Journey By Fire, Part 2: Escape From Tonto Basin

by Bruce W. Perry

  He let it run on the back of his sore neck for a minute. Then he toweled off, dressed, and walked back to the bus to secure their things onboard.

  He ran into Jonesy out front.

  "Well lookee here. I didn't recognize you. Is that really Wade? Don't you look smart."

  "Not exactly ready for church or the office, but I feel better. Could use some more sleep." They shook hands. "Thanks for sending that bus after us. We were road kill without it. I think Pepe's sick now."

  "Oh no, I hope he's okay. The poor lad has covered a lot of distance."

  Javi had tied Pequeno to a stake in the ground at the hospital entrance. Wade knelt down and pet him. He did his best to bat away a swarm of pestering flies. The dog tugged on his leash and panted, then sat down, licked his chops, and looked up gratefully. Someone had even set down a plastic dish of the much coveted water. It was a place where they did their best to look after people, and animals.

  Jonesy told him he had already bartered for a one-man tent; he was going to stay.

  "I'm not making the same mistake twice," he said, referring to Phoebe's habitat. "This place ain't half bad. They're making a go of it. I've already got a spot over yonder, and they say the town itself will be rebuilt and they'll be looking for roomers. There's plenty to do around here."

  Wade nodded. He figured he'd be going the rest of the way into the desert alone. He'd check in on Pepe and the Santiagos, eat as much food as he could, buy some provisions, then head out the next day. He had an Arizona map, and he figured he could get some advice from this local travel outfit. They must have horses and mules.

  People of all stripes and ages were now lined up outside of the tent. Everyone was battling the appalling clouds of black flies that plagued the area. The bees are gone, except for the killers, and the flies thrive, he thought.

  He went inside to the hospital and scanned the crowded beds for Pepe. On the table in front was a stack of Polaroids, similar to the one that the oaf he'd commandeered back at the dam was carrying. He picked them up and leafed through them while standing up, the grim female faces and the serial numbers along the bottom.

  Then he stopped at one of them. He stared fixedly. The photo was of Kara Wade.

  CHAPTER 34

  His vision went gray and fuzzy, as though the swarm of desert flies had coated his mind. Then he felt weak on his feet, a dizziness that was quickly replaced by powerful, overwhelming rage. It was the face of his daughter, which he had never before seen unsmiling in a photograph. Serial number viola 9475.

  She had a bruise on her left cheek, long hair in disarray, but the look of a fighter. He sat down on a folded chair, put his elbows on his knees, and kept looking at it.

  The woman at the desk had been watching him.

  "That's my daughter," he told her. "Where did these pictures come from?"

  "One of the people who came in sick had them. Oh my god."

  "Which person?"

  "They wouldn't be able to talk. They're bedridden. We kept the pictures around, for the relatives. I'm so sorry this happened."

  "Which one is them? I have to know."

  "Edna might know. She brought in the guy who had the photos. Off the road."

  He went outside and found Edna by the old yellow bus. He needed a direction to go toward, and fast. Sierra Vista might not be it.

  "Edna, those photos, of women, in the tent. Who gave them to you?"

  "Some rodent I pealed off the road about two weeks ago. His low-life friends shot him in the legs and left him, or so he claims. Why do you have to know? I probably should have left him for the buzzards. I think he was a Redboyz."

  "My daughter's picture was in there."

  Edna looked at him for about 20 seconds, a little stricken herself, but didn't say anything. Then she starting walking toward the tent. "Let's find this vermin…"

  It took them about half an hour of stepping from bed to bed in the packed ward, searching pained and weary faces, until finally they came to a black-haired and bearded man lying on his side. He was reading an old magazine. He put it down when they walked up. Edna said, "He's the one. Don't know his name. He's just road trash, but that's who had the pictures."

  Wade held out the picture of his daughter, so the man could see it.

  "Where is she?"

  "Who are you?"

  "None of your fucking business. I asked you a simple question. Where can I find her?"

