The Ides of Matt 2016

by M. L. Buchman

  He thumped a fist against the tire and she could feel the vibration of it through her tailbone.

  “You’ve got it in here.”

  He tapped her chest—they were close enough for that to be easy, though he pulled back his hand quickly and might even have blushed a little.

  “That’s how I made Delta. Trying to be as strong as you on the inside.”

  Cindy’s head was spinning. One of America’s top warriors, trying to be as strong as her. As he imagined her. No, as he believed her to be.

  The way Derek saw her was…incredible.

  “I told myself I was angry at you for rejecting Jimmy. For not returning what he felt so deeply for you.”

  Her man of few words was back, twisting his neck until she could practically hear the crackle along his spine.

  “And I know for a fact that I was angry as hell that he got you and I didn’t.”

  “But—”

  “Shut up, Derek.” The name felt like a caress as she said it. As if she could finally acknowledge the man, rather than the boy she kept at a careful distance.

  He shut up.

  “I wish to god I could tell Jimmy that. Not that I ever let him see it. But I wish I could tell him that and let him know I’m not angry at him any more.”

  “You were the one thing Jimmy and I always agreed on.” Derek nodded as if talking to her brother right there, next around the circle on their tractor tire.

  “What was that?”

  “That you were the best woman on the planet.”

  “And you were both deluding yourselves.” She wasn’t any of that.

  “Says you,” again Derek smiled at her…for her…because of her. “From where I’m sitting,” he thumped the tire again, “Jimmy and I had it dead to rights. Besides…”

  He trailed off, then reached out to caress her cheek. This time she let him and could feel that impenetrable wall she’d built so high—so high that she barely knew herself—simply get brushed aside as if it had never been there.

  “Besides,” he repeated in a whisper as soft as his caress. “It’s rude to argue with both a dead man and the man who loves you.”

  He pulled her in, with the lightest of pressure.

  Derek leaned in to meet her halfway, but paused just before their lips touched, when she could see herself so clearly in his dark eyes. “There’s only ever been you, Cindy.”

  She swallowed against the tears, the tears that hadn’t spilled at Jimmy’s death, that hadn’t spilled since she was a little girl afraid in the dark.

  She was no longer afraid. Could never be with Derek beside her.

  “There’s only ever been you, Derek,” she whispered back as the tears flowed.

  Who knew that all of the tears stored inside her heart were tears of joy.

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  Together atop Sapphire Lookout

  One of my very favorite characters is Kee Smith (now Stevenson). She slammed onto the scene in Night Stalkers #2 I Own the Dawn (a seriously good title for Kee as I could easily see her taking personal possession of the rising sun herself). She has returned many times, most notably in Night Stalkers #3 Wait Until Dark and Firehawks #1 Pure Heat. She is always a force to be reckoned with.

  In this story, I knew that I wanted to write another Fire Lookout Tower story, but I didn’t know much more than that.

  The first intriguing thing I came up with was the discovery of the Continental Divide Trail. I had a friend who hiked the Appalachian Trail as therapy to recover from a horrific car accident during college. We talked at length about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail together, but life interfered (he fell in love and married) before our plans progressed very far. But somehow I missed the creation of the CDT.

  It was while researching other Lookout Tower tales that I discovered the CDT went right through the middle of the region I’d set my towers in.

  My next question was who was the least likely person to walk that trail.

  When I was a kid, our area of New York State had an experimental program that was both well-intentioned and nearly ended in dismal failure. They took inner New York City kids out to the “deep wilderness” for a week-long “growth experience.” In the woods not twenty miles from IBM’s main plants, these kids landed…and freaked! With no preparation, they really couldn’t handle it. It took a whole series of pre-trainings and smaller excursions before the program could get off the ground.

  So, inner city kid. But what motivation could he have to walk the CDT?

  Enter Kee, my elemental force. She’d come from the worst parts of East L.A. She reaches in and drops my hero at the foot of the trail. It’s his last chance and they both know it.

  But who does Danny meet? And how do I write a love story between two people separated by over three thousand miles of rugged countryside.

  Well, that’s the fun of this story.

  1

  Danny Chay reached the fire lookout tower in the heart of the Sapphire Mountains and decided that this was about the most crazy-assed thing he’d ever done. Sapphire Mountains sounded like some kinda girly shit, at least until he’d hiked into them. The rugged rock peaks of southwestern Montana jagged upward out of forests so thick that there was no way to see the ground beneath them.

  Four months ago he’d never seen more trees than a city park. And the parks in East LA weren’t exactly about Mother Nature—more like a quick drug deal or a fast, cheap screw. Didn’t matter what color you were, hanging with the bros was about the only other thing going down.

  The view from standing beside Pintler fire lookout tower swept a vast circle in the heart of the Idaho and Montana wilderness. Ten-thousand-foot peaks and dark green forest ran as far as the eye could see in every direction. No hazed gray sky here; it was so blue that it hurt to look up.

  He didn’t know whether he hated the woman who’d sent him on this damned quest, or if he should kiss her feet. But Kee Stevenson was someone you sure as hell didn’t argue with.

