High Desert Barbecue

by J. D. Tuccille

  Lightning flashed above. The searchers wound among the boulders and through the trees that lined the high ground near the canyon walls. Whoever the strangers had been, they weren’t getting away if the dedicated staffers from the Center for Floral Supremacy had anything to say in the matter!

  The floral supremacists’ unhappy comrades were content to trudge in the rear, avoiding sudden jarring motions to the best of their abilities.

  Jason stopped again. He hung his head and sighed.

  “Guys, hang on a moment. I have to take care—”

  A harsh, ripping noise interrupted his comments.

  “What the fuck?”

  Ahead, braced against a boulder, Rena held her rifle to her shoulder and squeezed off bursts of gunfire. Muzzle flash from the rifle lit up the canyon and the barrel bucked skyward as the animated fireplug poured bullet after bullet down the canyon.

  Bob quickly joined Rena with a barrage of his own.

  “Jesus Christ,” Ray yelled. “Don’t—”

  Splinters of rock flew from boulders around them, and leaves clipped from trees parachuted to the ground. The duo’s gunfire was being answered.

  “Shit!” sounded from six throats and everybody dove for the nearest cover. Jason managed to land on his two-way radio and it squawked almost as loudly as he did from the impact. Then it stopped making any noise at all.

  The rough landing pushed Jason over the edge. He clawed at the waistband of his shorts, pushing them to his ankles just in time. He spent the next several minutes grunting and cursing. With the gunfire at an end, a chorus of groans arose from the canyon floor and rebounded from the walls.

  Finally, shorts back in place, Jason stood and brushed himself off. A thin trickle of blood ran where a sliver of rock had nicked him.

  “Well, I certainly feel lighter.”

  He stepped forward, toward the spot where Rena and Bob cowered behind a flood-formed wall of earth and stone.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  “We saw them!”

  “I figured that. I mean the Apocalypse Now scene. What was that?”

  Bob shrugged.

  “Well, that’s what we usually do when we’re shooting up car dealerships and the like. Except, nobody ever shot back before.”

  Rena stood.

  “Sorry. But we didn’t want them to get away.”

  “How much ammo do you have left?”

  Rena’s mouth opened slowly.

  “Oh.”

  Samantha and Terry reappeared. Samantha looked a little flushed. She flashed him a smile, which he returned.

  Terry shaded his eyes with his hand and peered into the distance.

  “I don’t see anybody now. Do you think you got them?”

  Rena tilted her head and looked at the sky.

  “Maybe not. I mean, I stopped shooting when the bullets came back.”

  Jason sighed. He looked around.

  “Where’s Ray. Damn it! Ray!”

  Summoned, Ray stepped from his shelter among the rocks. All eyes immediately focused on him. He wore his shoes, daypack and sunglasses—and a shiny foil emergency blanket knotted around his middle.

  “I wasn’t fast enough, so I threw my shorts away. I don’t want to hear a word about it.”

  He glared at them all. Then he took a sip of water.

  Chapter 28

  Scott dropped the empty magazine from his pistol without breaking stride, stuffing it into a pocket in his shorts. He replaced it with a full magazine, racked a round into the chamber, and then engaged the thumb safety before dropping the gun back into its holster.

  “How many more of those do you have,” Rollo asked. He gripped his .22 rifle by its plastic stock, waving it like a schoolroom pointer.

  “Magazines?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is it. I wasn’t expecting a gun battle with naked arsonists.”

  “Naked taxpayer-subsidized arsonists with the runs!”

  Lani laughed.

  “Hey honey. I’m glad you’re not too freaked out.” Scott hopped over rocks so he could comfortably put his arm around his girlfriend. Champ lent moral support, trotting along at the woman’s side opposite Scott.

  Lani folded her arms across her chest, and then lifted her face to smile at Scott.

  “Oh, I’m freaked out. I’m completely fucking terrified. But I can still laugh when I imagine those maniacs suffering from a heavy dose of laxatives.”

  Scott and Rollo both laughed.