  He bent forward and looked at the picture brusquely. "I don't know this chick…"

  Wade reached over and grabbed him by the throat, shoving his head farther into the pillow. Edna stood behind Wade and blocked the view.

  "Where is she being kept? I won't ask you again."

  The man gagged and coughed and tried to roll out of the grip, but Wade held him down by his throat, until the man weakly held up his hand. Wade released his grip.

  "Fuckin' hell I told ya," he sputtered. "I don't recognize the face. They took about a hundred women. Maybe 500. I wasn't the guy; I was just an innocent bystander. I just happened to be there. It wasn't my doing."

  "You mean guilty cockroach, not bystander. You're one of the Redboyz, right? They're the ones that have her?"

  "I was with the Reds; livin' with 'em." He clung to his throat and massaged it. "They gave us all the pictures. We were supposed to help find buyers, go out into the desert and flash the pictures around. Girls for sale, you know. Some things haven't changed. It's still the desert, and it's still Vegas.

  "Then I tried to run away, and they shot me. Swear to God, that's the truth! You can ask her!" He pointed to Edna. "She found me!"

  "And a lucky one you were!" Edna said. "Maybe I shouldn't have wasted the fuel bringing you back here!" But if she didn't, I wouldn't know, the thought leapt to Wade's mind. This insect in front of them actually has a purpose; to help him find his daughter.

  He took a bottle of water and handed it to the guy. "Here, maybe this'll clear your head." The man took a slug off it and handed it back.

  "They've got to be keeping these women somewhere. Some central location. Down by the dam?"

  "They're long gone by now. I mean, they get shipped around. Across the desert. They take 'em across old Lake Mead; they sell 'em on the shore. I only seen it once–it's sad. Women held out like slaves, brought up to a kind of stage." Wade felt himself grimacing, as if he'd eaten something rotten against his will.

  "Sorry, I figure you must know this lady," the man continued meekly. "They…she…might be in Vegas. That's where some of them end up. The others go south…west. Who knows?" He took another sip of the water and put it down.

  "Where south?"

  "Down where Phoenix and Tucson used to be. They get buyers comin' from down there; resellers you might call them. Buy the girls and sell 'em to someone else. That's sick isn't it? They're human beings." Then he'd realized he wasn't getting far with Wade, trying to appear thoughtful and humane.

  "It could be anywhere, really. Sorry I can't give you more information. My leg's killing me…I think I'm getting gangrene…" He let his head drop back on the pillow and stared vacantly. Wade looked down towards the man's legs; he noticed the greenish, dark red stains on the bandages.

  The man looked back at him, almost trying to seem innocent, but merely being stupid. "It's like you bought a car and took off, who could tell where you go…" he trailed off.

  Wade wasn't going to get anything else from this guy, who didn't seem long for the world. He felt around for his cell phone and pulled it out of the backpack, with its white adaptor cord stuck into it. He looked for where the fans were plugged into the wall, with the coarse sound of the generator running outside.

  Then he found a multi-outlet surge protector that he thought didn't exist anymore. He plugged the adaptor into it. The phone beeped in recognition and displayed an "empty battery" symbol. This would take a minute. Wade curled up on the floor, put his head on his backpack, and fell asleep amidst the clamor.

  CHAPTER 35

 
He went outside the tent and was met by a cloud of flies. He swatted at them angrily, then took in the burgeoning refugee camp. Almost as far as the eye could see, sluggish adults, oppressed by the sun, made camp and stood in glum lines in worn clothing. Nearby were their brave children. They kept on playing as if the world they'd been born into hadn't recently come to an end.

  His phone was charged and he'd just switched it on. He had a hunch, or was it vain hopefulness? Maybe it would tell him something. He was headed for Tucker's Desert Travel; Edna would show him. Someone had made coffee in an ancient stainless steel dispenser and put it outside the tent on a table, mostly for the exhausted doctors and nurses. He took a Styrofoam cup, already with a coffee stain on it, filled it up, and drank the lukewarm liquid while he walked. The sleep, caffeine, and hope perked him up.

