ll do it. Should hold for a good long while.”
“What did you just do?” Stewart said.
“Why, I fixed your leak,” the old man said with a wink. He met Stewart’s gaze for a moment, as if acknowledging that Stewart had recognized what he had done.
Liz gave Stewart a look. “Thank you, Mister...”
“Call me Benny,” the old man said.
“Thanks, Benny,” Liz said. “We’re on a little family excursion, and I’m so happy we didn’t have to cut it short.”
Benny said, “C’mon back inside out of the sun for a few minutes while the putty gets hard. Don’t want you running off if it ain’t gonna work. We’ll come back out and check it in about ten minutes, see if it’s still leaking. We can send you down the road then.”
Cassie had been sitting in the driver’s seat with her legs dangling out the open door.
Benny winked at her. “You like lemonade?”
Cassie nodded. “Everybody likes lemonade, you know.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Benny said. “I keep some in the fridge, just for days like this.”
“Days like what?” Hunter said.
“When it’s hot,” Benny said.
“This is Arizona,” Hunter said.
“Exactly!” Benny laughed and beckoned them to follow him inside.
Stewart said, “You all go have some lemonade. I’m going to look the pickup over.”
Liz gave him a long look, but followed Benny inside.
Stewart couldn’t forget the sight of the strange little creature lying dead under the vehicle the night before. What other damage might it have done? Brake lines? Tires? If it had cut the brake lines, too, he would have known it long ago. Same with tires. Rough Arizona highways were murder on tires.
And what about the tiny rune inscribed in the putty? He didn’t dare disturb it for fear of ruining Benny’s repair job. What was its purpose? And who was this Benny character, really?
Chapter Thirteen
The sun was nearing the horizon as Stewart drove his family across the empty landscape, swimming in thoughts of runes and strange, nasty-looking critters. Nevertheless, it felt good to be back on a road trip with people he loved. Crisis averted, for the time being. The only radio they could get was an AM broadcast from some oldies station. With so little traffic on the road, he let his gaze drift out over the sea of sagebrush, saguaro, and scorpions, boulders churning from the earth like the backs of great whales.
Cassie was asleep against her mother, and Hunter was admiring his new treasure for the tenth time.
Liz said, “According to the map, there should be a turnoff soon. There’s this drawing of a campfire right here. Might be a campsite.” She had been studying the map off and on since they left the gas station. She rubbed her eyes, probably weary from so long in a hot vehicle.
Stewart took a drink from the water bottle—it was never a good idea to go far without one—keeping his eyes peeled for a turnoff. Then he spotted a rusted, sun-faded sign that read: BENT KNIFE CAMPGROUND 6 MI. An arrow pointed toward a narrow dirt road that led perpendicularly away from the highway. The sign was so badly weathered and sun-faded it was barely legible.
He hit the brakes to make the turn onto the dirt road. “It’s a good thing you’re following the map so close,” he said. “I probably wouldn’t have noticed the sign.”
“Navigation is my job,” she said, reaching over the children to stroke his shoulder and neck. “And massages.”
Her touch sent warmth and relaxation through tensed muscles.
“We’ve got to be getting close to Utah,” he said.
“Yeah, but I haven’t seen any signs. And cell service is gone, so no GPS.”
The lurch of dropping onto an unpaved surface jolted Cassie awake, and she rubbed her eyes. “Are we there yet?”
“We’re almost to a campground, honey,” Liz said.
“Do we have marshmallows?” Cassie said, still groggy.
“Yes, I packed us marshmallows,” Liz said.
“Oh, okay,” she said, then snuggled back up against her mother’s side.
The dirt road led off into a maze of boulders and scrub, but the road was so rough he had to slow to little more than jogging speed. Six miles of this kind of road would take at least half an hour. It would be getting dark before they reached the campground.
About a mile down this path, Cassie said, “It’s going to shake my tummy out.”
“Do you feel sick, honey?” Liz said.
“No, but...” Her voice trailed off.
Stewart slowed down even more, negotiating curves and undulations, dodging holes and boulders. “Hang in there, everyone.”
The sun touched the horizon, and shadows spread across the land.
“I was hoping we’d be there in the daylight,” Liz said. “It sucks setting up a tent in the dark.”
Stewart nodded. “Me too.”
The road dipped into an arroyo, the sides of which were covered in thickets of sage and juniper. Towering cacti rose like fingers into the darkening sky. Shadows spread across the sandy floor of the arroyo as it deepened.
“Are you sure we’re still on the road, babe?” Liz said.