  “Oh, I didn’t have to imagine it,” the older man said. “As we split, I saw one of them come out of the rocks wearing some kind of tinfoil instead of his pants. I’ll bet he was out of action all through the fight.” He shot a sharp look at the blonde woman. “Y’know. You may have saved our butts by dosing that water. Good thinking.”

  Lani jerked her head sharply toward Rollo.

  “Thanks.”

  Scott cradled Lani’s head in the crook of his left elbow, then kissed her gently on the bit of her forehead accessible below her rain hood. Then he peered up at the newly blue sky with its retreating line of storm clouds. He peeled back his own hood, and began wriggling out of his rain jacket without bothering to loosen his backpack straps.

  “If you had big tits and lost that five-o-clock shadow, that routine would earn you big bucks in any strip joint,” Rollo commented. He easily doffed his rain poncho, balled it up, and stuffed it back into a pocket in his pack.

  “I can’t do anything about the tits, but I’ll try for a closer shave. I may need that money.” Finally free of the jacket, which he crammed back into its stuff sack, Scott turned his attention back to Rollo.

  “Speaking of ammunition, how much do you have for that pop-gun of yours?”

  “Plenty. That’s the nice thing about .22. It weighs so little that I always have a couple hundred rounds somewhere at the bottom of my pack.”

  “With all of those little bullets, you might give somebody a nasty bruise.”

  “Hey, I got them to keep their heads down.”

  The trio trudged along for a while, darting occasional glances over their shoulders. Champ again took the lead, scouting ahead and showing every sign of pure doggie joy in the extended hike. Despite the break in the rain, when possible, they stuck to the high ground by the canyon walls, avoiding the boulder-strewn stream bed where flash floods could catch the unwary. Blue sky overhead might be nature’s own little game of bait-and-switch if a sudden squall at the head of the canyon sent a wall of water roaring down on them.

  But trading low ground for high ground meant trading rocks for spiny plants that caught at their skin as much as at their clothing. Red scratches soon criss-crossed their arms and legs, transforming them into bloody tic-tac-toe boards.

  Scott called a halt to the hike when the sky began to dim.

  “We might as well make camp. We’ll lose light pretty quickly down here.”

  Lani peered back the way they’d come.

  “Do you think they’re still behind us?

  “Yep. Somewhere. But hiking this canyon in the dark is just begging for a broken ankle. They’ll have to stop the same as us.”

  They settled on a small patch of relatively level, elevated ground. A ring of charred rocks marked where hikers had made camp in the past. Scott and Lani dropped their packs to the ground, and then quickly set up their shelter. They strung a line between two sycamore trees, then draped a lightweight tarp over the line and staked it out like an A-frame. A bug net was hung under the tarp, with a groundcloth to protect the campers from dirt and damp. They tucked their sleeping pads and bags under the shelter to keep them out of harm’s way should the rain return.

  Rollo sat on the edge of his blanket, which rested on a groundcloth, under the open sky. He sipped water, picked at his teeth with a twig, and cast an occasional gaze up the canyon.

  “You folks have a shower in that set-up? How about a flush toilet?”

  Scott moved a corner stake to tighten its attached line
.

  “It’s only a tarp, Rollo.”

  “It takes long enough to get the damned thing up.”

  “It has head room for two, it keeps the scorpions out and it weighs less than that canvas beach blanket of yours.”

  The older man grumbled.

  “I guess.”

  The sky flickered and a low rumble echoed from the canyon walls. An early star was visible directly overhead, but the canyon walls obscured any view of incoming weather.

  Lani flicked on her headlamp, turning sycamore branches into shadowy, grasping arms reaching across the pale rocks.

  “I’m hungry. Scott, I hope you brought the stove. And the food.”

  “Nope.”

  “No?”

  “It’s in your pack.”

  “Oh.”

  Lani disappeared under the tarp, the bug net draped across her elevated rump. She reappeared with a pot in one hand and a mesh bag full of cooking supplies in the other.