  She’d rolled back into the neighborhood after most of ten years gone, driving an immaculate, late-model, black Chevy Suburban, kind the Feds drove—which had scared him crapless even though he’d been clean at the time.

  The tinted driver’s window had slid down and there was Kee.

  “Chay.”

  “Smith. Thought you were dead.”

  “Stevenson now.”

  Good as dead. He’d never figured her for the settling down kind.

  “You want your shot at getting a life? Get in.”

  Anyone less dangerous than Kee, he might have tried rolling her for the wheels. Fifty grand on the hoof, ten to fifteen at the chop shop. She was maybe half his size, but if it came down to taking bets in a scuffle, he’d put his money on her.

  Danny looked at her, same as ever. Half Asian and half who-knew-’cause-Mama-sure-didn’t as she called herself. Serious body totally built to last and the best shot with a handgun he’d ever seen.

  He checked the area. No one in obvious sight, but he could feel folks scanning him.

  Hey, check out Danny kissing up to the Feds. What’s up with that shit?

  He could talk that down…not a lot of people dared mess with him, even after Kee bugged out. But that was the point, she’d found a way out. They’d talked about it a lot back in the day. Never seemed possible. When she’d evaporated, he’d assumed the street had swallowed her up.

  But Kee never spoke anything but the cold, hard truth. She’d found a way and all these years later had come back to offer it to him.

  He got in.

  Straight through the night she’d driven in silence, but she’d always been that way, even back when they ran together on the streets. They’d been tight. Not that kind of tight, but the kind where you knew if she had your back there were no worries coming from that direction.
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  East. She drove way the hell east into the kind of land he’d never seen. Deserts drier than the LA streets during the Santa Ana winds. Places where the next building was fifty miles away.

  She’d finally pulled over in nowhere New Mexico desert just after sunrise.

  “Out. Your gear is in the back.”

  “What the f—” But he’d chopped it off when he’d seen her look.

  He’d slouched around to the back of the Suburban, popped the rear door, and tried to make sense of what he was looking at. It was a pristine backpack. Not the school books kind for geeks, but one near as big as Kee. Straps sticking out of it in every direction, it was the craziest looking thing he’d ever seen.

  She came around and dragged it out, like it was heavy. Held it up while he slid his arms into place, then she let go and he’d nearly hit the ground. It wasn’t just heavy, it was like filled with a Chevy straight-six engine block. Before he could complain, she had him strapped in and cinched down.

  He half expected her to padlock it on him, but she didn’t.

  Instead she’d handed him a book: Hiking the Continental Divide Trail.

  “What the f—”

  “You already said that. You’re here,” she flipped it open to a picture that looked just like the man-tall concrete monument standing twenty feet away in the blazing sun. It was weird, like he was actually in the book. “When you get to the other end,” she flipped to the last page to show him, “there’s a phone number of a good friend of mine at a place called Henderson’s Ranch in Montana.”

  “This is my magical out? Walking to fucking Montana? Have you totally lost your shit, Kee?”

  She’d slammed the back of the Suburban and headed for the driver’s door, but stopped the moment before climbing back in.

  “You want it, Danny? You’ve got to prove just how bad you want it. Don’t disappoint me.” Then she’d slammed the door and was gone in a cloud of dust.

  No one had ever believed in him. No one but Kee. He could argue with anything but that last line.

  He had staggered up to the trail’s entrance sign. It said that the spot was named for a crazy cook who had committed cold-blooded murder on this spot in 1907. He was totally down with that.

  A cardboard sign flapping in the dusty breeze read, “Canada, 3,100 miles. Pure Hell, 100 feet.”

  No shit.

  2

  Lexi Forrester decided to live up to her name.

  “I’m so done with this,” she’d told her business partners.

  “You don’t walk away from a successful law firm just two years after making partner.”

  “Watch me!” She’d dumped her caseload right there on the conference room table. No longer her problem. How many more times could she stand to face: “My parents never wrote a will.” Or “I want to sue that cheater until he roasts in hell.” Or “I was under mental duress when I pulled that knife in a bar brawl.” Or…

  Or nothing. She was done. Law school. The bar. Seven years climbing up the partner track and making it—

  She was so done.

  If she never saw Boise, Idaho again it would be too soon.

  Her best friend, her mom, and her judicial-clerk-sometimes-boyfriend had all protested that she was having a nervous breakdown. Dad was the only one who offered any encouragement, a “just maybe” tilt of his head and shrug while Mom had ranted—or maybe he’d just been cracking his neck. It was always hard to tell with him. She’d been half afraid Mom would have her committed before she could escape.

  Lexi had chosen something completely different from anything she’d ever done before. From anyone she’d ever been before. It was just one summer, but it was would make a clean break.

  She hoped that spending a season working as a fire lookout high in the Sapphire Mountains would let her see what she was going to do next. So far, she wasn’t having much luck with that.

  3

  It had been hell. Danny had never appreciated the luxury of a water faucet as much as he had tromping through the New Mexico desert.