“These look like tire tracks to me.”
“You realize if there’s a flash flood we might be trapped wherever we’re going...”
He couldn’t dispute that, although this was not the season for monsoon rains.
The arroyo’s sandy bottom made the driving easier, so he was able to pick up a little more speed until the path traced back up onto the land above. The path led into a valley between rocky hills that looked purple in the dusk, the shadows of sunset spreading up their sides.
For another twenty minutes or so, Stewart kept the pickup trundling forward as the trail switch-backed up the side of a hill. As the road crested a ridge, however, the hill became a mountain, sweeping upward at least two thousand feet, the slopes blanketed by pine trees.
The air cooled with the coming of night.
Flowering bushes draped the roadsides, reaching high above as the mountainside sloped up and away.
Cassie sighed. “Daddy, how far is it? I’m tired.”
“Maybe two more miles, sweetie,” Stewart said. “We’ll be there soon.”
As the truck rounded a switchback turn, he spotted a profusion of scarlet flowers blooming from a thicket along the roadside just ahead. The bright, brilliant red caught his eye and held it.
Liz saw them, too. “Look at the pretty flowers, kids!” The truck drew nearer, and Liz said. “They look like roses.”
“That is one huge rosebush,” Stewart said. The entire growth was easily the size of their house.
As they passed it, two deafening pops made him jump. A moment later, two more. The truck lurched and skidded, and the steering went sloppy. Fortunately, their slow speed let him maintain control and pull over to the side of the road after about thirty yards.
A sinking dread formed in the pit of his stomach as he realized they had just lost all four tires.
Liz’s eyes were wide, her mouth open. “Is that what I think it was?”
Stewart jumped out and saw two flat tires on the driver’s side. A quick check of the passenger side revealed the same.
He stood there scratching his head. “Four flat tires.”
Liz’s voice rose with incredulity. “Did someone put something in the road?”
Alarm was growing on the kids’ faces, Liz’s, too. He needed to head that off, keep everybody calm. “It’s all right, everybody. I’ll just call for a tow truck.”
“Aw, Dad! We have to go home?” Hunter said.
Liz said, “That’s a great idea, Stewart, but it’s kind of late in the day and we’re way out in the middle of nowhere. You might have better luck with that tomorrow.”
He grabbed his cell phone from where it lay atop the dash and checked the signal.
No service. Zip. Zilch.
He said, “No reception anyway.” He gazed up the mountainside, into the thickening blanket of pine trees. “We might be able to get some reception if we go higher up.”
“So what do we do?” Liz said.
Stewart took two deep breaths, let them out, scratching his head. Then he said, “Everybody up for a hike?”
> “In the dark?” Cassie said, eyes wide.
Stewart said, “It’s that or we all get to sleep in the pickup.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie, we have flashlights for everybody,” Liz said.
“All right, everybody out,” Stewart said. “Everybody is going to have to carry what they can.”
“Good thing it’s mostly backpacks,” Liz said. “I don’t think we’ll have to leave anything behind.”
“Essentials only,” Stewart said, untying the tarp, folding it aside, and opening the tailgate.
Hunter bailed out, the gleam of adventure in his eye. “This is gonna be fun!”
“Are there bears?” Cassie said.
“No, there are no bears, sweetie,” Liz said, but she gave Stewart an uncertain look.
“Nope,” Stewart said, “no bears this far south.”
“But there are coyotes!” Hunter said.
“Mommy!” Cassie said.
Liz sighed at Hunter and gave him a stern look. “Coyotes never bother people, sweetie. We hear them at our house all the time, right?”
“Okay,” Cassie said uncertainly.
Liz got out and circled the pickup. “What did we run over, anyway?”
Stewart grabbed a flashlight out of his backpack and shined it down the road the way they had come. The light of dusk still lingered, but had turned the landscape into a palette of shadows. He walked down the road with the flashlight.
The hazy circle of light passed over something dark and twisted crossing the road. It lay partially obscured by shadows, dust, and potholes, but it was clear. He knelt beside it. A thick bundle of what looked like cables, all in all about the thickness of his wrist, snaked across the road, in and out of the dust.
But they weren’t cables.
They were thorny vines. And the thorns varied from an inch to two inches long. The thorns looked absolutely nasty, so black and barbed he dared not touch them. He traced the vines back to the rosebushes on the roadside. They were indeed outgrowths of the rosebushes. His tire tracks went straight across them.
But how had they gotten twisted and intertwined like that? And why would they have grown straight across the road?