  Scott took the pot from her hand and sat on the ground, using his folded sleeping pad as a seat. He lifted the lid and fished out a small metal cylinder, which he placed on an aluminum plate. A taller mesh cylinder wrapped around the metal cylinder.

  Rollo rose from his blanket and squatted by Scott.

  “And you call me MacGyver.”

  “It’s just a stove. You’ve seen it before.”

  “You made it out of soda cans.”

  “Yep.”

  “Is that something they teach you on those fancy, East Coast trails?”

  “Nah. Those trails are catered. I learned how to make this stove from the guy who introduced me to backpacking, many years ago.”

  “Your own, personal Yoda?”

  “Sort of, if the little green guy was a danger to himself and others. That guy took me out during a winter thaw in New Hampshire. We were soaked and freezing even before he led us across a frozen creek—and then we fell through the ice. If he kept backpacking, I very much doubt that he’s still alive. But he made a mean stove.”

  Scott removed a screw from a hole in the top of the central cylinder and squirted alcohol in from a squeeze bottle. He then drizzled fuel on the plate. Lighter in hand, he paused.

  “Do you want to take a turn with the stove?”

  “No thanks. I just think it’s a cool long-way round to do something as simple as cooking a meal.”

  Rollo set to work gathering twigs while Scott placed the pot—now filled with water—over the hissing stove. He searched under logs and rocks for dry wood, which he dropped into his canvas hat. When the hat was full, he gathered several rocks as a combination windbreak and pot-stand, within which he quickly built a teepee of sticks and grass. Wisps of steam were already escaping from Scott’s pot when Rollo touched a match to his construction.

  “You sure you don’t want to borrow the stove?”

  “No thanks.”

  Rollo placed a small, soot-blackened pot over the fire and filled it with water. He threw in a handful of rice and another of dried vegetables, then began shaving pieces of jerky into the mixture. As he worked, he watched Scott pour boiling water into a thick plastic bag held by Lani. The water swirled around a dry mixture in the bag, which the woman sealed and put aside.

  Rollo ostentatiously sniffed at his own concoction and gave it a stir with a battered metal spoon. He tasted it, added a dash of salt, and then tasted it again.

  Lani picked up her bagged meal, jerked a hand away from the scalding-hot package, and then grabbed a bandana to use as a potholder. She gave the bag a squeeze, distributing the rapidly disappearing liquid throughout the saturated solid food. She unsealed a corner and sniffed at the escaping wisp of steam. She smiled approvingly, and then resealed the bag.

  Rollo returned to stirring his pot.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake,” Scott blurted. He produced a plastic spoon from the mesh bag and grabbed the meal from his girlfriend. He tossed the hot bag from hand to hand before dropping it to the ground, unsealing the zip-lock and plunging his spoon in.

  “It’s ready,” he muttered around a mouthful of flesh-searing food. He then reached over and helped himself to a spoonful from Rollo’s pot.

  “Needs a few more minutes.”

  Refusing to meet Scott’s eyes with her own, Lani clutched her own spoon and eagerly helped herself to dinner.

  Rollo grumbled.

  “What’re you guys eating?”

  “Chili,” Lani answered. “I dry the veggies at home and Scott makes the jerky. We mix the dry ingredients together in the bag so we just have to add boiling water and let it sit for a few minutes to get a meal.”

  “Neat-o,” Rollo muttered.

  Scott snorted.

  “I’m having beef stew,” Rollo added, un-prompted. “I make my own jerky too.”

  “And very good jerky it is,” Scott offered.

  Rollo grumbled again.

  “I wonder what the khaki-shirted bastards are eating.”

  Chapter 29

  “Are you going to share that Power Bar?” Jason asked.

  “What for?” Ray snarled. “Eat your own food.”

  Jason glanced down at his bag of gorp—mixed raisins, nuts, M&Ms and the like—shrugged and took another mouthful. He chewed slowly, swallowed, and then surveyed his small band.