  He’d quit a hundred nights on the trail, but woken up in the morning and forced himself back into motion. Sometimes it was imagining what the homies would be thinking if they could see him, grunting out another day—not a one of them lame-asses could do this kinda shit.

  It took digging deep and those squatters didn’t know dingo-crap about that.

  Neither had he, but he was learning.

  Sometimes it was the thought of Kee kicking his ass if he quit.

  No, that wasn’t her style. If he quit, she’d leave him in his gutter to die. Which only made him dig in harder.

  Eventually though, once he’d gotten over the misery of the daily grind, he’d gotten to noticing the countryside around him. The desert wasn’t barren. “Cactus is what grows in the desert,” is what he would have said if you’d asked him before. But so did twisted pine trees that offered welcome shade. He saw hares, deer, coyotes, and more types of birds than he’d known existed. At one of the little towns he’d considered grabbing a book about them, but it weighed too much. He might have gotten used to hauling around a Chevy straight-six engine block on his back, but he didn’t want to upgrade it to a Ford V-8.

  Decent boots were swapped for good ones…he’d found an envelope for expenses stuffed deep in the pack. Along with a list of mail drops. At each drop there’d been a case of food, some emergency shit for blisters and such that he appreciated, and just enough cash to either see him home or on to the next mail drop.

  Not a single word from her. He’d known she was a tough bitch—had to be to survive the kind of shit she’d been through even before she bugged out. But he had no idea how tough until he began climbing toward the San Juan Mountains.

  There were route choices along the way. By the time he hit the first big one in Colorado, there was no way he was taking the easy path. Screw the Creede cut-off, he punched right up above the tree line—half the nights waking up to find frost on his bag, tromping through late snow during the day.

  Nothing had prepared him for the plains of central Wyoming, the crazy steep Tetons, or the wonders of Yellowstone.

  A lot of alone time out on the trail. Vast amounts of it. He’d hiked for a week with a very giving and seriously well-built woman named Crissy through a section of Colorado. He’d promised to stay in touch though they both knew he never would. But he’d seen less people in three months than he’d see in a typical LA afternoon.

  Somehow, the whole thing caught up with him as he climbed up the trail to Pintler fire lookout in the southwest corner of Montana—his last state, the brutal Idaho Bitterroots thankfully behind him.

  4

  Mid-summer was mostly gone from her eagle’s aerie atop the Continental Divide, eight thousand feet up in the Sapphires. Lexi hadn’t made any progress toward what came after the fire lookout job, but she wouldn’t trade this summer in for the world.

  She’d made radio friends with other lookouts and spotted her fair share of forest fires, but mostly, she’d had nothing but the wilderness and time.

  Oh, she’d ridden through all of the ups and downs they’d warned her about. Horror at the choices she’d made in burning her bridges in the Boise legal community. Wondering if she’d lost her mind to make this crazy choice in the first place. Depression that she was having a mid-life crisis before her thirtieth birthday—she’d always been an overachiever, but this one she could have done without.

  But she’d also slowly regained some form of inner equilibrium, something she’d lost a long time ago. She’d taken to rising with the sun and going for fast hikes and eventually mountain runs before her nine a.m. spotter duties began. She’d been track-and-field in high school, especially the shorter distances. The fast, brutal sprint—the high adrenaline of both the challenge and the victory—had fit her like a glove. Now she discovered the attraction of the longer ru
ns, letting nature just sweep by as she ran through trees, past lakes, and over hills.

  Lexi knew reality would come crashing back through her front gate in another couple months, but she was going to avoid it as long as she could.

  On the radio she’d made the day’s final “no smoke” call except for the fire still being fought on West Goat Mountain—one of hers. Chatted for a few minutes with Patty who said the wolf pack she was following had veered north, so no visit this time—bad news for Lexi and for Patty’s husband up at Gray Wolf Summit lookout. Tess and Marta were trading recipes.

  Signing off, Lexi took a mug of tea and went to sit on her lookout tower’s verandah to admire the sunset. Verandah, fancy word for the narrow wooden service walkway around the outside of the small cab that was her home.

  The sky was just shifting from blue to gold when she heard the happy sigh of someone sloughing off their pack at the campsite below. She’d learned to recognize a lot by that sound. Pintler Lookout lay directly on the Continental Divide Trail, and its high peak always seemed to be the end of a hiker’s day.

  Some were short-section hikers, taking a week or two summer’s vacation to do a stretch. Their groans were far more heartfelt, often accompanied by hisses of pain. But once settled, they were a generally cheery group, teasing each other good naturedly about their next vacation being in Hawaii.

  In early summer, the ones hiking the trail from north to south—Canada to Mexico—had six hundred miles under their belts by the time they reached her. Grumbling and discouragement were common: not yet through the first of the five states on the route most found to be brutally depressing. She’d taken to avoiding them when she could, hiding two stories above in her tower. It was amazing how few of that type climbed the last sets of stairs to admire the view. The last of the “sobos,” the south-bound through-hikers, had dwindled out by July. Any later and they’d get caught in the snowy peaks in Colorado.