  Amazingly, the phone came to life and instantly displayed new messages. How could that be? he wondered. Probably the regime; someone, somewhere, had kept the network's servers and cell towers (or one tower) up and running. He brought up the messaging app, feeling his heart soar. There were half a dozen messages from Kara; he read them from new to older, with the newest being 10 days old:

  "Coordinates: 33.548983, -111.940426"

  "Check the coordinates. lov u K"

  "I'm in Phoenix I think. I'm OK dont reply"

  "Please come get me oh please!!"

  "dad just tell me where u r luv K"

  "Im still in sierra vista maybe we can meet? luv K"

  He slugged the rest of his coffee and washed down the lump in his throat. He felt his eyes burning, and he rubbed the grief and guilt out with his fist. Coordinates–he'd programmed a simple app and given it to his children for their phones. It allowed you to message your current location to certain recipients. She'd used it to send the coordinates–smart girl!

  It followed that, if there was messaging then there might be a maps application available. Yet, when he opened up the ones he'd installed on his phone, none were functioning.

  He followed Edna to Tucker's Desert Travel, which was outside an old wooden fence that surrounded what was probably a fairgrounds, now the giant squatter's camp. Then they walked about 300 meters down an isolated dirt road outside of town.

  The Tucker's place was like a small ranch, single-level homes and corrals and barns. Thick brown dust hung in the air, like a stampede had just thundered through. It smelled gamey and ripe, like manure.

  They walked up to one of the buildings and when they neared the entrance, the door opened and a man with a bush hat and long white beard came out. He had a quick and gap-toothed smile.

  "Hey there Edna! What brings you out to the barrens?"

  "I got an interested traveler here."

  "Oh yeah? Where're ye headed?"

  "Well, south, toward the old Phoenix, I think."

  "You think?" Then he had a big belly laugh. "I'm sure you're well-intentioned young fella, but around these parts, you better know exactly where ya goin', or you won't likely get there alive."

  "Knowing exactly where you're going seems to be a luxury these days," Wade muttered. "My daughter's been kidnapped."

  He pulled the picture out of his pocket and showed it to the man.

  "Good God Almighty those animals!" The man spat in disgust onto the parched ground. "If it isn't one thing it's another. Now they're trying to sell women. Well, it ain't going to work, they'll find that out fast enough. And I'll blow their faces off if they come near here, those red-headed devils. I got several loaded shotguns back there. Don't worry–you'll find your daughter. Sure enough."

  "I have her coordinates–latitude and longitude. Do you have a map? A detailed one?"

  "That I do."

  "By the why, I'm going to hire your services. Do you have pack animals? I can pay you, well enough."

  "I'll take what you have and leave you with enough," the man replied, somewhat vaguely.

  "Mules?"

  "Camels. The best in the region. As many as you need."

  CHAPTER 36

  "Camels?"

  "You heard me right fella. It's the best way–I'd say the only way–to get across that desert. If you're fixin' to look for your daughter. I'll tell yah everything you need to know. You get used to riding them after day one. Believe me, it's like the Australian outback out there; there's no water. The towns are dryin' up as fast as the wells are. Only the Navajos and the Comanches know how to live in it. You'll be goin' through their country first. Why don't we look at the map."

  "Yes, let's do that," Wade mumbled, still wondering whether this old coot was pulling his leg, or had simply lost his mind. Camels?

  The man's name was Terry and ran the outfit with his brother Bud, who was out back with the animals. Wade walked into the cluttered office, which was buzzing with flies around the screened windows, one of which was broken. Gratefully, he saw one wall covered with a map that had been pinned to it.

  "Okay…" Terry said. "You said you had coordinates."

  The map was annotated with latitude and longitude, not quite to the scale that Wade had from his message, but precise enough to pinpoint Kara in the area of old Scottsdale, Arizona.

  Terry pulled on his beard thoughtfully. "So you're going at least 350 miles into the desert, and that's if you don't get turned around, navigation-wise."

  "I have a compass," Wade said. "I know how to use it."