  Terry sat on the ground with his knees under his chin and his arms wrapped around his shins. From time to time his right hand disappeared into his rain jacket pocket, emerging clutching a small, unidentifiable morsel which he guided to his lips. His eyes remained fixed forward, unfocused.

  Bob, Rena and Samantha shared a large bag full of jerky. Samantha offered a chunk, which Jason gratefully accepted. He washed it down with a mouthful of water. The water tasted much better now that they’d dumped out their store and refilled the containers from puddles left by the rain.

  “Thanks. It’s good.” He offered some gorp in return.

  “Rena shot the cow herself.”

  Ray grunted, a sound that Jason ignored.

  “Really?”

  Rena nodded in satisfaction, sending a wobble through her goosebump-covered breasts.

  “Yep. It was grazing on public land. It’s good to make a political statement that tastes good, too.”

  Jason nodded, grimaced for a moment, and then finished his piece of jerky.

  Samantha shivered slightly. The ground was damp from the day’s rain and a light breeze stole the heat from their bodies.

  “Are you cold?”

  “A little chilled from the rain.”

  Jason pulled a light, metallic emergency blanket from his pack, identical to the one Ray now sported as a loincloth, and wrapped it around Samantha and himself.

  Samantha smiled.

  Ray scowled and Terry continued his thousand-mile stare.

  “Guys. It looks like it’s going to be a chilly night. Let’s all gather ‘round and share our warmth.”

  Bob and Rena eagerly moved to form a circle. Terry joined, slowly, when nudged.

  Ray’s scowl deepened.

  “What’s this group hug crap?”

  “Don’t you want to be warm?”

  A rumble and flash announced the return of the rain. Around the group, dark blotches once again appeared on the rocks in a tightening pattern. The sky, which just a few minutes before had been speckled with early stars, now showed gray and featureless.

  Ray’s eyes bulged and his face reddened, but he moved forward to join his colleagues.

  “Just don’t fucking ask me to sing ‘Kumbaya’.”

  Samantha snuggled closer to Jason, who sighed, softly, in contentment.

  Chapter 30

  The rain sounded a steady drumbeat on the tarp, beneath which Scott and Lani lounged, warm and dry in their sleeping bags.

  Barely visible, just feet away in the gathering dark, Rollo sat cloaked in his blanket, with the edge of his groundcloth pulled up over his head like a cloak.

  “I’d volunteer to stand guard duty,” Rollo offered.
“But somehow, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

  “Are you sure?” Lani asked.

  “Nope. But I think any rangers stumbling around in the rain and the dark are more likely to need rescuing by us than to be a threat to us.”

  “Sounds like there’s water flowing in the creek bed,” Scott added. “It’s a good night to drown in the desert.”

  They fell silent for a moment. The only sound was that of rain falling on rocks, brush and fabric.

  Lani shifted positions, leaning her weight against Scott, who brushed his hand through her hair.

  “Rollo, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. But I can’t promise that I’ll answer.”

  “You live out in the desert, and you don’t work at anything steady that I know of. But when you come to town, you always have money for beer and hookers. How do you manage that?”

  Scott laughed.

  “Yeah, buddy. How do you manage that?”

  The older man grumbled.

  “Scott knows how I manage that.”

  “Oh yeah?” Lani turned her face upwards toward Scott’s barely visible features. “How come you never told me?”

  “It’s Rollo’s business, not mine.”

  “And a good business it is. Go ahead and tell her what I do.”

  Scott cleared his throat.

  “This old bum is a big-time drug kingpin.”

  “What?”

  “Oh crap, I’m fucking well not!”

  “Well, you grow dope.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. That part’s true.”

  Lani sat straight up, brushing her head against the bug netting that draped down from the tarp.

  “You’ve spent all these years out in the forest just so you can grow dope?”

  An agitated rustling cut through the patter of rain.

  “Oh hell no! I grow dope so I can buy supplies and have a little fun when I come to town. I’ve spent all these years in the forest to get the hell away from my wife.”

  Scott chuckled.

  “That was Toni, right? I thought there was a little more to it than that.”