  "Right," Terry said, with a skeptical air. "I've heard that one before." Then he looked at Wade and sat down. "You look like the competent type, like you can handle yourself. And you're going to find your daughter…I know it."

  He propped his legs and cowboy boots up on the table and picked up a pad of paper, a pen. "So I have to make some calculations here."

  "All I have is gold."

  Terry arched his eyebrows. "That'll do," he said, then clicked his tongue. "How many people are going?"

  "So far, only me."

  "So far…well if you find some partners, we can always make some adjustments later. You're going to need one animal to transport yourself; one to pack your belongings and water and food, and another for companionship and backup."

  "Companionship? I think I can get away with one."

  "You definitely won't make it with one, without a lot of luck. You're going to have to carry a lot of water, at least two and a half weeks worth, maybe three. Also, if a camel dies on you or wanders off…"

  "Wanders off?"

  "It's been known to happen. You don't tie them down at night, like horses. It's an animal that prefers freedom but sticks with its fellow beasts, and its owners. They're a pack animal, and a feisty lot. Best to keep three together and keep them happy; because if you lose one, it could get bit by a snake or shot, you're guaranteed to have two, to handle your water and yourself. All the way to the Land of the Desert Sun."

  "By the way, are these the kind with two humps or one?" He laughed at himself inside. He could hear, and smell them, through the open window–stamping, snorting, and grunting. They made phlegmy, unpleasant noises deep in their throats. He walked over to the window and looked out.

  "These are Arabian camels, one hump," Terry said. "Best in the business."

  "How fast can they go."

  "About three miles an hour. You'll be able to go up to 25 miles a day, but don't try to push it beyond that. That makes…14 days, if you don't get sidetracked."

  "Where did you get camels around here? A zoo?"

  "Roped 'em wild, like you would a mustang pony."

  "Wild, are you kidding me?"

  "Desert's full of 'em, runnin' wild as I said. In fact, that's the other thing I…"

  "The Arizona desert is full of Arabian camels?"

  "One of the few things that can survive and thrive out there, with the fires, drought and all. And the fact that millions of humans have pulled out of the region, migrated, or got sick and died. You'd be surprised at the kinds of animals that have thrived over the centuries in the North American West, dromedaries and wooly mammoths…"


  "In fact, the dromedary started in North America then crossed the Alaskan straits, and made their way into the Middle East. Then they divided up into the two-humped Bactrian camel and…"

  "Thanks for the history. But how did they get down in these parts recently?"

  "Rumor has it they came from multiple sources, one being a Texas rancher who had a herd, and some Saudi sheik who lost his herd in the fires in Tucson. At any rate, you're going to have female camels; less volatile. If you run into a wild male camel, in rut, just shoot it. No questions asked. They can get downright ornery and will attack the females."

  "I'll remember that. By the way, do you have any handgun ammo?"

  "No, only shotgun shells for my own use. Ammo's hard to come by around here."

  "OK." He saw one of the camels looking at him. They were tall, with brown and even white-and-black spotted, mangy coats. They had big, innocent, bulbous eyes, with two layers of eyelashes, giving them almost a doe-like look. A man forked a pile of grass and weeds for them to feed upon. There had to be at least three dozen milling around the high, well-fortified paddocks.

  "That's Bud out there. So we have three pack animals for you. This is essentially a purchase, you must understand."

  "How's that?"

  "If you come back this way, I'll buy 'em back from you. That's a promise; it's a good deal. Otherwise, it's a one-way deal. I've got no one here who can march down 350 miles and fetch 'em back. See, it wouldn't be worth it, by a long shot. This isn't like dropping off a used car."

  "Got it. I'll need provisions; do you have canned food? For me? What do the camel's eat?"

  "They graze…they'll eat the scrub, weeds, even bones that they find. They can go a week without water. That doesn't mean if you encounter an oasis, you shouldn't water them."

  "And the hump stores the water right?" Wade mumbled, staring out into the dried up ranch, blazing in the intense heat. Terry chuckled, taking delight in his own specific knowledge.